“Not a buyer. As for a connection, yes. The curse is Mercy’s work.”
“The curse on the tea . . .” I glance up sharply. “Wait, you mean Mercury cursed the Necklace of Harmonia?”
“She says—” Vanessa begins.
“Yes,” Marius says. “The simple answer—the only one that matters—is yes. Mercy wove the curse for Hector.”
“May I speak?” Vanessa says. “Or are you going to interrupt me again?”
Marius shifts. “I just . . .”
“You don’t want to make excuses for her. Don’t want to listen to her excuses, of which she has many. But in this case, I think it’s important.” She looks at me. “Mercy says Hector claimed the necklace was for me. A punishment for my infidelity. Mercy owed him a debt, so she couldn’t refuse. She tried to trick him by weaving a curse that wouldn’t affect me. Except it wasn’t for me. It was for Harmonia. So I don’t blame Mercy. I blame Hector.”
“Either way,” Ani says. “Mercury can unweave it.”
“No,” Vanessa says. “It was woven in payment of a debt. To unweave it reneges on the debt. I don’t know if that applies to curse weavers in general, but it does with Mercy. Hector is her brother. She owed him a debt. He demanded the curse, and so she could not refuse nor can she unweave it.”
“Mercy is a curse weaver, though,” I say. I tap the front of the card, where it says granddaughter. “That’s what this means. Not actual granddaughter, but there wasn’t room for the hundred greats before granddaughter.”
“It isn’t that distant a relationship,” Vanessa says. “A few greats, perhaps.”
Ani shakes her head. “My mother’s family has been curse weavers for centuries.”
“They’ve claimed to be curse weavers,” Vanessa says. “And perhaps they were, from another source. We aren’t the only immortals in the world. Either way, your family isn’t originally from Mercy’s bloodline. She wondered what would happen if she inserted herself in there, either bolstering an existing ability or giving that ability to those who already claimed it. Go back a few generations in your history and you’ll likely find a great-great-grandmother who mysteriously vanished after giving her husband a few kids. Those children were likely the ones who truly cemented the Bennett name as curse weavers.”
“So we’re not descended from the arae?”
“The arae are an obscure bit of lore arising from some of Mercy’s antics. That’s the way mortals deal with the unknown. They make up stories. Immortals with magical powers become gods. Humans with magical powers are said to be descended from ancient races or minor gods because I suppose saying they were descended from actual gods seemed like hubris.”
“Except gods aren’t actually gods,” Marius says. “So no real hubris there. Mortals with powers are descended from immortals with powers.”
I nod. “Curse weavers—Greco-Roman ones at least—come from Mercury.”
“And Fortuna?” Connolly asks, almost hesitantly. “She was a god. She’s an immortal?”
“There is no Fortuna,” Vanessa says. “No one I’ve ever met. Though there is a race of luck workers in Ireland. Little people who grant wishes and find pots of gold. I believe you’re descended from—” She breaks off with a laugh. “Seeing your expression, I can’t even finish that. I figured out what Kennedy was teasing you about and couldn’t resist. Although Athene has long speculated that part of the leprechaun lore arises from red-haired luck workers, descended from your actual progenitor.”
“Which would be me,” Marius says.
“You?” Connolly says.
Marius quirks a smile. “Yes, sorry. I’m sure this Fortuna, whomever she might be, would have been much cooler.”
“No. That’s just . . . It’s unexpected. That’s all.” Connolly pauses. “Havoc did mention about battle luck.”
Marius makes a face. “Yes, that’s an old and tired jab. One of Hector’s, originally. Battles are won through skill and luck. Skill is strategy. Athene is our family scholar—and damned fine with a sword—so she became the god of battle strategy. That left me as god of brute strength and dumb luck. My power actually is luck so . . .” He shrugs.
“No one wins a battle by luck alone,” Vanessa says. “It requires careful and planned use of that luck. That’s Marius’s specialty. Strategic luck.”
