How to Break an Evil Curse

by Laura Morrison

  “Okay, now let’s go,” Dexter said.

  “I’m not leaving him here in the middle of the road. A wagon could come along and run him over.” She stood, took him by the hands, and dragged him through the muck to the side of the road, glad for the second time that night that her tunneling project had earned her some respectable muscles. He groaned a bit, but his eyes were still shut.

  “All right, now let’s go,” Dexter snapped.

  But instead of walking in the direction of the Dawdling Donkey, Julianna rushed over to the building Mortimer had just left. She knocked on the door, then pulled her hood close around her face.

  The door opened a crack and an old lady peered out at her.

  “Do you know the man who was just here?” Julianna asked without preamble.

  The lady started to shut the door, a distrustful look on her face. Of course she wasn’t going to answer a question like that from a hooded stranger knocking on her door in the middle of the night.

  Just before the door slammed in her face, Julianna said, “He was attacked in the road just now. He’s unconscious. He needs help.”

  The old lady halted the door’s progress and peered out past Julianna and into the dark street, obviously concerned.

  “Over there.” Julianna pointed toward where she’d dragged Mortimer.

  “Who are you? How do you know him?” the old lady asked, then called into the building, “Reynolds!”

  Julianna was about to respond, but Dexter said, “You’ve told her all she needs to know. Get moving.”

  He was right. She couldn’t stay and talk. Mortimer could wake up at any moment. She had to go back to the inn.

  “Move!” Dexter said again.

  Julianna began to walk away.

  “Hold on, you!” the old lady said.

  Julianna picked up the pace.

  “Girl! Stop!”

  Julianna would have broken into a run if she had had any faith that she would be able to keep her feet under her at a sprint.

  She heard the lady talking to a man, and then he called out to her too, but Julianna just kept on moving, heart hammering. She was too afraid to look behind her. “Are they following me?”

  “No,” Dexter answered. “They’re looking for your boyfriend. Oh—they found him.”

  “Good,” she breathed. “And don’t call him that. Don’t joke with me right now. I feel awful.” Just then, a wagon came into view ahead of her, and she moved to the side of the road to make room for it. It barreled past her and on into the night.

  “Why do you feel awful?”

  “I just stole from him after he’d been knocked unconscious and mugged!”

  “Kid, it’s a good thing he did get mugged, because there was no way you were going to get that box any other way. Instead of feeling guilty, feel happy you saved his life. That wagon that just went by would have run him over if you hadn’t decided to follow him.”

  This was true. She sighed. “I just hope he’ll be ok.”

  “He’ll be fine. People who mug folks know what they’re doing; thievery’s a profession like any other, and thieves know their jobs. If they want their victims dead, they just kill them, not hit them over the head,” he said as though he were pointing out the most obvious thing in the world. “If you kill someone, the authorities take it a lot more serious than if you knock someone out and take their stuff. Muggers don’t want to go to jail, so they make sure not to kill anyone.”

  “Pfft. Thievery is not a profession like any other.”

  “Is so. Granted, it shouldn’t be, and if this country was run by a king who cared about his citizens, citizens wouldn’t have to resort to such things in order to get food—”

  “There is always another way, Dexter. Hitting people over the head and stealing from them is never the answer.”

  “You don’t get to make that call,” he said. “You’ve never wanted for anything in your entire life. You don’t know what it’s like out in the real world.”

  “Don’t be an idiot. If there really was no alternative to mugging, then everyone in this city would be out at night breaking down each other’s doors and smacking each other over the head and stealing each other’s stuff. Muggers just aren’t creative enough.”

  “You’re the idiot. You have no clue. You know nothing about their circumstances, their struggles, their education—”

  “You will never convince me that mugging people is okay.”

  “You do realize you’re a hypocrite, right? You who have, since you were eight years old, used my knowledge I picked up as a criminal to drug your nurse into unconsciousness while you tunneled out of your home. Why is it okay for you to knock people unconscious to get what you want for your life, but other people can’t?”

  “I’m not using a brick to do it! I can’t believe we’re even having this argument!” She walked by a homeless woman who looked up at her nervously, which made Julianna realize just how crazy she herself must look, walking down the road in the middle of the night in a filthy dress, yelling at a ghost. “I must look insane,” she muttered.

  “Yes, you do look insane. And it’s probably the only thing that has kept you from getting mugged just like ol’ Mortimer back there. There have been two people I’ve seen, and probably more that I haven’t, who have followed you tonight only to walk away when they heard you start yelling at me.”

  “You’ve been making me yell at you on purpose?” she asked.

  “People tend not to mug raving lunatics. They assume crazy, filthy folks wandering the streets in the middle of the night don’t have much money.”

  “Well, thanks,” she said. “For making me look crazy.”

  “Any time.”

  She was very happy to see the glow of the first streetlights up ahead of them.

  Back in the Dawdling Donkey, Julianna quickly changed into a fresh maid uniform in the break room and got to work cleaning. It was good she had something to distract her from her thoughts, but even with all the scrubbing and polishing and getting used to using real cleaning tools and supplies, she still couldn’t keep her worries about Mortimer out of her head. She kept telling herself that the fact that he’d been moaning in pain instead of completely unconscious when she’d left was a good sign.

