by Sophia Danu
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Keeley's Curse
by Sophia Danu
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Erotica/Horror
Copyright © 2008 by Sophia Danu
First published in extasybooks.com, 2008
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NOTICE: This ebook is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Duplication of this ebook by beaming, email, network, disk, paper, or any other method is a violation of international copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines and/or imprisonment.
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Keeley's Curse
By
Sophia Danu
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Keeley's Curse
Copyright © 2008 Sophia Danu
ISBN: 978-1-55487-154-4
Cover art by Martine Jardin
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Prologue
“So what? She's jus some ol’ woman?” The slurred, angry words rang in my ears and echoed in my mind, over and over. Chemistry formulas that floated in my dreams were rudely interrupted by a far more malignant, devastating source. As the vision came on me, I awakened from sleep.
The realization of what happened prompted a long, mental scream of desolation and sorrow. In the aftermath, rage settled into my bones. My soul solidified the intense emotion and hardened me to everything but a burning need for restitution. My grandmother, Elise, my Nana, was just murdered.
The killer would pay. Not because I craved vengeance, and I did, fiercely, in those first harrowing moments, but because there was evil brewing in my hometown of Blue Springs, Kentucky and someone, er, me had to do something about it. Revenge was a bonus— the by-product of removing the stench that gathered in the mountains and around the people that I loved.
I am ever mindful that magic isn't to be used carelessly. The Goddess, and the spirits that be, don't appreciate witches who invoke spells in their name for frivolous pursuits like personal gain or revenge. But meting out justice is encouraged and I just became justice's Mistress.
Unfortunately, I wasn't in Kentucky where I might have stopped this tragedy. I was in California where I attended college. I was a student at UC, Berkeley in my senior year of study.
At Nana's insistence, I crossed the country to go school four years ago. I chose biology as my major and consumed myself in the study of herbal and plant properties and their affect on the human body. The subject matter was a natural fit, but California wasn't where I belonged. As beautiful as it was, the mountains called me home.
I came from a long heritage of magic. Our familial powers were vast and exotic, but healing was an essential element to our craft. Enchanted family members have mostly been females, though occasionally a male has been thrown into the mix. That legacy originated where all our magic dwelled over the centuries, in what Nana called the family castle in Ireland, but I've never been there or met the family.
It's always been strange to know of this ancient birthright and magical commonality with this tight knit clan that I don't know. It never mattered before when Nana was with me. I didn't need anyone else or feel some deep-seated need for the family that I knew was out there. Now I was alone and it mattered that I had a family in the world.
My young parents were killed while I was an infant. I was told my mother was like my Nana and me— a gifted and powerful healer. I don't know the story behind her and my father's deaths— Nana only said it was a horrible accident. She was the only family I knew. The one who raised me with love and affection— the one always there and now she was gone.
If only I was in Kentucky. In my opinion, the late vision was my failure, the result of a lack of power, an inadequacy. If I was stronger, maybe I would have them sooner. They are the bane of my existence. I never know when one will appear or what to do about it.
When someone close to my heart is in an extreme state of emotional anxiety, like pain, despair, even death— I can see them and what they are doing, wherever they are. Unfortunately, the visions come as they occur— often too late to help. Imagine the pain and helplessness of watching someone you love suffer and not help them? Welcome to my world. Nana told me as I get older and learned to control my power, opening myself to the sight, the visions would happen ahead of time.
That's never happened so at present, I was in my bedroom. My roommate, Celia, was asleep in her room down the hall. The vision struck, unexpected and unpredictable as always, with nothing I could do to stop Nana's death. Violent anger and underlying despair swept over me.
Unaware of the impending tragedy, I'd been asleep for only forty-five minutes after studying late for an Organic Chemistry exam. It's my senior elective, not one that most people choose, but as a healer I find the chemical properties of plants fascinating in my modern approach to spelling. The horrific vision eradicated thoughts of exams or senior electives and cultivated in me a fierce need to kill. I wanted to destroy Nana's killer and now I knew who it was.
Byron Malone, the Blue Springs town bully and general thug, like his father and his father before. He murdered the one person that I loved more than anyone else in the world— my rock, my guidepost, my beloved grandmother. He, deliberately, ran over one of the gentlest, purest souls in the world. I imagined he felt no remorse as he bounced his heap of shit over the delicate bones of my loving Nana.
I saw it all again as I pictured Nana walking, as she routinely did, under the light of the moon. Like me, she was magically talented— a witch, for lack of a better term of description— although the word in no way encompassed Nana and her abilities. It wasn't uncommon that she collected herbs, enjoyed the bounty of nature and garnered power from the moon goddess in the wee hours of the morning. Many plants are harvested better in the moonlight during the witching hour.
