The Nymph's Curse: The Collection

by Danica Winters

  “He’s fine … ” She realized how she must look to him, hysterical and crying. “I’m sorry. I hope I didn’t scare you. I just realized … ” she stopped herself.

  He can’t know the truth — that one of my sisters is responsible for inadvertently trying to kill his son.

  “We can’t do this, Beau,” she stammered, motioning to the two of them.

  “What?” he asked, confusion flashed across his face. “What are you saying?”

  “You can’t be with me. I can’t be with you. This won’t work.” She pulled out of his arms and stepped back. “I planted the baby’s remains in your site. I had to shut it down.”

  “What?” Beau growled. “You’re lying. You wouldn’t.”

  She looked down at asphalt.

  He grabbed her by the arms, but she couldn’t look up and see the hurt that would be in his eyes.

  She was quiet for a moment, as she remembered that terrible night. “I left behind a pile of clothes, with a blue latex glove in the back pocket of my pants.”

  He dropped his hands as his breath left him. “You fucked with my site? You, a woman who can understand how important this is, disturbed a site that my career depends on?”

  He took a step away as if she repulsed him. “Did you have something to do with the shooting as well? Or am I to believe that was just an isolated incident?”

  The tears were a steady stream. “No. I wouldn’t — ”

  “Stop,” he interrupted. “I don’t believe anything you have to tell me.”

  “You’re right,” she said in a choked voice. “You deserve better than me.”

  “You know what?” He stepped back and glared at her. “I think you’re right.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Walking into the office of the museum, Ariadne dropped her purse on her desk where a pile of newspapers sat neatly stacked at its center. The secretary must not have known she had been avoiding the news.

  Ariadne thumbed through the week’s papers, anything to take her mind off Beau and the mess she had left in her wake. Why had she let things go so far? Everything bad that was happening was her fault. She had spent the night tossing and turning. Sleep had never come and the only thing she decided with any certainty was that she, and her sisterhood, were evil.

  The press was having a field day with the mystery still revolving around the governor’s shooting. The headlines rapidly declined as the days went on. On the day of the shooting the headline read: “Governor Shot,” the next day, “Questions Remain as to Shooter’s Identity,” to “American Archeologist Being Questioned for Role in Governor’s Shooting,” to the last and worst which read, “Archeology Site in Gournai Shut Down Indefinitely as Investigations Dig Deeper.”

  She read the first paragraph: “Beloved Governor Kakos is staying quiet about the events of Friday’s shooting. Investigators believe foul play is involved. Captain Christos of the Hellenic Police Force has refused to comment, but witnesses of the shooting were heard saying that there had been a disagreement earlier that day between the archeologist, Beau Morris, and Governor Kakos regarding proposed funding of the site.”

  She skipped the gossip and read further down. “Governor Kakos’ former girlfriend, Ariadne Papadakis, Heraklion Museum curator, has been spotted cavorting with Mr. Morris on numerous occasions. Which raises questions about the motives for the shooting … ”

  Raises questions about the motives? What did she have to do with the shooting? And just because she had been seen talking to Beau, how did that make the headlines? The reporters were pulling at scraps. They must not have any real answers for the shooting and were now resorting to making up the truth.

  Did they really think that Beau had something to do with the governor’s shooting? Beau was a lot of things, but he wasn’t a man who would go around murdering other men. Beau was too kind, too caring. She would never forget the way he had rushed to his son’s side, never wavered in his commitment to getting him healthy. He was such a good man — far too good of a man for her. She had ruined whatever could have been between them the moment she had planted the baby’s body in his site.

  She tried to push the thoughts of Beau from her mind. She needed to get past him. They couldn’t be together. He was everything she couldn’t have.

  Her phone rang. She sat down at her desk and pulled it from her slumped purse. “Hello?”

  “Ms. Papadakis?” an authoritative voice questioned.

  “Yes?”