  Julianna had started out by cleaning the vacant upstairs rooms, but then found herself gravitating toward the barroom where she could keep an eye on the front door and see when Mortimer walked in. She was so preoccupied with her worry that she didn’t care that Galt was behind the bar radiating bad vibes. Once she’d returned from stalking and stealing from Mortimer, Galt had interrogated her about why she’d run off. In order to shut him up, she had shown him the box to prove she’d gotten the job done. He had demanded she hand it over to him. She, however, had refused, pointing out that she barely knew Galt and had no reason to trust him. Julianna had then slipped the box into the pocket of her apron with a “so there!” look on her face and walked away.

  Galt had since been glowering madly at her every chance he got.

  She was scrubbing a table clean with a rag when the door flew open, helped by a gust of wind.

  Julianna looked up.

  In walked Mortimer.

  It could have been her imagination, but he looked a little unsteady on his feet. He had a preoccupied look on his face, and she wondered if he already knew the box was stolen—but the preoccupation could merely have been because he’d been smacked over the head and robbed. She was very happy to see him conscious and walking around but tried to play it cool. “Hi,” she said and put the rag down. “You okay?”

  He looked up at her and blinked in a disoriented sort of way, then said, “Sort of. I was just mugged.”

  “What!?” she cried and was happy to hear how authentically shocked she sounded. She scurried over to him. “For goodness sake, sit down!” She pulled out a ch
air at the table.

  He flopped down into it with an oof and brought his hand gingerly to his head.

  “You got hit on the head?” she asked.

  “Yep. Whoever it was, he knocked me right out. Then he apparently dragged me to the side of the road.” He gave a bleak sort of laugh. “I guess I should be happy that he didn’t kill me or leave me to be run over. But right now, I’m just mad—he stole something very important. Oh, and my wallet.”

  Julianna pushed away the guilt that was bubbling up within her; she needed that box; it was the only way she could keep escaping out into the city. She could not give it to him, no matter how much her conscience was badgering her. “That’s awful! But yes, at least you are alive.” She studied his face for a few moments. He really did look pretty beat up. “Shouldn’t you go up to your room and rest?”

  “Eh, probably, but I’m not tired,” he said with sigh. “Adrenaline still pumping, I guess.” He then flashed her a smile that was still quite winning even though there was a slight wince of pain that went along with it, and said, “Might as well have that drink, eh19?”

  “Sure,” she said with a smile. “What do you want? I’ll get it. You rest here.”

  “I can get it,” he said and made to stand up, but she put a hand on his shoulder and shook her head.

  “Stay put. I’ll get your drink.”

  “Aw come on, if this is a date, then I’m supposed to go get the stuff and bring it back to you,” he countered. “And besides, I managed to walk a mile through the city at night with a head injury; I can handle walking up to the bar and back again.”

  “Okay, fine. If you insist,” she said, while thinking to herself: A date! Gasp and swoon! “You can go get your own drink. But I’m going to get mine myself. You seem like a nice guy, but I don’t know you. You might be some crazy dude who intends to slip me something.”

  But though she said it playfully, she knew very well that it could be true. That sort of thing did happen, which she knew all too well since she’d been slipping sleeping potions into Delia’s tea on an almost nightly basis for more than half her life. If Delia considered Julianna to be trustworthy when she obviously wasn’t, then it logically followed that Julianna couldn’t assume anyone, especially a stranger, was trustworthy.

  “Smart lady,” Mortimer said with approval, as he carefully stood.

  They both moseyed to the bar where a surly Galt took their orders. Mortimer ordered a pint of ale and Julianna ordered a Bitsy McGovern20.

  They brought their drinks back to their table and had a jolly old time chatting and getting to know each other.

  Mortimer was thinking what a shame it was that he had to leave in just a few hours to go back home, so regrettably he wouldn’t be able to get together again with this delightful lady.

  Julianna was thinking what a shame it was that, after that night, she would be done being Jennifer, the maid at the Dawdling Donkey, so regrettably even if Mortimer stayed there again in future, she still wouldn’t be able to see this delightful guy again.

  Her first date of her life was going swell.

  Until it wasn’t.

  It was when she stood to get a refill of her Bitsy McGovern that the silver box fell out of the hole in the bottom of her apron pocket.

  It crashed to the floor with a thud.

  * * *

  19People in the Land of Fritillary didn’t know you’re not supposed to consume alcohol after a concussion.

  20A nonalcoholic drink named after a precocious and adorable young theater star who had taken the city by storm with her charm, bouncy curls, and song-and-dance numbers.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Julianna stared at the box.

  Mortimer looked down, first casually just to see what she was gaping at, but then he did a double-take and his eyes widened in astonishment. He looked up at her, his expression the picture of shock and anger.

  Neither of them moved or spoke for a few moments. Mortimer was too shocked to move, and Julianna was too scared.

  Then she broke the spell by swooping down and grabbing up the box. She darted backward just in time to avoid him as he reached out to grab her by the wrist.

