Her Loving Husband's Curse

by Meredith Allard

  James rubbed his eyes beneath his glasses. “It’ll have to be a night class,” he said.

  “What could be more fitting?”

  James shrugged. He wasn’t concerned that Goodwin suspected anything, but he was unnerved that he was the one asked to teach the class. Teaching about vampires? It was too ridiculous. But he couldn’t think of an excuse, a good excuse, in the moment he had to come up with one, so he nodded.

  “Excellent,” said Goodwin. “I knew you could be reasonable when you wanted to be.” He walked through the open door, then turned back, his hand on the doorknob. “It’ll be fine. Just start with the early stuff like Carmilla, Varney the Vampire, and Dracula, pull in some Anne Rice, throw in that sparkly kid and another one or two of the newer books and you’ve got a class. You can send me the course syllabus next week.”

  While James waited for Goodwin’s shuffling footsteps to disappear, he stared out the window, trying to find the humor in the situation, Professor Wentworth teaching a vampire literature class. He looked at the time on his computer screen, grabbed his book bag, and locked his door. As he headed to the elevator, he decided he was right to agree to teach the class. He didn’t want to make himself conspicuous by being too difficult. He thought of the line from Hamlet, Act 3 Scene 2, the play his seminar was discussing that night. “The lady doth protest too much, methinks,” James said aloud. Gertrude was complaining about the queen in the play within the play meant to represent her own mean deeds. James was complaining about the vampire books when he was afraid others would see…

  “I think the vampire class is a great idea.”

  “Timothy…” James looked around to be sure no one else was close enough to hear, then shook his head at the dark-haired boy. “First of all,” he whispered, “you should know better than sneaking up on me, and second of all, it’s rude to listen in on conversations behind closed doors.”

  “I didn’t sneak up on you since I was here first, and I can’t turn my hearing off, and neither can you.”

  “That’s true enough,” James said. “I’m surprised you think the class is a good idea. Last year you were ready to tear Levon’s throat when he said how he didn’t like vampires.”

  “That’s why this class is a good thing. It’ll show people how everything they know about vampires is based on myths and legends.”

  “The class isn’t about outing vampires. Those myths and legends are the basis for most vampire literature.”

  “I know.” The elevator opened and they stepped inside. Timothy looked thoughtfully at the doors as they closed, and James could see some idea forming within the boy.

  “That’s it!” Timothy shouted. His black eyes widened, the smile brightening his young-looking features, and he grabbed James’s arm, nearly pressing James into the steel wall in his enthusiasm. “People should know the truth about vampires!”

  James shook his head. “We’ve had this conversation before. People won’t understand…”

  “Listen! I’ll write a book about what it’s really like to be a vampire! I’ll write about my life, about the car accident where my parents died, how the vampire man bit me, how I was turned, how you and Howard found me and helped me. What a great part of the story, how this werewolf adopted a vampire boy! I’ll write about how it’s hard because I’m eighteen but still look like a kid.”

  “Timothy…”

  “No, wait—here’s the thing: I’ll say it’s a novel. I’ll pretend it’s fiction. I’ll make up names and everything. This way I can be honest about my life but not have to worry about being discovered. But at least there’ll be a true vampire story out there, something based on reality instead of that Dracula garbage.”

  The elevator door opened and Timothy skipped away, through the library to the campus outside. James shook his head, thinking it might not be such a bad idea. At least Timothy didn’t look depressed anymore.

  Sarah stood on the corner of Lafayette, staring at the skeleton-like scaffold of the new library building. The night lights were on, and workers with their hardhats in their hands wandered past. The cranes stopped. The only movement came from the students moving to and from their classes.

  “Hey, Mrs. Doctor Wentworth.”

  Sarah saw Jennifer standing a few feet away in the parking lot. She walked around the orange construction cones to hug her friend.

  “How are you feeling?” Sarah asked. “The library isn’t the same without you.”

  “I’m better. I’m back at work tonight.”