I noticed Byron as he sat in his truck and downed Budweiser after Budweiser, bolstering his nerve, while he waited for her to appear. He'd parked his rusted pickup after picking up McDonald's and beer and then lingered in the cab. He drank and threw crumpled cans on the floorboard and worked himself into an excited state, anticipating the evil deed he was about to enact.
I closed my eyes and replayed the vision, analyzing each moment. Surprised at the level of control and insight that was revealed, I frowned, but stayed linked to the revelation. The connection between us was frighteningly strong. I hated the sensation, but I needed to know everything I could about the situation so I gave in and felt myself fade as I fell into Byron's mind.
Byron finished another beer and belched when he smashed the can between his meaty palms. Tossing the flattened aluminum on the floor with the others, he popped the top on his twelfth for the evening. He ran the back of his hand over his mouth, wiping the beer and sweat from his upper lip.
“Where is the bitch?” he muttered. “He said she wou
ld be here.” He glanced in the rearview mirror from his nook in the tree line and saw her approach, walking with her staff— her silver hair shining. She was dressed in the shimmering silky clothing that she wore. As always, he was struck by her presence. Awe and a twinge of fear did nothing to curb the hatred he held for her. In fact, his emotions were more volatile and unstable because they were so conflicting.
The first time he met her was after his dad beat his mom, giving her cracked ribs, broken fingers, a broken nose and blackened eyes. He was five. His mom, barely able to walk, didn't have money, or perhaps more accurately, knew his father wouldn't pay for a doctor visit, so she went to Nana's house on the mountaintop for help. He and his younger sister went with her. He was amazed by the strong-willed, competent woman called Nana.
Byron's father drilled into him, at an early age, his vicious nature. Might makes right was his mantra. He taught Byron to use force rather than how to work with others or contribute to the community. Following in his father's footsteps, Byron treated his mother and sister with the same disrespect. His father believed women were born to serve and if they didn't, then a man's job was to physically put her in her place.
But Nana, well, she was a beautiful, powerful woman— the opposite of everything a woman was meant to be, according to his father. Byron halfway loved her then, but his father soon had him seeing the truth about her. She was a family-wrecker and didn't know her rightful place. His dad said she would turn his mom against them both and he was right— that is exactly what happened.
By the time he was seven, Byron delighted in bullying other kids and frequently tortured animals. When he was ten, he killed his neighbor's kitten, breaking its neck. He felt powerful and enjoyed the little girl's tears as she watched, shocked and terrified. He progressively became more dangerous and unstable as the years went by. He saw his mother look at him with disgust in her eyes and he knew it was the work of Nana. His dad was right, she'd turned his mother against him.
Byron was fifteen when his dad beat his mother to death in a whiskey-induced rage. He was saddened by the violence done to his mother, but the thought never crossed his mind that his father was wrong. Why couldn't she just do what he said? He was almost even angry that she caused the fight. He was confused about it all and felt lost and then three days later his father died of a heart attack.
The hot sun beamed down on his head while he stared numbly at his father's coffin. His cousin, Scottie Jo, leaned over and whispered spitefully that the whole town said Nana killed his father for what his ol’ man did to his mom. It made perfect sense to him. Everyone knew she could do magic.
Confusion and sadness rapidly spiraled into hatred at Nana for his parents’ deaths. She was the reason they were dead and he despised her with every fiber of his being. If his mom never went to Nana's house, she would still be the same and they would still be alive.
Nana filled his mother's head with stupid thinking. It was all her fault. He wanted to kill her in that moment more than he could ever remember wanting anything, but after the funeral, he and his sister left Blue Springs to live with his aunt in the next county. Now, years later, he was ready for revenge and this time, he wasn't alone.
Finally Nana's shimmering form passed by. Byron watched her gracefully stride up the winding mountain road. Once she disappeared around the switchback, he started the truck and, with no lights on, sped up the mountain— gravel flying wildly. He timed his approach to trap her on the narrow mountain road. One side was a cliff face and the other, a sheer drop off, leaving no room for her to maneuver an escape. He figured killing her this way wouldn't leave any evidence. It was the perfect murder, he assured himself.
He rounded the gravel road, expecting to see her walking by the cliff face. To his amazement, she stood directly in his path and faced his truck. Her arms were thrown wide with her staff raised high in one hand. Moonlight bathed her face. The most incredible thing he noticed in that split second before his truck struck her was the peaceful smile on her face. She knew, he realized. She knew...
In a moment of shock, he steered the truck away from her. Nana's obvious knowledge of his presence and plan thoroughly unsettled his desire to kill her, but in a strange, almost intentional quirk of fate, the truck corrected itself like an unseen hand pulled it back on its original path and hit Nana head-on.
I regained my senses and the connection between Byron and me diminished as I watched the truck plow into Nana's body. Byron was so spooked that he slammed the truck straight into the unrelenting cliff face. He smacked his forehead on the steering wheel and passed out immediately while the horn blared in the night. Before unconsciousness settled over him, he mumbled, “Oh well, I killed her after all.”