  It was probably only because he was still disoriented from his blow to the head that she was able to scamper away from him, through the maze of tables and chairs, and across the room. She turned around to assess the situation and saw that he was not chasing her but standing in front of the door to the street. “You!” he yelled when she turned around. “You are one of them?” The disappointment in his voice made her feel like trash. If only he’d sounded mad, she wouldn’t have felt so guilty.

  A few of the patrons looked up at the hubbub the two were causing, but not as many as you might think. This sort of thing was always happening at the Dawdling Donkey.

  “I’m sorry!” she cried. “It really isn’t what you think!”

  Mortimer took a few steps toward her, and she looked around wildly for an escape route.

  “Oh no?” asked Galt from his place behind the bar. “I’m pretty sure it is exactly what he thinks.”

  Julianna spat at Galt, “Shut up!”

  “Give me the box!” Mortimer roared and took another step toward her, not wanting to get too far from the door since he didn’t want her escaping out into the city. Then a thought seemed to occur to him. “You’re the one who mugged me?”

  Julianna stared in horror. “No! Oh gosh, no, I didn’t mug you!”

  But he didn’t believe her. She saw it in his eyes.

  “Yes, I stole the box, but it was only after someone else hit you over the head! I think it was just some regular mugger, because they only took your wallet!”

  “You think I’m an idiot? That’s the stupidest—” Then he put his hand suddenly to his head and stumbled a bit.

  She took that opportunity to dart toward the door to the basement. She flung it open and ran down the stairs. His footsteps pounded behind her.

  Julianna stumbled down the dark basement hallway and ran right into Corrine, who’d been in the bathroom and was now making her way back to the room at the end of the hall. “Hey!” Corrine snapped. “Watch where you’re going!”

  “I’m sorry,” Julianna gasped. “I’m just—”

  “Stop!” yelled Mortimer from the stairs. “Get back here!”

  Corrine assessed the situation. A frantic female running from an angry male in a bar at three in the morning. She made the logical but erroneous assumption that Julianna was the one in need of help and Mortimer was the villain. Corrine said firmly, “Come with me,” and took Julianna by the arm and hurried her down the hallway to the room she and Warren were staying in.

  “But what—who—” Julianna gasped, glancing over her shoulder and seeing a faint silhouette of Mortimer cursing and bumbling along down the hall behind them.

  “Hold on. I’ll explain once we’re behind a locked door,” Corrine said and rushed Julianna to their room. She opened the door and shoved Julianna through, then followed and locked it. And not a moment too soon. Just a few seconds after Corrine slid the bolt into place, Mortimer was there pounding on the door and yelling.

  “What in tarnation—” came a voice from behind them, and Julianna whirled around to see Warren sitting bolt upright in bed and looking around wildly, as he tried to make sense of all the commotion that had woken him.

  By the light of the lantern, Julianna locked eyes with the guy who met all the criteria for breaking the curse.

  She felt an earthshattering bolt of—

  Nothing much.

  The feeling was apparently mutual; Warren gave her a confused, slightly annoyed look, and then looked at Corrine. “What the heck?”

  “That dude pounding on the door was chasing her—and yelling at her,” Corrine gasped as she double-checked the lock.

  Warren assessed
the situation as quickly as his sleepy brain would allow and leapt to the same erroneous conclusion as his sister had. “One moment, miss. We’ll hide you,” he whispered so that Mortimer wouldn’t hear, though Mortimer was still pounding and yelling, so chances of his overhearing were slim.

  “Thanks but, where?” asked Julianna, nervously looking at the door that Mortimer was at that moment threatening to break down. In answer to her question, Warren pulled his bed back from the wall and began to push the stones at the base of the wall, not quite sure which was the one that led to the hidden room. Julianna was confused about his actions for a few moments, but when he finally found the right one and it slid backward, she understood.

  As Warren gestured silently for her to climb through the hole, he yelled over Mortimer’s curses and hollering, “What in blazes do you mean by this, waking us in the middle of the night and subjecting us to your drunken raving?”

  The pounding stopped. Mortimer yelled, “I am neither drunk nor raving. That lady in there stole something from me. I need it back!”

  “The only lady in here is my sister, sir, and she has been here the whole night. Except a quick bathroom break, anyway. But she wasn’t gone nearly long enough to go steal whatever from you.”

  “I demand to talk to her.”

  “Sure, sure. Hold your horses. And, may I add, I take offense at you accusing my sister of thievery.”

  Both siblings had been, the whole time, gesturing insistently at Julianna to go through the hole in the wall, but she was feeling nervous. You’d think after her tunnel she’d be used to this sort of thing, but not all secret passageways are created equal, and unfortunately there is never any knowing where a secret passage sits on the quality spectrum until you are in the thing.

  However, after a few moments, she sighed and crawled through, trying not to think about rats and cockroaches and mold. Once through, she pushed the stone back into place and stood carefully, not knowing how big the space was. Then she put her ear to the wall to see if she could hear what was happening in the other room. Nothing but muffled voices. “Go through the wall and listen to them,” she said to Dexter. “I can’t hear a thing.”