  “This is Captain Christos, of the Hellenic Police Force.”

  Her cheeks flushed. “Hello, Christos. What can I do for you?” she asked, trying to sound above suspicion.

  He coughed lightly. “I have a few questions about the events of the other day as well as some regarding your developing relationship with Mr. Morris.”

  Her heart sank. The captain wasn’t the only one with questions about her future with Beau.

  “Sure, but I already told you everything I know.”

  “Great, then it shouldn’t take long. Do you think you could meet me for lunch? There’s a great café close to the museum, you’ve probably been there but — ”

  If she didn’t go, he would have more questions, and more suspicion. She huffed. She could only deflect for so long, but she wasn’t ready to face the interrogation. “I’m sorry, I have plans.”

  “I see.” He sounded dangerous.

  “Maybe tomorrow?” She tried to recover.

  “I’m sure I will see you before that. Good bye,” the captain said, his tone clipped. The line clicked as he hung up.

  The journalists may have thought Beau was behind the shooting, but apparently, the captain was still sniffing around her.

  Well, he would find nothing.

  She clicked the phone shut and dropped her arms on top of the pile of papers. How had she gotten herself mixed up in all of this? Last week she had been a quiet, somewhat respected museum curator with a powerful boyfriend, and this week she was a confused, suspicious, enemy-embracing … rebel.

  She dropped her forehead down onto the papers and closed her eyes. At least Beau’s site was closed, her sisters would be grateful. He wasn’t going to be a problem to them as long as he wasn’t digging.

  Her office door slammed open. Startled, she sat up as Kat pranced into the room, her high heels clicking on the concrete floor. “Where did you go after the ceremony? I’ve been leaving you messages. Why haven’t you been picking up?”

  Because I’ve better things to do, because I’ve been at the hospital with my lover’s son, because I can’t stand listening to your incessant bullying.

  She held her tongue. “Sorry, I … I’ve been busy.”

  Kat walked to the desk and pushed the newspapers to the side and leaned against the edge, next to Ariadne’s purse.

  “Well, Tammy asked me to give you this.” Kat pressed a small manila envelope into her hand.

  Spinning the paper in her fingers, Ariadne could feel something small and bulky inside, but the seal was still intact and she didn’t want to open it in front of Katarina. She shoved it down into her purse. “Thanks.”

  Kat nodded and crossed her arms over her chest. “You left because you were busy? Too busy for honoring the goddess? That’s a lie. Why did you leave us?”

  “Epione called me away. I had to pray,” Ariadne lied.

  “Well, thanks to your little disappearing act, I had to clean up the ceremony without you. I mean, well, I got Tammy and Trina to help, but I basically had to manage the clean-up all by myself. I put Epione away in her normal place, but you need to clean her again.”

  So Kat doesn’t really care that I’d left; only that she had to work … typical.

  “Look, Kat, I’m tired. I haven’t slept all weekend. Now isn’t a great time for you to interrogate me; I have work to do.” The
moment the words fell from her lips, she knew she had made a mistake.

  Kat’s strangled squeak filled the air. “Who do you think you are? You don’t get back to me. You answer me or may Epione damn you.”

  “I’m sorry, Kat. I didn’t mean anything,” she said humbly. “Like I said, I’m exhausted. I’ve been swamped.”

  Should I tell Kat about Captain Christos sniffing around?

  Before Ariadne could continue, Kat interrupted. “Fine. I should’ve known.”

  “You should’ve known what?” Ariadne said, unable to control herself.

  “You’ve always been so all-over-the-place when you meet a man you have feelings for. You even forgot to tell me about your little date at The Mouse Hole the other afternoon.”

  “Do you really think there is something between me and Dr. Morris?”

  Kat pointed at the stack of papers. “I’m not the only one. I told you to keep an ear to the ground and keep track of what was happening at his site, not fuck him and attempt to kill Stavros.”

  Ariadne slammed her hands down on the desk. “I had nothing to do with the shooting.”