  “I thought you were playing hooky. I thought maybe you ran off with Chandresh.”

  Jennifer smiled coyly. “I really was sick, but,” she giggled like a teenage girl, “I did see Chandresh.”

  “Did you?”

  “He came over to take care of me. He made me a potion his father used to make to cure people when they had influenza.”

  “Did it work?”

  “It’s not the same formula I use for healing, but I’m better. See?”

  Jennifer spun around like a fashion model on a runway to show how healthy she felt. She looked at the skeleton frame and nodded. “Isn’t it beautiful? We’re going to have a library to beat even Harvard.”

  “It’ll be a lot of work moving in,” Sarah said.

  Jennifer smiled. “We can have your strong husband and my strong boyfriend help.”

  Sarah looked toward Meier Hall, wondering if James had arrived. They walked to the U-shaped building and looked through the first-floor window of his Monday night classroom, but it was dark inside. “He must be in his office,” she said.

  “Let’s go.”

  They walked past the construction zone, down College Drive, past Rainbow Terrace and the Marsh Conference Center to the Central Campus. The trees were peeping well, the leaves displaying all of autumn’s beauty like impressionist brushstrokes of cadmium orange, crimson red, and yellow ochre.

  “It’s October already,” Sarah said. “It seems like just yesterday when I saw James at the Witches Lair last Halloween. Time goes too fast.”

  Jennifer sighed. “I think last year was the first good Halloween James ever had. He’s usually pretty grumpy about it.”

  “He told me he ran into Kenneth Hempel at your mom’s shop that night.”

  Jennifer stopped. “What made you think of Hempel?” she asked.

  “I was remembering last year. Why?”

  “Just wondering.”

  Jennifer looked at Sarah as though she were deciding something. She shook her head, so whatever she was thinking, her answer was no. They arrived at the library, but there was still no sign of James. It’s well dark now, Sarah thought. He should be here.

  “Maybe he’s running late,” Jennifer said.

  “James doesn’t run late.”

  “Maybe he’s in his office.”

  Sarah shrugged. “I’m not worried. It’s not like there’s a vampire hunter after him.”

  She meant it as a joke. It still made her smile to remember how James had outwitted Kenneth Hempel. He liked to remind her it was her idea to keep him out of the sunlight as much as possible, but that didn’t matter, she said. He was the one who had to go in the sunlight when it was too painful for his eyes, and he was the one who had to convince Hempel he wasn’t what he was.

  Sarah put her bag into her desk drawer and hung her sweater over her chair. She looked out the window, reminded that it was dark, and she wondered where her husband was. On the nights when she worked, Sarah arrived earlier than James, but he would come to the library as soon as the sun dropped, kiss her, go up to his office, to his classes, and back to the library to kiss her again before they went home. She kept busy, filled out book orders, answered questions, researched information. She looked into the returns bin and saw it overflowing. She scanned bar codes and found a wheelie cart.

  “You can get a student aide to do that, you know,” said Jennifer.

  “I don’t mind.”

  Sarah wheeled the cart into the stacks and reshelved the b
ooks. She remembered her first nights in that library, how odd she found Jennifer’s intuition, and how beautiful yet strange she found James. She remembered how she came to recognize her attachment to him, and how she began to search for him, wait for him, light up fluorescent whenever he appeared. And then, on cue, as if he knew her thoughts, there he was, James, coming out of the elevator, and she felt the same joy at the sight of him. He kissed her lips.

  “Sorry I’m late,” he said. “I was detained.”

  “By a vampire hunter?”

  James was always pale, a dead-blue undertone to his ghost-white complexion, but Sarah watched him go slate-gray.

  “I was just joking, James.”

  He smiled and kissed her forehead.

  “No hunters here tonight,” he said. “I’ll talk to you after class. Wait until you hear what Timothy’s up to.”