Marius smiles at her. “From what I gather, Aiden is well versed in the strategic use of luck, so while I appreciate the defense of my honor, I trust he doesn’t need it. So yes, Aiden, you get your luck from me, through both sides of your family.” He pauses. “And if that sounds vaguely incestuous, remember how many generations you’re dealing with. Go back far enough, and any two people likely have common ancestors. The Connollys have actively sought out fellow luck workers—both descended from me and others—as marriage partners. That’s strengthened your innate talent.”
“Havoc said something about your favorite progeny,” I say.
Marius looks uncomfortable. “We all have . . . families of descendants we pay more close attention to. Ones who have accomplished things that bring them to our attention, and it is, if this doesn’t sound too odd, like having a favorite sport team. We follow your progress with interest.”
“Is that why Havoc took an interest in Rian?” I say. “Why she double-crossed him? To piss you off?”
“Most likely. However, when Hector demanded him as debt payment—also to needle me, no doubt—she handed him over because by then she had her eye on a bigger prize.”
“The necklace.”
He nods.
So the Connollys are favorites of yours, and the Bennetts are favorites of Mercy’s?”
“They are.”
“Does that make us special?” I say. “Please tell me it makes us special.”
“I believe it does,” Vanessa says.
“Yes!” I fist pump. “Suck it, Lacey Moore, in fifth grade, who told me I wasn’t anything special.”
“You’ve been holding onto that grudge a long time, haven’t you?” Jonathan says.
“Only because she told me in fifth grade, sixth, seventh . . . Oh, and then when we went to high school, she told Jimmy Woo when he wanted to ask me to the freshman dance. ‘Why Kennedy? She’s nothing special.’ Suck it, Lacey.”
“Jimmy Woo?” Ani says. “The guy you just said you weren’t sending love notes to?”
“Not when we were twelve. By fifteen, though? He was hot. I totally would have gone to the dance with him, if it wasn’t for Lacey. Well, and the fact that I was already going with someone else.”
Ani shakes her head. “Moving right along.”
“I’m special,” I say. “Let’s just savor this for a moment.” I take a deep breath. “Okay, moving on.”
Vanessa glances at Marius. “Definitely Mercy’s child.”
“That doesn’t sound like a compliment,” I say.
“I adore Mercy,” Vanessa says. “When I don’t want to throttle her.”
“Sounds familiar,” Ani murmurs.
“Is that why I’m the one who got this?” I say, waving at the tea caddy. “I can joke about being special, but Ani and Hope are her progeny, too.”
“I don’t want to speak for Mercy,” Vanessa says. “But she has a soft spot for both the Bennetts and for jinxers. That is, after all, her own specialty. To our eternal dismay.”
“Wait. The actual god of curse weaving specializes in the joker’s jinx?”
“Not a god,” Marius murmurs. “But yes. My sister is very fond of a good prank. Overly fond, one might say.”
“Everyone does say,” Vanessa says.
“So for anyone who has ever mocked me for specializing in the jinx?” I say. “Suck it.” I glance at Vanessa. “Wait. Hector mocked me for that . . . and he knows what his sister’s specialty is.”
“Yes, he does. And now that Mercy has revealed herself and I can discuss her without breaking any confidences, I can warn you to stay well away from my ex. That’s a general tip for anyone, but you in pa
rticular. He has little love for most of his siblings, but Mercy is his particular nemesis.”
I lift the greeting card. “Okay, all that was very illuminating, but back to the card. We’ve figured out most of it. I’m guessing the ‘live long and prosper’ is just a closing with a pop-culture twist.”
“That would be typical Mercy,” Vanessa says.
“Best of luck with your college application,” I read. “Okay, so figuring out her gambit and letter lock means I graduated. The college admission is, I’m guessing, the necklace curse.”
“She’s wishing you luck?” Ani says. “How about some actual help.”
“Can she give that?” I say. “A clue? A nudge in the right direction?”
Marius and Vanessa look at each other. Marius shrugs.
“We aren’t sure,” Vanessa says. “We’d ask, but with Mercy, one doesn’t get a cell-phone number. She just pops up on your doorstep and stays for a month.”
