Love Cursed, page 3
“Because …” She flapped her hands around, the movement clearly visible inside her aura. “Because …” He knew her well enough to know she was trying desperately to think of something to tell him that wouldn’t make him a) worried; b) get angry; or c) get her into trouble with her grandmama. Given she wanted to talk to Violetta, it was obviously either a or b. Probably both.
Sighing, he said, “Jules. You know I can see your aura, right?”
She slouched and made a squished sound of frustration. “Can explanations wait until after I’ve had a shower? I’m covered in pasta sauce—”
“And blood.”
“And blood,” she groaned. “You know, it’s not fair you still have the senses of a cat even when you’re in your human form.”
“It makes up for the blindness.”
She swore under her breath and touched his arm. “I’m sorry. That was mean of me. It’s just—”
“You’re in pain.”
“Yes. And I wish you hadn’t caught me like this.”
She gestured again and he thought at first she meant covered in pasta sauce and blood, but then realised she must be standing there in only her underwear because she’d put her clothes into the washing machine. Swallowing hard against the familiar but inconvenient desire that surged through him, he said roughly, “Right. Shower and change, then explanations.”
“If you insist.”
“I do.”
“Okay. But please, promise you won’t lecture me. I already know what I did was stupid.”
He snorted. “I’ll try.”
He followed her upstairs and sat on the edge of her bed as she disappeared into the ensuite with her pyjamas. He wished now he hadn’t insisted on moving his bed to the room next door years ago. He’d been happy to be there for her when she was young, but as she grew into adulthood, it was too hard. Courtesy of the curse, she just couldn’t see him as anything other than a friend, and it was a constant ache, especially at night when he lay awake keeping watch over her as she slept.
He’d asked Violetta to make up some lore about him that said he must sleep elsewhere when his witch reached a certain age, and thankfully, Jules had swallowed it. Even so, there were times that he did stay in here with her. Especially when the nightmares made her scream and cry. Nightmares she could never remember once she woke but that he knew were memories of the last few months of Lianna’s life and death. Those nights, when he came in to hold her and stay with her to help her fall back to sleep were both the best and worst nights of his life. So close, and yet so horribly far away from what he knew they could be.
Given all that, it was absurd that sitting here now while she showered felt too intimate.
He shifted to the floor.
After ten minutes, the bathroom door opened, a cloud of steamy air billowed out into the room – he could feel the humidity of it covering him. With it came the scent of vanilla and cinnamon – and a little citrus tonight. And underneath it all, the faint smell of blood. She’d obviously been exposed to magic. But how? The magic Tamuel had used would have been shielded by the layers of rock and soil between the house and the library, so that couldn’t be it. “How badly did the magic lash you? Do you need to be bandaged up?”
“No. The cuts aren’t bad.”
“Cuts?”
She sighed and sat on the bed beside him, crossing her legs to face him. “I wasn’t asleep in bed like you thought. I lied about the headache.”
“Why?”
“I had a date.”
“What?” The pain of that statement jagged through him, but he swallowed it down. “Who? Did you go to a magic club? Is that why you were bleeding? You know this is exactly why you can’t go out with anyone in our community—”
“Whoa – you promised no lectures.”
“Sorry – it’s just … I didn’t expect you to do something like this.”
“What? Try to be happy? Try to find love?” She sighed, her aura sparking around her in agitation. “I’m lonely, Bastien. The only friends I have in my life are you and Grandmama and while I treasure both of you in my life, it’s …”
“Not enough.”
“Yes.”
Oh Gods. If she only knew he was her soulmate, the one who loved her best in the world and that she loved him; was meant for him. But he couldn’t tell her. Even thinking of it made pain stab through his head. He hid the pain and reached out for her hands, holding them gently in his even though touching her always brought with it an ache of loss – his loss, her loss – and a simmering anger he’d never been able to put aside.
Fuck Clodia and her curse. If he ever got his hands on her, he would do worse than kill her, he would ... He sighed internally. It was useless to rage about what he would do because he could do nothing – even if she wasn’t long dead, his powers were bound by the curse.
Hopefully, once Jules found the journal he and Tamuel had planted, and read what was inside, she’d remember what she needed to do to break this curse. But he couldn’t tell her any of it. All he could do was be here in whatever way she needed – and right now, she needed her friend. So, he swallowed the pain and asked, “Who is he?”
“Simon Smithson-West.”
“Smithson-West? The cleaning specialist family Violetta was going on about last week because their magic is waning?”
“Yes. His magic is particularly weak so I thought he would be safe.”
“Jules, you know better than that. No magic is safe.”
“What am I supposed to do? Go out with a human?”
“Of course not.” It was against their laws. Humans couldn’t be trusted with knowledge of their world – too many bad things had happened in the past when they became aware magical people and creatures lived among them. Not to mention the thought of her going out with anyone but him was a stab to his heart.
“So, I’m just … what? Meant to live alone forever?”
