Curse It (A Peg Darrow Novel Book 1), page 19
He shrugged out of his suit jacket. "What's hard to take in? You used to feel pain during a healing, now you don't have to."
"If you suddenly found out that part of your history was different then what you had been told, and that it would have a direct influence on your life that you hadn't expected, you would be put off too."
Deval ignored my complaint and walked over to the fridge, opening it and taking out a Perrier. "You're being melancholy, Peg. All of the changes have been to your benefit. You have your own goblin plane. You can use it as a magical escape hatch, put whatever you like down there, though it pains me to think of you using it as storage, when you could have rented a space at a storage facility for quite a bit less." He shook his head seeming to want to rid himself of the thought of his million-dollar safe being turned into some sort of secondary storage.
"I should be grateful that I no longer have to worry about where to store the Christmas tree next year?" I asked, deadpan.
"And that the next time you are seriously injured, you can have a goblin put you under," he added helpfully.
"Great, so call you? Was being my personal magical anesthesiologist part of your plan?"
"I said any goblin."
"You’re the only one I know."
"What about Lola's parents?"
"They dropped her off at my house. I barely know them."
He threw hands up in the air. "Fine, if you are seriously injured, feel free to call me, and I will come, if I'm available."
"Wonderful," sarcasm dripped from my words. It didn't really matter I survived being healed by a witch while unconscious. He was trying to sell me on a lifestyle change I had no control over. I wasn’t buying. "I need to head home and get working. Any chance Cheddar could spend the night again?"
His eyebrow quirked. "Personal anesthesiologist and pet sitter?"
"He’s a cat. Which means no work other than pouring food into a bowl twice a day. I'm worried if I take him home, my mysterious attacker will go after him."
"Take him to Lola's."
"This is going to sound paranoid, but I can't see my attacker. I'm worried he'll follow me to Lola's."
"He didn't follow us here."
"How can you be sure? He was invisible, and I wasn't conscious to make sure no missing auras were following us."
"Fine, I will have my assistant procure a litter box."
"I didn't realize you had an assistant," I teased. Of course the prince had an assistant. He probably employed a whole team of them, because I seriously doubted that he had done my laundry.
"Who do you think stocked the fridge for you?"
"I assumed you would have food in your home."
"This is not my home."
Huh? "Whose is it then?" I gave the living room and kitchen a more studious appraisal than before.
"It is a safe house for the royal family. We do not bring witches into our homes lightly."
"I don't get access to your super-secret club house? Here you said I'd get all the perks."
He looked at me speculatively. "Perhaps one day you will."
15
My home no longer felt like a sanctuary. Oddly enough, what did feel like a sanctuary was my goblin plane. Two days ago, I’d thought it would be the death of me. Today it felt like a safe, no pun intended, albeit cold, inviting place. I debated the need to come home, but knew it was like the old saying about getting back on the horse. I needed to reclaim my home. Oh, and I left the blood box there. I needed to put more power into it, because even though my gut and the evidence led me to believe that the murderer was the missing T.A., I had no idea how to find an invisible man. The blood box was my next best lead.
As I walked to my front door, my skin went clammy and the warning signs of nervous sweat broke out. I needed to calm down because nervous sweat smelled awful, and I didn’t have time for a shower plus the scene from Psycho came to mind. If I was this apprehensive about walking to my front door, the thought of being caught unaware, naked in a shower, was too much to contemplate. Taking a deep breath, I reached for my power and my stomach clenched. My reserves were gone. I shouldn’t have been surprised, I’d undergone a massive healing according to Deval. Great. The energy I got from the goblin plane had become a little too comfortable and made me sloppy, until I started to count on it.
Well, who wouldn't? I used a lot of what little power I currently had at my disposal and scanned my house, looking for nothing. What I found was a whole lot of something. My fear from the night before left an aura on the house. Only one way to fix that. I marched up to my front door with more confidence. My scan indicated no one was lurking inside, except for a taste of last night’s fear. Seeing a piece of white paper in between the door and frame, my confidence faltered. Please be a passive aggressive note from a neighbor. No such luck.