“We can contact her, but it’s the technological equivalent of smoke signals,” Marius says. “It would take days to get a response.”
“You have a number there, don’t you?” Connolly says.
“Duh, right.” I wave the card.
I take out my phone. The line rings twice and then connects.
“You’ve reached the DARC Helpline. If you suspect a family member or friend is the victim of domestic abuse, we can help. Please listen to the following options—”
I hang up.
“I think I got the number wrong,” I say.
I compare my outgoing call list to the number on the card. It matches. I dial again with it on speaker as Jonathan takes the card to look it over.
The same message comes on. I listen through to the list of options, which are exactly what I’d expect. Then I hang up.
“Wait,” Connolly says. “Try pressing the option to speak to someone. Ask for Mercy. It must be a fake answering service. In poor taste, but . . .”
Vanessa shakes her head. “Mercy wouldn’t do that. She might love her pranks, but she would never fake a domestic violence hotline.”
“It’s real,” Jonathan says, holding up his phone. “I reverse searched using the number. It brings up the Domestic Abuse Resource Center. That line is specifically for friends and relatives of victims.”
I shake my head. “There must be a typo on the card. Or the number was changed. Or . . .” I shrug. “I got nothing. Anyone else?”
No one has any other ideas. While I’d hate to think I’ve missed a chance to connect with the person who wove the necklace curse, I don’t see any other option.
Mercy has reached out with a test. I passed it, and ultimately, I only got a “good luck!” that suggests, if I prove myself and uncurse the necklace, I’ll actually get to meet her. Nice, but, as Ani says, we’d rather have had some actual help.
“I need to balance after unweaving that,” I say as I take out my eight ball.
“Is that . . . ?” Marius begins.
“A curse bomb?” Ani says. “Yes, it is. I would suggest we all clear the room while she does this.”
I roll my eyes but wave them out and then set to work.
Chapter Forty-Four
Vanessa isn’t coming to the uncursing . . . and she’s furious about it. This isn’t Havoc’s demand. It’s Marius’s request. A strong request. They argue about it. We go outside to give them privacy, and even on the back deck, we can still hear them arguing. Or we hear Vanessa. She pauses every now and then, presumably when he has something to say, but we don’t hear it.
In the myths, Mars and Ares are depicted as one might expect of the god of war. As Marius pointed out, his aspect of war is brute strength, the strategy belonging to Athene. The Greeks valued strategy and therefore valued her more, with Ares characterized as either a thick-headed brute or a quick-tempered braggart. In the Iliad, he switches sides like a hyperactive child until Athene gets so fed up that she sics a hero on him. Injured, Ares cries and runs home to Zeus, who is thoroughly disgusted. I’m really going to need to ask Marius what he did to piss off Homer.
The truth is much different. I might seem like the last person who should judge, considering I didn’t even put him on the list of suspects for my sister’s kidnapping. But having spent more time with him, I realize he’s very capable of that. It was a chess move, deliberate and considered. What I can’t imagine is him blustering or raging, and certainly not fleeing a battlefield to run to Daddy. There are aspects of Marius where I see Connolly as I suspect Vanessa did. Oh, on the surface, they seem very different. Connolly is, as others have pointed out, a wee bit uptight. Marius exudes chill. What they share, though, is an innate steadiness.
That doesn’t seem like a sexy quality. Steady, stable, centered . . . terms better used for a good horse than a good man. It’s something I lack, though. My first-grade report card said the teacher “appreciated the mercurial energy” I brought to class. Ironic, now that I can claim Mercury as an ancestor. I appreciate steadiness, though. Unflappability. That’s what Connolly has been. Unflappable in the face of all this. People like that are usually compared to rocks: He’s my rock, my anchor. Yet rocks don’t move. They are inertia embodied. Connolly and Marius are more like water. Moving steadily forward, calm and relentless.
In the end, it’s not Vanessa’s volcanic fury that wins this argument. Her flame is doused by Marius’s water. She rages and argues; he listens and reasons. Ultimately, she stays behind of her own volition, however reluctantly.