“Jules.” He pulled her forward and she tumbled against him, her arms going around him, holding tight. “I didn’t mean—”
Jules shook her head against his chest. “No. Don’t worry about it. It’s not your fault I’m an abomination.”
He stiffened. “Abomination?” He pulled away, wishing to all the Gods he could see her face because her voice was expressionless. “Who told you that? Simon?”
“He was angry—”
“That doesn’t excuse him calling you that or using his magic on you.” Of course that’s what had happened – nothing else explained the blood and pasta sauce that had been all over her. “I’m going to kill him.”
“No.” She gripped his arms as if she really thought he was about to go and follow through on his words. “He’s not worth it. Besides, he got punished enough with the backlash. It ruined his entire dining room.” She snickered. “He’ll be using his powers to clean that room for the next few weeks.”
“Good.” It wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough. But there wasn’t really anything he could do. It wasn’t like he could realistically go around to the warlock’s house to teach him a lesson – he couldn’t go anywhere without a Stevens, tied to their bloodline like he was. And Jules would hardly drive him over there so he could castrate the bastard as he deserved. Abomination! He deserved more than castration, the donkey’s arse!
“Why did he use his powers on you?” It wasn’t something a powered person would usually do without permission – certainly not on someone from their community. The ramifications of doing so had caused blood feuds between families in the past, exposing them to humans – which was why it was pretty much outlawed to use magic on anyone without permission.
Jules sighed. “We were having dinner at his house – he cooked tomato and basil pasta. I dropped some on my cream dress and he offered to use his latest cleaning spell to fix the stain.”
“He did more than offer.”
“Yes, well, it’s apparently a specialty of his and he was pretty enthusiastic and wanted to help and let the spell go before I could stop him.” She screwed her mouth to the side again. “If you think about it, it was kind of gentlemanly.”
Bastien snorted. “Even if that were true, from the sounds of it, he wasn’t gentlemanly afterwards.”
“Well, it’s kind of understandable. The backlash that destroyed his dining room threw him across the room. He was hurt and upset, even more so when I blurted out my apologies and accidentally told him about my magical allergy. He … lost his shit.”
“Jules.” He wanted to pull her back into his arms but she sat stiffly, holding herself apart – holding herself together? He could see in her aura the hurt she felt. He sidled closer and began to rub her back as she always liked, but she winced and he quickly stopped. “Sorry.”
She grabbed his hand, pulled it back towards her. “No, don’t stop. That felt nice.”
“But you’re hurt.” It must have been bad for the backlash to have caused cuts on her back too.
“I’m fine. Just paper-cuts really. They’ll heal in a few days. Just hold me until I fall asleep. Please?”
He did just that, lying down so she could cuddle into his side, and stroked her hair. He hoped she’d fall asleep well before sunrise when he’d need to leave her before the change took him over. She must have been tired because her breathing slowed within minutes, the tension easing out of her body as she fell asleep.
Soon, he’d be able to do this every night. She’d find the journal tomorrow and read it and then she’d know she was cursed, would know he was tied up in that curse too, and she’d want to break it. And even though it was cutting it close, with only thirteen days until Valentine’s Eve, he knew she could do it. Not that there was any other choice – they couldn’t have given her more warning than this or the curse could try to stop them. It had proved to be just that insidious over the years.
Thirteen days until they were both free.
Thirteen days until he could tell her everything he’d held inside for too long and share with her what had been stolen from them almost two millennia ago. For too long, Valentine’s Day had signified a happy never after for them. But this year, he was certain it would be the first day of happy ever afters from here-on out.
It had to be.
Chapter
Four
Jules yawned widely as she made her way down the stairs. She was so tired, even though she’d slept well until Bastien had left her this morning. That’s when the nightmares had come. She shuddered just thinking about them. They sucked all the life and light out of a room.
Hang on. That wasn’t a metaphor. There literally was no light around her.
Her foggy mind startled into instant alert as it registered the stygian darkness.
Her breath, a heavy pant, echoed off the grey stone walls as she tried to swallow down rising panic, caught statue-like between one step and the next.
Don’t be silly. It’s just a stupid childhood fear.
“No it’s not. No it’s not. The nightmare’s real. We’re being buried alive.”
She clutched her throat. “Stop it. Stop it. That’s not happening. It’s not real.”
“But the dark! We hate the dark.”
“Shut up. Just shut up and stop panicking and we’ll be okay.” Stupid internal voice! If it wasn’t being sarcastic and unhelpful, it was filling her with unreasoning panic.
One step at a time – that’s all she needed to reach the light switch at the bottom of the stairs.
And breathe. Breathing would be good.
She took a big breath. Then a step. Then another.
Her grandmama had obviously forgotten to turn on the lights when she came down earlier to do the magical part of her research before Jules started her hours in the library. She was usually so good about turning the lights on, even though she could use her witch lighting to light her way and didn’t need the electric lights like Jules did. Violetta must have been super pre-occupied to have forgotten.
“Use the torch on your phone.”
“I forgot to charge it last night. It’s still in my bag in the kitchen.”