Nice disappearing act, witch bitch,
But that's really more my style.
I'll be seeing you,
But you won't be seeing me.
Good thing he hadn't gone into English Literature academia. His poetry left a lot to be desired. On the other hand, one of the first things I learned in English class was to identify the purpose of writing. His purpose was to scare me, and it worked. I looked around before sniffing myself. Sure enough, I reeked of nervous sweat.
Taking the note, I checked my wards and walked inside. My first instinct was to burn it, but I didn't think Pammy would be pleased if I decided to destroy evidence. I set it down on the coffee table and went to retrieve what I’d come for. I went to my closet and was pleased to find the box still there. Pulling it out of the back of the closet, I examined it, reaching out with my small store of magic. While Violet’s essence was still dominant, I could feel mine rising underneath. I was making headway with the box. I didn't have the magic available to push into the box, which was my original plan.
A thought nudged. Duh, I needed to take the box into the goblin plane. My heart gave a little patter of agreement. Damn, I did feel unsafe in my own home. Well, I'd feel better with my batteries charged even if the plane was becoming a crutch. The jeans, thin T-shirt and flip-flops in my duffel bag weren’t going to cut it. The plane no longer seemed to be inadvertently trying to kill me, but some hardy work boots with pairs of socks and a thick sweatshirt were better choices.
After changing, I used the last of my magical reserve to scan my house one more time. Still nothing as in no “nothing,” I hoped it would be the same when I exited later. Opening the safe, I stepped in and the stairs formed at my will. With less trepidation than before, I went down, closing the lid behind me. I didn't think the safe would let in any Larry, Moe or Curly, but I didn’t want to leave the lid open in invitation.
I descended into the plane, every step bringing a little more relief from the fear. I needed to name the plane because I was already sick of calling it “my plane.” I sounded like I owned a private jet or read too many science fiction novels. If I had a blog, I could put up a Name My Plane Contest! Deval probably wouldn't like it, and I didn’t have time to devote to a blog. Besides, only my mother would read it.
My feet hit the sandy gravel, and I couldn’t help but think the air felt, dare I say, warm? I remembered that Deval mentioned the plane was sentient and would try and adjust for me. Perhaps he could create a lecture series for me: So You’re Part Goblin? Life Tips and Lessons from Prince Dev. Lecture series made me suddenly think of my attacker, and I let out an involuntary shiver. Pushing the thought from my mind, I walked over to the flat rock I’d begun to think of as my throne, again taking a cross-legged position on it.
I shifted, settling the box on my lap and reached for my magic. It roared through me, the plane boosting what I already had. I poured my magic into the box, hoping to spend five minutes inundating it before getting back to hunting down Grant. At two minutes, my eyes widened when the thorn turned green and made a little click as if giving me the go ahead. Without thinking too much, I pricked my finger on the thorn. This time, a glowing pattern emerged on the box and a second distinct click sounded as the wood folded back on itself leaving the box open before me.
Inside laid a simple journal. I was not sure what I’d expected, but a journal felt a little anti-climactic. Nevertheless, I snatched it out, paranoid the Blood Box would realize its mistake and snap shut. Setting it to the side, I held up the now empty box. I pondered the relative ease with which the task had been accomplished. Did the planes act like magical amplifiers for everyone? I didn't think Lola would volunteer to be my guinea pig, even if her family invested in a separate safe for her.
Placing the empty box aside, I lifted the journal and opened it. I flipped though the pages noting that she’d started writing it in her college years. I flipped to the final page and saw the date was two days prior to her death. I inhaled sharply. Temptation gnawed to read the final entry straight away, but my elementary school librarian taught me no good came from reading the end without getting the whole story, so I started at the beginning.
