The Curse of the Golden Touch

by G M Mckay

  They all exchanged a look of concern.

  “There wasn’t any evidence of that, Jilly,” Xan said slowly. “There wasn’t any sign of her at all. Are you sure you saw Alastair shoot her?”

  “Yes,” I said quickly, and then paused. A lot had been going on at that moment. Maybe his bullets had missed her. I supposed it was possible. “And Alastair, he’s really dead?”

  Xan’s eyes filled with sudden tears. “Yes, the police made a brief attempt to revive him when they arrived but it wasn’t any use. The ambulance attendants said he probably died instantly when the horse fell on him.”

  The horse. I looked away suddenly, not wanting to think about Bally.

  “Xan, I’m so sorry that it was Alastair… does Sally know yet?”

  Xan smiled bleakly and sighed. “She’s not taking it very well, I’m afraid. He was always a strange person but I never thought he’d do something like this.”

  And your parents, I thought, wondering if he knew. I really didn’t want to be the one to tell him that part.

  “We have an announcement,” Xan went on, his smile a bit happier. “I’m going to stay on at Dark Lady Farm and help Estelle and Great Aunt Ruth with the horses. They have some real top-class contenders there and I’ll need something to ride while Rigel goes into remedial training.”

  “Oh, Xan, that’s wonderful,” I said, noting the way Estelle’s hand rested so naturally on his shoulder. I had a feeling that everything would work out just fine for those two.

  “Estelle will need extra help with the estate while Jacob and I are on our world cruise. We’re celebrating our honeymoon in style,” Aunt Ruth said, her face wreathed in smiles. I hardly recognized her now that she was happy for the first time since I’d known her.

  That could have been me wasting nearly my whole life, I thought bleakly, without my gift, without love, without myself I might have become just like she was.

  “You are, of course, welcome to stay on too, Jillian,” she said, looking at me suddenly with the keen, eagle-eyed look I remembered so well. “You have made a great sacrifice on my behalf; the loss of your horse isn’t something that can be measured in dollars.”

  She patted me on the arm as my eyes filled with tears.

  “That is a grand debt I can probably never repay and, since I don’t like owing people favours, I can offer you a free place to live while you get on your feet. You could get out from under the thumb of your controlling mother, do your dancy-prancy dressage, and have access to some of the finest horses in the world. What do you say to that?”

  I stared at her. Here was a chance to escape my suffocating home life and the woman who had forcibly suppressed my gifts. But then I thought of the rolling fields and the stable full of good horses, horses that trusted me and were patiently waiting for me to return. And Christoph who was the best trainer anyone could hope for and then, of course, there was Gil. I wasn’t ready to forgive him yet, but one day I would be. And Nanny and Bally would be with me, in one form or another. I wasn’t ready to give it all up yet.

  “Thank you, Aunt Ruth, for everything, but I think it’s time I went home, at least for the short term.”

  “I thought you might say that. Well, I’ve left a small token of my appreciation back at the house. I hope it will be the start of your own collection.”

  Oh, no, it had better not be one of those awful Dark Lady sculptures. I don’t think I can handle that.

  “Any time you need anything at all, Jillian, even if it’s just a break from that mother of yours, you just call.”

  Chapter 21

  Gil, Morris, and I rode back to Greystone mostly in silence. I wasn’t ignoring Gil on purpose but our kiss, our hastily professed love, and the dark secret he’d revealed to me that night now lay between us like a wet blanket that neither of us wanted to touch.

  My feelings hadn’t changed for Gil; I still loved him and I always would but I needed time to process everything that had happened before I could move forward. I hadn’t even found a way to tell him about the ghosts yet.

  We drove straight through without stopping, no fun roadside diners to eat greasy food at this time. Morris kept up a resounded purr almost the whole way home, his comforting bulk sprawled across my lap. He’d become quite the pampered house cat during our vacation. Mother was going to be horrified that I was upgrading him from the barn to my bedroom, but I was pretty sure that was about to be the least of her worries once I got home.

  We’d left the estate early that morning and now as we neared home dusk was falling and all the streets of Maplegrove were lit up against the darkness.

  We passed the bookstore, a golden glow falling out the front door onto the street, and then we came upon MapleBrew. Despite the fact that it was nearly dinnertime, I inhaled deeply at the fresh smell of roasting beans.

  “Stop the truck,” I said suddenly, surprising Gil so that he hit the brakes without even questioning it.

  “Wait here,” I ordered, opening my door with my good hand and stepping stiffly out into the darkened street. I didn’t care one bit that we were blocking the road. People would just have to wait.

  I marched up to the coffee shop and paused as I laid my hand on the door, taking a deep breath to find my courage.

  Open the door, I told myself, this is your new life. You just have to be brave.

  “Hello,” the girl behind the counter called as I slipped inside, “chilly night, isn’t it?”

  “Um, yes,” I said, sending a quick look around the coffee shop. Only a few of the people who looked up had any recognition on their faces and I didn’t see any anger or pity or anything much there except people quietly enjoying some dessert and good conversation.