  Kat raised her dainty eyebrow and flashed a wicked smile. “I know.”

  Kat pushed herself off the edge of the desk and flattened her skirt down. She walked to the door and stopped. Turning around, she snickered and pointed at Ariadne’s face. “By the way, you have ink right there on your forehead.”

  The door slammed shut.

  Ariadne rubbed at her forehead. Great. Just great. Like Kat needs more to hold above me.

  The door opened and Kat stuck her head back in. “Hey, has Stavros called you yet?”

  Ariadne stopped rubbing and dropped her hands. “No. Why?”

  “I’m surprised. He called me right away.” Kat’s gaze wandered to Ariadne’s forehead and she snickered. “Anyway, he was discharged this morning from the hospital. Bunny and I are throwing him a party tonight at his place. You should stop by.”

  “Party? Yeah, maybe … ” What’s Kat up to? Was she rubbing in the fact that I no longer have a place in Stavros’ life? Or just that Stavros called her before me?

  Kat stared at her. “Bring your famous friend,” Kat’s words hung in the air. “Dr. Morris would just love to talk to Stav, I’m sure.”

  The door slammed behind her for a second time.

  She walked out of her office and made her way to the lab to catalogue artifacts. The last time she had been in there had been with Kaden — and Beau. The boxes of artifacts she had shown Beau still sat out on the table, making Beau’s presence stronger. Her heart clenched nervously in her chest. She couldn’t escape any of her emotions and a tear slipped down her cheek. She had caused him so much pain.

  Next to the box she had shown Beau was another bin. Opening the plastic lid of the bin, a ceramic bullhead stared back up at her. It made her think of Stavros.

  Sliding the lid back on, she clicked the lid shut. Cataloging could wait.

  Picking up the boxes, she put them away and tried to ignore the nagging pain in her chest. How was Kaden doing? How was Beau doing? He must have thought she was crazy. He had left her alone with his son for only a few minutes, and then she broke up with him. He must not have had a clue. Should she call him and check on Kaden?

  No. It was best to wait. She needed to work, and come up with a way to clear her name. Until then, it was probably best to stay away from the man who the papers called “her new lover” and a motivation for attempting to murder her former flame.

  She walked to the door and pushed the lock shut. There was only one thing that could take her mind off the catastrophe around her.

  Walking back to the lab table, she opened up the doors, and kneeled down. Peering inside, she could only see a few boxes. Moving them out of the way, she reached into the back of the cabinet and found the button. She gave it a hard push. There was a slight click, followed by the whir of the cabinet rising up.

  The stairway was exposed as the cabinet came to a stop above her. The lights flickered on as she walked to the top of the steps. It had been a long time since she had come to this place, since she needed answers she couldn’t find within herself.

  She stepped down the top few steps until she came to another switch. Pushing it, the cabinet slid back into place above her. The silence weighed down on her and made her heart race. Though she knew she was safe, the walls seemed to close in on her. She closed her eyes and offered a prayer.

  Her shoes echoed off the concrete steps as she slowly made her way down the steep stairwell. Ten steps. Twenty. Thirty. The walls narrowed the farther she descended beneath the museum and sweat dampened her brow. Why did they build these walls so close together?

  Stopping for a moment, she took a deep breath to calm her thrashing heart. At least the stairs are well lit.

  She held the metal banister and forced her body to continue deeper. Another twenty steps. At last, her feet touched the level dirt of the temple floor. The sconces on the wall brought a warm light to the room as she walked through the marble columns at the room’s entrance. Her feet scraped against the ground as she made her way between the chairs that sat in a perfect circle around the room.

  The walls were covered in different images of their goddess. Her favorite was of Epione with her long black hair flowing in the winds, her crystal staff at her side, her feet resting in the water of the spring of life. The sick sat around her, their hands raised in supplication. For so long she had only understood their need. Now, with Kaden being so sick, for the first time, she was empathetic to the gut-wrenching feeling of helplessness. How hard it must be for Beau to stand at his son’s side and be able to do nothing but hold Kaden’s hand and reassure him.