The first bit of the journal carried no surprises; in fact much of the journal reaffirmed what I already suspected. Maybe I wasn’t as bad at this Fortune thing as I feared. Violet was a sporadic journal writer at best.
Mom was so worried when I moved three hours away. “Don’t trust humans,” she warned me over and over again. My best friend Ivy is human, so I don’t understand what her deal is. Jessica is introducing me to everyone, and we’re having the best time. We even manage to study a bit. Sometimes I worry that people like me because I’m a novelty. They’ve never hung out with a witch before, but I think I REALLY fit in!
She continued in that vein for a few entries even proclaiming that Jessica was her new best friend. I rolled my eyes at that one. Just like Jessica and Ronnie had said there were quite a few boys mentioned, Violet being a typical college girl, letting loose. After the revolving boy period, there was a lull in the journal. When it picked back up, Violet went from a happy carefree girl, to one who felt completely ostracized.
I don’t think I can handle this. Everything my mom said was right. I have no friends. I can’t go anywhere without being tormented. They’ve put things, horrible things outside my door. I started crying when I saw the pile of wood and pictures of burning witches.
Everyone on my floor stood outside their doors and watched me crying. They laughed at me. I know it’s weak, but I can’t take this. I would be better off if I wasn’t here. I should drop out…If this is what the world is really like I’m not sure I even want to keep trying.
My chest tightened. I had never had it that bad, but I knew discrimination happened all the time. Tears pricked at my eyes just picturing the pain and humiliation.
Even worse, she thought she found a brief haven in her T.A., who told her everyone else was being ridiculous, and that it was a wonderful thing to be a witch. Once again she fell for the "you're different and therefore interesting" crap. It was painful to read because it was an exact repetition of her previous experience. Right after he got her into bed, he callously told her he had always wanted to fuck a witch but couldn't date students, let alone freaks.
He called me a “witch bitch.”
He still really loved that phrase. Violet’s pain was evident in the tearstains dotting the journal, the heartbreak and fury etched in the words. The whole shitty situation set Violet up to view meeting a vampire as a good thing. I could almost understand.
I met Fane last night. Yes, the Fane, world famous vampire king! Every warning I ever heard was a lie. I can look him straight in the eye and nothing. I mean other than lust. He is the most handsome man I have ever met. Even better, he loves that I’m a witch. He loves that he can’t turn me into a love-sick puppy. Why did I even try with humans?
He found her when she was at her most vulnerable. If her classmates found her being a witch novel, I could only imagine Fane thought of his new glamour-resistant pet. His attention meant Violet’s suicidal entries stopped. This was the only positive side effect of their “friendship.”
He encouraged her to bring some of her old tormentors for dinner and even to curse her old TA. Thankfully no one was killed, but she enjoyed watching her tormentors become the tormented, even if they didn't remember it the next day. It was a private pleasure for her when she saw them at school. She mentioned how she always wore a secret smile on her face. Picturing that smile, I shivered. The tears that previously stung at my eyes dried up.
The more sinister entries continued until Violet’s mother became ill. Her mother didn’t approve of her new associations. To keep the peace, Violet managed to make a clean break. Apparently Fane was okay with it, because he had a new witch to play with. I had no doubt if Violet hadn't returned with a business proposition, Fane would have eventually tracked her down. Vampires didn't let their toys go without breaking them first.
I went from reading every detail to skimming. I wanted to know which curse Violet used. It wasn't until an entry near the end that my heart tightened. What was it that Deval said earlier today? Magic evolved? And that was exactly what happened to Violet's curse.
I don't know what to do. How can I protect myself from someone I can't see? The curse shouldn't have made him invisible to me, and it didn’t initially. When Fane told me to curse him so he was invisible to women, I thought it was inspired. Since Fane is a narcissist, I thought he’d know the best way to punish another narcissist.