  “What will you have?” She asked in a friendly voice. She looked vaguely familiar but I didn’t recognize her. Hmm, Katie, I thought, reading her nametag, she must be a little sister of one of my old classmates or something.

  “Um, what do you recommend?” I asked, tapping my fingers nervously on my cast. I’d waited for this moment since the day after Frederick dumped me, and now I had no idea what to order.

  “All our coffee beans are roasted here and are delicious. Do you like bold flavours or more mellow?” Katie asked.

  “Definitely bold,” I said, deciding that that fit in with the new me. “Two coffees and some carrot cake, please. To go.”

  “Coming right at you.”

  I paid her and balanced the little travel carton containing our coffees and dessert in my good hand while she ran around to get the door for me.

  “Thanks,” I said gratefully, and then caught sight of the handwritten sign in the window. “Hey, are you hiring?”

  “Yeah,” Katie said, “do you know of anyone? One of our servers just quit and we need someone like yesterday.”

  “Um, maybe I do,” I said thoughtfully, wondering if they’d be crazy enough to hire someone with a cast on one arm.

  “Well, tell them to drop off a resume. We’ll consider anyone.”

  I took my precious carton out to the truck where Gil was waiting, luckily without a lineup of cars behind him. He got out and opened the door, keeping Morris from leaping out into the street while I got in.

  “This doesn’t mean you’re forgiven,” I said, setting the carton down and handing him his coffee.

  He grinned at me and I couldn’t help but smile in response. The memory of our one, stolen, kiss came rushing back to me and instinctively I glanced at his lips before looking away. I felt him watching me but I busied myself with my coffee until we were on our way again.

  The imposing stone pillars of Greystone Manor came into sight and we drove slowly up the driveway to the stables. It was time for evening feed and the comfortable sound of horses rattling their buckets and munching on hay filled the air.

  I shifted Morris off my lap and slowly eased myself out of the truck, my stiffening muscles protesting with every step.

  “Hello, everyone,” I said, walking slowly down the barn aisle to mak
e sure that the stalls were ready. I was answered by a chorus of welcoming neighs. I looked fondly at the horses as I passed, wondering who would ride them now that I was out of commission. I didn’t know if I ever wanted to ride again now that Bally was, well…not-living.

  I stopped in Bally’s open doorway and surveyed his thick bedding and well-filled hay net with approval, glad that Christoph had agreed to my strange request. The stall beside Bally’s was ready too and, satisfied, I limped back toward the truck.

  Gil already had the trailer open and was leading the small, bay colt down the ramp, the little horse looking around in astonishment at his new luxurious surroundings.

  “Welcome home, Damascus,” I said, stroking his fuzzy neck. I was infinitely glad that Great Aunt Ruth had been referring to a collection of horses rather than boring old sculptures.

  He looked around wide-eyed and then let out a piercing neigh that was immediately answered back by half the horses in the barn. I walked with them and watched while Gil escorted the little colt into his new stall.

  I felt a soft nudge against my shoulder and I turned to my ghost-horse with a smile. “You’ll have to take care of him, Bally,” I whispered low enough so Gil wouldn’t hear. “Make sure he minds his manners.”

  Bally casually strolled through his own open stall door and looked around at his familiar home with satisfaction and then gave himself a shake from head to tail like an oversized dog. He clopped back into the aisle and headed for the open barn door, looking over his shoulder at me as if to ask, well, aren’t you coming?

  I followed him slowly out into the driveway and then up the hill to our favourite spot, the grassy rise from which we could look down and see the house, the stable and the fields beyond all stretched out in the sunset. I sat down on the bank and Bally dropped his head to graze quietly a few feet away.

  I sat there a long time, marvelling at the strange turn my life had taken this past week. I didn’t know how I’d managed to get my gift back. Maybe it was the crack on the head Jacob had given me or maybe it had just came back of its own accord. But whatever the reason I was grateful.

  Despite all the awful, scary things that had happened, for the first time in forever life felt full of possibilities. Who knew what the future would hold.

  The evening grew cold and I knew it was time to go inside. Side by side, almost touching, Bally and I walked across the half-frozen pasture toward the brightly-lit barn where Gil and Damascus were waiting.

  The End (for now)

  The Sting of the Serpent’s Blade - A Preview

  Chapter 1

  Beep. Beep. Beep. My alarm went off before the crack of dawn and I swiped blindly at my phone before burrowing back down in bed and pulling the covers firmly over my head.

  From under the blankets, I heard a soft thumping noise in the corner of my room as if a large animal had brushed up against my dresser and then the gentle tok tok tok that was the now-familiar sound of a horse walking stealthily across a hardwood floor.

  “Bally, go away,” I mumbled as the covers near my shoulder lifted a little and then dropped down again. “It’s too early for our walk. Go back to bed.”

  There was silence and then a soft whuffling noise sounded near my ear followed by a puff of warm breath that worked its way right through the blankets to my skin.

  Darn it. I squirmed away but it was no use. Whenever Bally grew bored of life in the stables he came to find me. And now that he was, well, on the other side, there were no walls, borders or barriers that could keep him out. It was a good thing he was so cute.