  He kissed her lips again, then left as quickly as he could without drawing attention to himself. Sarah watched the way he went, out the door, across the campus, toward Meier Hall. She turned to Jennifer, who was still intent on her work.

  “Are you sure you want to date a vampire?” Sarah asked. “They can be difficult.”

  “I’ve known James my whole life. I know all too well how difficult they can be.” Jennifer looked at Sarah. “Is he still saying no about the baby?”

  “We haven’t talked about it since the exhibition. I don’t know…” She waved her hands around her, her fingers out, grasping for the words she needed to make herself understood. “Maybe James is right. Maybe there would be too many problems with James being…”

  “Nocturnal?”

  Sarah smiled. “Yes. Nocturnal.”

  “Jocelyn and Steve are doing great with Billy.”

  “I know.”

  Jennifer directed a student aide to replace some books abandoned on a study table. She walked close to Sarah and said, “I think you should do another reading with my mother.”

  “I don’t know, Jennifer.”

  “Sarah, my mother is one of the most powerful witches alive today. Witches from all over the world visit her seeking her advice. Martha moved here from Alabama for the sole purpose of working with her. If you have questions, about the baby, about anything else, my mother can help you. She can find whatever you need to know.”

  Sarah laughed. “Olivia is one of the most powerful witches in the world?”

  “Yes, Olivia. She’s very modest about her abilities.”

  “She must be. I had no idea.”

  “I don’t think even James knows the extent of her powers, and he’s known my family since 1693. She should be the high priestess of our coven, but she passed the title onto me last year because she had been high priestess for over twenty years and she thought it was time for me to take over. Trust me, Sarah, you wouldn’t believe the strength of her magical gifts. She helped you before, and she’ll help you again.”

  Sarah remembered her psychic reading at the Witches Lair when she first arrived in Salem. At the time, she dismissed Olivia’s prophecy as ridiculous—if frightening—nonsense, though every word of it turned out to be true. If Sarah decided to get a new reading, at least this time she’d know what to expect: Olivia speaks in riddles when she goes into a trance. But maybe Olivia could help her make sense of this on and off need for a child that came light—dark—light again like electricity from a switch. Sarah felt her heart telling her something, but what? If she was supposed to adopt a child, if there was a baby out there meant to be hers, then she would welcome it with open arms. If it was meant that she should have a child, then it was meant that James should too. They were a pair. A pair of what? James liked to joke. Just a pair, she’d say. Like matching socks? Yes, she’d answer. We’re a pair of matching socks. We go everywhere and do everything together, then spend our nights knotted up.

  “You’re softening,” Jennifer said. “Say yes already so I can tell Mom. She’s been dying to get her hands on you since the exhibition.”

  “I’ll think about it,” Sarah said.

  Jennifer turned back to the computer, logging into the database. “So when will James and Chandresh tell us about their time on the Trail of Tears together?”

  “They were on the Trail of Tears together?”

  “I don’t know much about it. James certainly never told me. When I asked Chandresh how he and James met he mentioned the Trail of Tears. James lived near Chandresh and Bhumi, his wife, and their two daughters in the Smoky Mountains, and James went with them when they walked to Oklahoma.”

  “Chandresh is married?”

  “Was married. His wife died on the trail.”

  “Jennifer…”

  Jennifer shook her head. “I know what you’re thinking so stop thinking it. I’m not worried that Bhumi’s ghost will suddenly appear and win him back. You’re a unique case, Sarah. It doesn’t happen that often.”

  “You never know, Jennifer. Reincarnations can just show up unexpectedly.”

  “Chandresh isn’t expecting Bhumi to come back, so I’m not either. He said when he said good-bye to her he meant it, and his life is now in Salem with me. He’s an amazing man, Sarah. After everything he’s been through, he’s still so strong. He’s not bitter about anything. He’s made peace with it.”

  “I understand the attraction to a strong, amazing man,” Sarah said. “So are you going to be Mrs. Mankiller soon? Going to try marriage a third time? Your mother’s been married four times, so you have to try at least two more times.” Jennifer blushed, and Sarah nudged her arm. “I see you’ve been thinking about it.”