  She approached the altar, where the glistening golden idol of Epione stood so tall it almost touched the ceiling. The ceremonial ceramic statue of Epione, from their festival, rested on its pedestal to the right of the larger idol. Kat had said she needed to clean it, but it looked immaculate. To the left of the statue was a silver dagger with a golden hilt where a scorpion glistened upon its pommel — a gift from their American cousin the veela, Gloriana Canis.

  Ariadne stepped to the base of the statue, pressed her hand to her heart and bowed, but her eyes never strayed from her goddess. Epione’s arms were akimbo as snakes wrapped around her arm. She kissed the goddess’ toes and a surge of energy moved through her body from the idol. A feeling of calm filled her as she stepped back and lowered to her knees. She raised her arms and bowed until her forehead touched the ground.

  “My goddess, I pray that you answer my prayers. I am in need of your help now more than ever.”

  A hiss sounded from above. Sitting up, she watched as the snakes upon the golden statue began to slither around Epione’s arms. Their tongues flickered toward her and their eyes blinked from long hibernation.

  A tingle rose from her arm. The black-inked snake on her flesh blinked its eyes and flickered its tongue like the golden snakes that looked down upon them.

  “Are you here, my mother?” Ariadne’s hands shook in her lap.

  Was her mother going to finally answer her prayers?

  The woman upon the altar shifted. Epione’s arms lowered and caused the snakes to fall to the ground with a heavy clunk. Her mother’s eyes fluttered open, the blue of her eyes a stark contrast to the shining golden eyelashes that surrounded them. Reverently, Ariadne dropped her gaze to the ground. “My mother … ”

  “Blessed be, sweet Ariadne.”

  Ariadne bowed.

  “You do not need to bow to me. I am your sister as well as your goddess,” Epione said, her voice soft and kind.

  Ariadne sat up, but her gaze still focused on the dirt floor.

  “Ariadne?”

  “Yes, my goddess?”

  “You must raise your eyes. Too often you
look upon the ground and let others force you into submission.”

  Ariadne looked up as Epione sat down upon the altar.

  “Thank you for coming to me, Ariadne. The ceremony was beautiful.” Epione smiled. “I’ve long wanted to speak to you. I know the pain you have gone through, with Theseus and Dionysus. In fact, the god Dionysus talks of it often.”

  “Does he tell you how he hates me since I dismissed his love? How I should have ignored his philandering?”

  “You don’t have to accept less than you deserve. Just because Kat thinks you were wrong doesn’t mean that you were. Standing up for what you believe is the most important thing one can do.”

  “Maybe, but just look at what happens when we do. We are cursed and hated.” Ariadne stared at the goddess’ golden smile.

  Epione looked at her with pity. “The only person that hates you is you.”

  Ariadne snorted. “Tell Kat that.”

  “Kat has many issues, and you’re right in assuming her dislike toward you, but hate is a strong word. You are an invaluable asset to Kat and her power struggles. Without someone to push down and assert her control upon, do you think she would still be the leader of your sisterhood?”

  There was truth in her goddess’ words, but was the situation really her fault? Had she allowed herself to be dominated?

  Epione’s eyes sparkled. “To help others, you must first help yourself — take control of your life, and fight for what you truly desire.”

  “If I go after my desires, people could die. My happiness is not worth such high a price.”

  The snakes slithered up Epione’s legs and around her waist. They braided down her arms as she pushed herself to standing. Her arms rose as they had been. “My daughter, there are answers to the curse. However, you must be willing to fight.”

  “I’m willing to fight,” Ariadne said almost defiantly.

  “What about for your love Beau?” The goddess smiled.

  Ariadne didn’t know what to say. Yes, she had been feeling something, but love?