  “Fine,” I sat up and threw the covers off all at once; like ripping off a Band-Aid.

  Greystone Manor had been in my family for over a century and had hardly been updated in all that time. It was oversized, drafty and often damp. It certainly didn’t have central heating which was quite the hardship when you were in the middle of a cold, Canadian winter. Even with the embers of last night’s fire still burning low in the fireplace, my room was freezing.

  Morris, my plump orange tabby, looked up in astonishment as the surge of cold air ruffled his fur. With a plaintive mew, he scrambled back under the heap of still-warm blankets, clearly not ready to face the day yet.

  “Do you remember the days when you were a lowly barn-cat who slept outside without any blankets or fireplace at all?” I asked, poking at the bulge under the blankets. There was no answer.

  I climbed out of my huge four-poster bed, walking on my heels and curling my toes away from the icy floorboards. I hobbled to my dresser to first throw on thick winter socks and then struggled into fleece-lined breeches, two layers of shirts and a sweater over top.

  This outfit choice was from long-habit since I still wasn’t able to ride yet after my injury. Technically my bullet-torn arm was almost healed but I wasn’t sure if I even wanted to sit on a horse again now that Bally was er, not-quite-living. It felt like a betrayal somehow. But I still loved being around the horses and I felt most at home, more myself, in riding clothes. I hastily pulled my hair back into a ponytail and surveyed myself critically in the mirror, rubbing my right arm reflexively.

  Even after these months of healing the repaired muscles and ligaments still throbbed; especially first thing on a cold morning. The bullet holes caused on that terrifying night when my cousin Alastair had tried to kill me, and had killed Bally instead, were now just pale, tender pink circles; one on the top-side of my arm where the bullet had gone in and one on the bottom where it had exited again. I’d been lucky. Every day I grew a little stronger but the internal damage, the pain nobody but me knew about, still affected me worse than I let on.

  Bally looked at me expectantly, his silver coat slightly translucent in the soft glow of the fire. He bobbed his pearly grey nose up and down like I was about to hand over a treat to congratulate him on how clever he was to find yet another way to wake me up out of a dead sleep.

  “No treats for you, ghost horse,” I said, “come on, let’s go for a freezing walk since you insist. I guess I can get my chores done early and then get ready to go to town. You know you were a lot more fun when you were alive, right?”

  Instantly I regretted saying that, even in jest. Of course he’d been more fun alive. I missed the old Bally like a knife to my heart and I would do anything to have him back. But this new Bally was great too and having him around as a ghost was better than not having him at all.

  You need to appreciate your blessings more, I told myself firmly, if you hadn’t have discovered your gift after all this time you could have lost him forever.

  Outside, I could hear the wicked January wind snicking against my windowpanes and I bit back a groan of annoyance.

  It was not a pleasant type of day to work with horses. When the weather was too bad or the footing too treacherous it meant that they had to stay in their stalls rather than going out on pasture. And that made everyone cranky.

  But Bally didn’t care about the weather. He made a great show of clattering down the stairs, rocking right back on his hocks and doing a series of noisy courbettes, or tiny hops, like a circus pony until he reached the ground floor. It was a good thing that nobody but me could hear the racket he made.

  “Show off,” I said, throwing on a thick coat, boots, woolly mittens and a voluminous toque and scarf set that pretty much covered my entire head so that only my eyes were showing. Then, suited up, we finally headed out the side kitchen door into the frosty pre-dawn morning.

  If you enjoyed The Curse of the Golden Touch, Defining Gravity, Flight, The Horses of Winter or any of my other books, I’d love if you’d take a moment to write a review on any of the platforms where they are sold.

  Visit my website at www.genevievemckay.com

  Or join my Facebook author page: www.facebook.com/authorgenevievemckay

  Follow on Instagram @mckaygenevieve

  Acknowledgments

  Huge thanks to my editor, Jinxie Gervasio, and to the entire beta reading team.

  Fabulous cover
design credit goes to Molly Burton at Coverworks.

  Interior design credit goes to the wonderful folks at StonePony Studios.

  And last, but not least, many thanks to Messenger, who is the funniest, bossiest, most clever horse in the world (though not nearly as sweet-tempered as Bally). Thanks for putting up with me all these years, buddy!

  About the Author

  Genevieve Mckay is a nine-time novelist and horse enthusiast living with her family on the wonderful West Coast. She loves to solve a good mystery and shares her home with an entire cast of quirky animals including horses, dogs, sheep and two unruly tabby cats.

  Also by G.M. Mckay

  The Greystone Manor Mysteries

  The Curse of the Golden Touch

  The Sting of the Serpent’s Blade

  The Defining Gravity Series (as Genevieve Mckay)

  Defining Gravity

  Flight

  Freefall

  Riding Above Air

  Short Stories

  The Horses of Winter

  The Wayfarer’s End Series (as Genevieve Mckay)

  The Opposite of Living

  Good Bones

  Wayfarer’s End