  “We’re not engaged,” Jennifer said. “We’ve been talking, that’s all.”

  “You’re not worried about having a vampire husband with the last name Mankiller?”

  “His name was Mankiller before he became a vampire, Sarah. Mankiller was the name given to those who protected the village from invaders.”

  “He sounds like a great guy, Jen. I’m so happy for you.”

  “Thank you. Honestly, my mother wasn’t so thrilled when Chandresh and I started dating, but she’s come around.”

  “What could she have against Chandresh? She doesn’t mind vampires.”

  “She thought the reason I was dating Chandresh was because of his connection to James and…” Jennifer stopped suddenly. She shook her head, closed her eyes, her lips pulled into a tight line to prevent any further words from escaping just then. When she opened her eyes she smiled. “Chandresh has the greatest respect for James,” she said. “He’s always talking about what James taught him, what a strong role model James has been, how James helped his family after they arrived in Oklahoma. I know there’s more to the story, and I was hoping maybe we could get James and Chandresh to tell us.”

  “I haven’t been able to get any stories out of James,” Sarah said. “Whenever I ask him about his past he says another time.”

  “Be patient with him, Sarah. He spent a long time living in his memories.”

  When James came back, his class over, he stopped by the door, watching her, always intense when he looked at her. Suddenly, Sarah felt complete compassion for him. He wanted to live in the now and leave the past behind, and so did she. Whatever will be will be, she decided. As long as they were together, everything would be fine.

  CHAPTER 5

  James sat at his desk in the great room, muttering expletives at the book in his hands. He slammed the cover shut, opened it, flipped the pages, then shut it again.

  “I cannot believe this crap,” he said to the tailless black cat, who stretched on the reading chair and yawned. He held the book out. “Have you ever read trash like this?” he asked. But the cat only fell asleep again.

  He heard Sarah stirring in the bedroom and looked at the time—two in the morning. She padded into the great room, and he felt her warm hands on his shoulders. He felt human whenever she touched him.

  “It’s past your bedtime,” he said.

  “I could hear you muttering from the bedroom.” She lo
oked over his shoulder at the book in his hand. “What are you reading?”

  “Dracula.”

  “Why? You know that book makes you mad.” He told her what happened with Goodwin, and she laughed. “So you’re teaching the vampire literature class?”

  “I thought it was best to go along.”

  “Some vampires books are all right. It might be fun.”

  James shrugged. “Perhaps.”

  Sarah flipped open the cover, skimming the pages, reading the synopsis on the back. “It’s fascinating the way Stoker fits the pieces together with the newspaper articles and journals from the other characters as they hunt Count Dracula. You get everyone’s point of view of the story.”

  “Everyone’s point of view but the vampire.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “In vampire stories you get everyone else’s opinion about the vampire—what they think, what they feel, what they know. Why don’t we hear from the vampire? Why doesn’t the vampire ever have a say?”

  “Probably because no human has ever been a vampire so they don’t know how to speak like one. Besides, Anne Rice writes from the vampire’s point of view.”

  “There’s one.”

  “You still haven’t told me why you don’t like Dracula.”

  “Because it’s ridiculous. What vampire do you know can turn into a bat or scale walls like Spiderman?”

  “None?”

  “Of course none. Have you ever seen me turn into a bat or scale a wall?”

  “Never.” She held his face between her hands, her warmth calming him. “If people don’t know you exist then how can they know the truth? They have to use the myths and legends to guess what vampires might be like, and let’s face it—vampires don’t have the best reputation.”

  James nodded. She brushed his gold hair from his eyes and kissed his forehead.

  “You’ve always said people can’t know your kind exists. Isn’t it better if they don’t have it right, that they make up stories? If they knew the truth then you’d be exposed, and that can’t happen. Isn’t that what you told me?”