“Oh, Goddess. Did the ceiling just move down a bit?”
“Shut up.”
She really needed to do something about her internal voice. Only crazy people talked to themselves as if their internal voice was a different person.
“You’re crazy to be walking into that darkness.”
She ignored it and reached out, only a little relieved to feel the cold stone under her palm. She pictured the arcs of stone and wood that made up the ceiling. How high and solid they were, how when the lights in the sconces on the walls and in the chandeliers were on, the underground space felt airy and spacious despite the crowded stacks.
Keeping her hand on the wall, she carefully made her way down into the Coven library.
She loved the library.
“When it’s lit.”
She shuddered and made herself think about the work she so loved: working with her grandmama, upholding their family’s grand tradition as keepers of the greatest works of magic in the Southern Hemisphere.
As she took the turn into the last stretch of steps, there came a rustle and whispering from the dark cavernous space below.
“What’s that? Is the roof caving in?”
She swallowed hard. “No.”
“Are we sure it’s not the ceiling caving in?”
“Absolutely. You know it’s just the family ghosts. They’re harmless.”
“That’s what you think. Ghosts are never harmless.”
“Well, they’ve never hurt me.”
Bastien chose that moment to rub against her leg. She couldn’t see him, his black fur at one with the darkness surrounding her, until he looked up, his peridot-coloured eyes a bright glow in the dark. Seeing them helped her fear retreat a little. She smiled. “I’m okay. You go and turn the kettle on for me.”
He made a meeping sound and took off, taking his night-glow eyes with him.
“That was a mistake.”
“No. I can do this.” Just two more steps to the library floor, a few paces along the wall towards the kitchen to reach the light switch and …
“Yaahhh!” She tripped over, pitching forward to land smack on something that crumpled under her weight but had sharp edges that dug into her leg and side. “What the ever-loving—”
“Julianna dear, are you okay?” Her grandmama’s voice came from deep within the stacks.
“I’m fine.”
“Sorry, I forgot to turn the lights on. Be careful of the boxes at the bottom of the steps. We had a delivery from Tomaso last night and I haven’t had a chance to move them.”
“Right. Thanks.”
“Could have had that warning 30 seconds ago!”
She pushed upright from where she’d landed on top of a box, rubbing her jeans-clad thigh where a bruise was likely blooming. Oh well, it would just add to the pinprick bruises she had all over her torso from last night.
“We promised Bastien we weren’t going to think about that idiot again.”
“Yeah, I’m trying not to.”
“Try harder. Remember that he called you an abomination and magically disabled.”
“He wasn’t wrong.”
“Coming from someone whose claim to fame is stain-removal spells … really!”
“Yeah. But … I’d so hoped to have a date for Valentine’s Day finally.”
“That won’t happen until we overcome the curse – ow!”
She winced and rubbed her forehead wondering over her internal voice’s use of the word ‘curse’. A Freudian slip? Had she subconsciously realised something her conscious hadn’t?
Nah.
There was no way she was cursed – even though it would certainly explain a thing or two about her life. But it was ridiculous. Who would bother cursing her?
Not that she wanted to be cursed. Poor Bastien went through hell twice every 24 hours because of the curse that had been placed on him by some mysterious witch many centuries ago before he’d been taken in by her long-dead ancestor. Of course, the only reason they knew he was cursed was because curses were Violetta’s research specialty. Nobody in the family had ever questioned what made Bastien turn into a cat during the day or why he was bonded to their family. He was just a family fixture. But Violetta had figured it out when she was in her teens and had worked since then trying to learn everything she could about curses to help him. So far, she’d discovered a curse could only be removed in three ways according to the lore – by the original castor; by finding a loophole within the original casting (there were often loopholes, according to Violetta); or by discovering where the spell was cast and casting a spell that was its opposite on a significant anniversary of the original casting.
Apart from that, all information about Bastien’s curse remained elusive and the curse itself made it impossible for him to talk about the details.
But if anyone could find a way, Violetta would. Jules was certain of it.
She wished she could be the one to help him. More than wished it. Every part of her ached with the need to do something to ease his torment and find a solution, but apart from research, what could she do? It wasn’t like she could help unbind the spell. Even if they found it, she would have to be a truly powerful witch to be able to unbind a curse that had lasted for centuries and she was far, far, far from that. She might be the most talented archivist and translator the Coven had known in over a century, but in truth, she was only a burden. If her grandmama hadn’t spent so much time trying to discover why Jules was allergic to magic, then maybe she would have been able to discover how to help Bastien.
She sighed. Gods, she wished she could be the one to help him like he had always helped her. He was the only one who could make her feel better about everything from the moment her parents died in the car accident. The only one who could hold her when things got too much. Of course, there was a limit to even that because he had to leave her when his transformation drew near or hurt her with the magic of it. Without him, she felt lost and alone.
She’d hoped to change that with someone like Simon who might be able to be there for her in ways Violetta and Bastien couldn’t.