What I hadn't planned on, was the ass not being willing to apologize. There's no doubt he treated me horribly, so if he wanted to be free from the curse why not apologize? How was I to know his father raised him to believe that all witches were, to quote the ass, “Satan's whores”? Regardless, I can't see him anymore.
I think he's been in my house. How do I protect myself from someone I can't see? My magic can't even sense him. I only know he's there because of his notes. Even worse, I think he's been talking to Imogen. She thinks he's the ghost of her dead fiancé. I need to go see Pammy. I can't live like this. I should send Imogen away, but what if he follows and hurts her?
The journal ended there. Maybe I should have skipped to the end after all. I shivered and stared down at my fingers grasping the journal. They were white, bloodless. Much like Violet, I wondered how to stop someone I couldn't see. Thoughts tumbled and twirled, until it hit me. The curse’s focus was on women. The million dollar question now, was could men see him? I amended my to-do list. First, find Imogen, second, talk to Pammy, and gods help me third, I needed another conversation with Fane.
I emerged from my plane feeling like I had gotten twelve hours of sleep and drank a Big Gulp-sized coffee. Which was good because I wasn't sure if I'd be sleeping until I found Grant and put him in the early grave he deserved. Where some might think Violet deserved her grisly end, having cursed Grant first, I saw it differently. She’d offered to lift the curse. He was the stubborn ass who’d refused.
What humans didn't realize was the initial curse placed by Bridget Bishop on witches centuries ago, was two-fold. She meant to punish the humans as well but left a loophole. In order to lift a curse, the human needed to apologize to the witch who set the curse in place. Sometimes it was fair, but too many times it was like having rape victims apologize to their attacker for brutalizing them. If humans didn’t still fear us, we would see a resurgence of The Trials. So far our luck was holding. Though if you watched the news, you might expect that to be inevitable.
At the top of the stairs, I used my newly recharged magical batteries to scan my house, happy to find no sign of “nothing.” I wasn’t comfortable showering in my house just yet, but a new shirt was necessary. I changed quickly, not enjoying the momentary blindness caused by taking the shirt off and putting a new one on over my head. New shirt in place, I grabbed my purse and left.
I plugged my phone into my car charger, the battery dangerously low after not being charged since yesterday. With the journal tucked safely in my purse, I was on my way to see Pammy. I called Ivy, who didn't answer. I left a message hoping she was screening her calls and not outright avoiding me. Pulling into Bump and Grind, I saw Pammy's old white Ford Taurus was not sitting in its usual spot. Please don’t be off courting another fortune over tequila. Maybe one of her groupies was chauffeuring her around. I went in, and Pammy and her court were nowhere to be seen. It was kind of surreal because I had never come here in the afternoon without finding her here. A childish part of me was tempted to go claim her seat on the couch, but I didn’t really have time to give into stupid impulses. I did however have time to get coffee. I ordered an extra-large iced mocha to go and went back out to my Jeep, drink in hand.
In the parking lot, I called Pammy. She answered on the first ring. "What's going on, sugar?"
"I'm at Bump and Grind. Where are you?"
"Oh good lord, can't a woman take one day to have a nice afternoon at home without every witch and wannabe in the state calling her asking where the hell she is?"
"Sure," I agreed. "You've just sort of set a precedent."
Pammy grunted in the phone.
"I know who the killer is. Catching him, however, may be a problem."
"It’s always hard to get the bastards, but you're half way there. Come to my house."
Pulling the phone away, I stared at it for a moment. I had never been to Pammy's house. Putting the phone back to my ear, I scrambled to find a pen and an old receipt to write down the address she rambled off. It was only a few miles away, and I made good time. Parking on the street in front of the newer stuccoed home with desert landscaping, I could see Pammy standing out front in a voluminous black caftan, her braids artfully secured in a head scarf, waiting. She didn't invite me inside, but rather led me around back to a patio. Thank gods the chill that had invaded my body for days had all but dissipated because there was a bit of nip in the November air.