We’re preparing to leave when Vanessa takes me aside. The others are all busy, and no one notices us slip off for a walk around the grounds.
The dogs are roaming, and Vanessa introduces them. They’re mastiffs, not surprising given the age and origin of the breed—Caesar took an early form of mastiff when he invaded Britain. These two are as big as ponies and as well trained as dogs that size need to be. Vanessa introduces me in Greek, which I presume tells them I’m not to be rent limb from limb. They sniff me. I pat them—after receiving the necessary permission—and then off they go, gamboling like puppies across the acres of lawn.
“I’m very uncomfortable with what I’m about to ask you,” Vanessa says. “It’s unfair, presuming on too short an acquaintance. I don’t dare ask Aiden because it could put him at odds with you, which is unfair to you both. I’m asking you because I have seen how strong your bond with your sisters is, and so I know you would never place any obligation to me over their safety.”
“True. Sorry.”
“Don’t be. That’s as it should be. I don’t want to deal with anyone who’d value a ‘god’ above their family. People show their true selves when my favor is the prize. It isn’t about me. It’s about what they can get from me.”
We arrive at the stables. The horses are out, a gorgeous trio who all trot over to bask in Vanessa’s affection, and as she pats them, her face glows. They are genuinely pleased to see her. Yes, hoping for a pat or a treat but, like the dogs, happy just to say hello. More than she can say for most people, I realize.
She continues as she strokes the nose of a roan mare. “Marius is right that I shouldn’t be at the uncursing. My powers are of no help, and my presence will only make Havoc worse. I am the usurper of Marius’s affections.”
“Her father’s affections.”
She pauses and then says, “That’s where I’d like you to forget what you know. Forget she is his daughter. That’s the problem. Marius and I have always been doting parents. It doesn’t matter whether we’re a child’s biological parents or not—we have shaped ourselves into a family for them. We adore our brood, even when they exasperate us or disappoint us. When they go astray, we blame ourselves. We’ve clearly failed. Even if we logically know that isn’t the case—that a child received as much of our love and attention as the others—in our hearts, we feel failure.”
“That’s the case with Havoc.”
She nods. “I wonder what I could have done differently. So does Marius. We can each see that the
other did nothing wrong. We can say so with vehemence and frustration. It doesn’t matter. There is something wrong with Havoc. Fundamentally wrong and unfixable. Marius finally acknowledged that when he nudged her from the nest, and this is his punishment. He wants that necklace, and she will keep it from him because he wants it for me. When you go to that uncursing, she will torment him. Taunt him. And she will bargain. Here is where I need your help.”
I say nothing, just pat one of the horses as I listen.
“I don’t need that necklace back,” she says. “I would love to destroy it but not at the expense of saddling Marius with Havoc again. That is what she’ll demand. Give her back her job. Let her live here, above the stables, again. I’m asking you to forestall that negotiation. Insist on the unweaving first. Then, once the curse is off and your sister is free, tell Marius that I said the uncursing was enough. I don’t care where the necklace ends up as long as it doesn’t hurt anyone else. He’ll still want to destroy it—as a symbolic gesture—but I don’t need that.”
“Just get it uncursed,” I say.
“Yes, and do whatever you can to keep him from making a deal he’ll regret. If your sister’s life is somehow at stake—or Connolly’s brother’s—then you must protect them, naturally, but be aware that negotiation is her true goal. Thwart her if you can. Would you do that for me?”
“Make sure the bitch who cursed my sister doesn’t get what she wants?” I smile. “Happily.”
Havoc gives us an address . . . and when we reach it, she gives us another one. Then another, bringing us steadily closer to her actual location.
“Is this supposed to be a security measure?” I say. “Avoid giving us the location so we can’t bring reinforcements? Or arrive and ambush her early?”
Marius—who has been grumbling since the first redirection—makes a noise suspiciously like a growl. “It’s needless complication, that’s what it is. She could easily select a location where we can’t sneak up. As for bringing reinforcements, it only requires a text and GPS coordinates once we arrive.”
Cursed Luck, Book 1 Page 32