The mountains are a vast network of coves, hollows, ridges and caves and on a mountaintop, sound travels well. Within thirty minutes, the Blue Springs police department sent a cruiser up to check out the obnoxious noise. The officer called for emergency personnel, but it was too late, my beloved Nana passed on and a disoriented, belligerent Byron was arrested. As he was shoved into the cruiser, I heard the offending, unforgivable words, “So what? She's jus some ol’ woman?” I couldn't imagine any other end for Byron, but death...
Chapter One
I unlocked the door and entered the home I missed for four years. It was a struggle to breathe around the suffocating knot lodged in my throat. I gazed around, sadly taking in the familiar knickknacks and antiquities that characterized my grandmother's spacious cabin. Each object brought to mind affectionate memories of a happier, carefree time.
Running my fingers over the back of the Victorian sofa, I watched dust motes lazily float in a shaft of sunlight that streamed through the windows. The tranquil smell of lavender hovered in the air, like Nana would walk in at any time. My fingers gripped the wooden scrolls on back of the sofa and my knuckles turned white with pressure. I breathed deep the fragrant air, attempting to restrain my emotions.
I pictured Nana in my mind. Her vibrant silver hair braided down her back. The matching silk tunic and pants that she preferred, claiming they were the most comfortable attire for working, spelling or sleeping. When she wasn't barefoot, leather Birkenstocks graced her feet along with flaming red toenail polish. Sometimes the color varied, but she always used a striking color. Nana was anything but subtle or bland. She was a slim, attractive woman, at 5'4", but she portrayed a figure larger than life and far more powerful than her frame belied.
My eyes filled when I saw the red dishtowel hanging on the stove. I crocheted it for Nana in home economics class. She worked in the kitchen with it draped over her shoulder as she canned vegetables and made preserves.
A sob threatened to break free and I nearly gave in to the overwhelming desire to collapse on the floor in despair. Not yet, I thought with clenched teeth. I took a deep breath and straightened my spine, blinking rapidly to fight back the tears. I would not break down with him here. Alex, the man I tried so hard to forget while I was in California. I breathed again, noting his clean, masculine scent in the midst of my grandmother's lingering herb aromas.
“I'm sorry, Keeley. Nana will be missed by everyone.” His gravelly voice spurred a shiver that slithered down my back. It never failed. His presence reacted like a shockwave through my body. My scalp tightened and my fingers tingled. Bemused, I noted that nothing changed. No, in fact, lucky for me my reaction to him felt even stronger. Not that I would let him know— once down that road was enough.
“Thank you.” I replied roughly, still refusing to glance his way. If I did, the slim hold on my composure would be lost and the last place I wanted to find comfort was in his well-muscled arms. In fact, I managed to make most of the trip from the airport without looking at him or talking to him except for the barest of greetings.
It was a blow to see him waiting at baggage claim, dominating the room with his presence. He leaned against a column in the center of the room with his arms crossed and one booted foot propped up, bent at the knee. He wore faded
jeans and a dark blue, nearly black, tee shirt. His dark, handsome features screamed danger and he exuded a sex appeal that made women want him at any cost. He was a man that other men were wary of, but women gravitated to despite the consequences. I knew from experience.
His stance implied ease, but I noticed his awareness. Nothing in the room escaped his notice, especially not me. He watched every step I took with narrowed eyes. His mouthwatering body and sexy face stirred my blood and made me want what wasn't mine to have— what would never be mine. Seeing him was just another shock after the devastating one I already faced. I told myself I went with him simply so I didn't have to pay for a rental car.
Now I regretted not getting the rental. His hand settled softly on my shoulder. His warm breath on my nape sent chills down my back. I swallowed at the shivers his touch invoked and shrugged off his hand, ignoring my tingling body. I stopped next to the mahogany dining room table and dropped my bags on the floor with a loud thump. Celia graciously offered to ship the rest of my belongings in the next few days.
“Thanks for the ride Alex. I was glad I didn't have to rent a car, but now I have Nana's so I won't need a ride anymore.” I faced him and hoped he would catch the dismissal in my voice and go. I needed to grieve. And I needed to do that alone because I too easily imagined falling to my knees and begging him to make me forget— and that would be a bad move.
I met his gaze and felt a pang deep in my gut. His steely golden eyes, wolf eyes I thought, radiated a frightening intensity and heat that was devastating to my raw senses. Sensation coursed through my body and my nipples hardened. Great. My gaze slid away from his and I frowned at my weakness.
I felt his frustration at my evasion. Despite the fact that my shields were securely in place, as always, they didn't keep his anger and desire masked. I'm empathic and I learned at an early age to use the mental walls to block out the unending barrage of those I am in proximity of— everyone but Alex that is. I simply can't block him out. There was a connection made with him four years ago that I haven't been able to sever.
