By Denise Grover Swank
The Curse Keepers
(Urban fantasy)
THE CURSE KEEPERS
THE CURSE BREAKERS
This Place Is Death (short story)
Rose Gardner Mysteries
(Humorous southern mysteries)
TWENTY-EIGHT AND A HALF WISHES
TWENTY-NINE AND A HALF REASONS
THIRTY AND A HALF EXCUSES
THIRTY-ONE AND A HALF REGRETS
The Chosen Series
(Urban fantasy)
CHOSEN
HUNTED
SACRIFICE
REDEMPTION
On the Otherside Series
(Young adult science fiction/romance)
HERE
THERE
Off the Subject Series
(New adult contemporary romance)
AFTER MATH
REDESIGNED
BUSINESS AS USUAL
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Text copyright © 2014 by Denise Grover Swank
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by 47North, Seattle
www.apub.com
eISBN: 9781477870211
Cover illustrated by Larry Rostant
Library of Congress Control Number: 2013955183
To my daughter Jenna, who loves to create stories almost as much as I do
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
CHAPTER ONE
The rain came down in thick sheets, drenching through my cotton tank top and denim shorts. I welcomed it. I welcomed anything that made me feel something.
I stood inside of the Elizabethan Gardens, next to the goddamned tree that had ruined my life more than four hundred years before I was even born. The gate to Popogusso.
The gate to hell.
And my daddy was on the other side.
I leaned back my head and shouted into the night, taunting the god who had sent him there. “Ahone! Come out and face me, you fucking asshole!”
The only answer was the rain that pelted my face and filled my open mouth.
I spat on the ground and slapped my palm on the rough bark of the ancient oak tree. The mark that had appeared on my hand almost three weeks ago had power, after all, but that power was so much stronger when my mark was pressed to the identical one on the other Curse Keeper’s right palm.
His betrayal sliced through me again. It was still impossible to believe that Collin had purposefully opened the gate.
I’d forced him to close it again. But at what cost? The Native American gods and spirits had still escaped and now they were in hiding, killing hundreds of animals as they regained the strength they’d lost over their centuries of exile. And my father had died as a sacrifice. The gate might be closed again, but it would take two Keepers to send the gods and spirits back. Which meant the assholes weren’t going anywhere since Collin believed they should be free.
Even if they were after me.
“Okeus! Where are you? You said you wanted me, well here I am!” I stepped back from the tree, throwing my arms wide. “Come and get me!” Taunting him was pointless, but I felt the need to rage at someone. A temporarily incapacitated god probably wasn’t the best choice, but it was safe enough for the moment. He had to regain strength before he could face anyone . . . even me.
Lightning flashed in the sky and thunder boomed.
“Ellie.”
I spun around, my long wet hair whipping against my arm. Tom Helmsworth, an old high school classmate of mine, stood behind me, hands on his hips. I suspected he was here in his official capacity—as a police officer of Manteo. “How’d you know I was here?”
“Every time a thunderstorm appears out of nowhere directly over the botanical gardens, it’s a safe bet that you’ll be here too.”
Fucking wind gods. They loved to torment me every chance they got.
“You can’t bring him back, Ellie.”
I knew Tom meant that I couldn’t bring Daddy back from the dead, but Daddy hadn’t died under ordinary circumstances. For all I knew, I could bring him back.
Tom took a few cautious steps toward me, and I understood why. The first few times he’d found me here, I was crying and kneeling on the spot where Daddy died. Two nights ago, he had found me pounding on the tree. Tonight I was shouting at the gods. Sadness had slipped into anger.
How much had he actually heard?
He stopped in front of me. “You can’t keep doing this. I haven’t arrested you because I know how hard it was for you to lose your dad. Everyone knows how close you two were.” He put his hand on my arm and gripped lightly.
His touch sent a bolt of pain through the zigzag scar on my bicep, and I tried not to wince.
Tom bent his knees and lowered his face to mine, his expression gentle. “Ellie, this is illegal. You’re trespassing.”
I looked back at the oak tree. Someone needed to tell that to the gods.
“You need to go home.”
Tom slid his arm around my back and gently guided me toward the gate. “Let me drive you.”
I shook away from his touch. “I can drive myself.”
His eyebrows rose. “Can you?”
I stopped in my tracks. “You think I’ve been drinking.”
“Ellie.” His voice softened and he looked down at me, water dripping from his bangs. “You’re hurting. There’s no shame in drinking a little to numb your grief, but I can’t let you drive and hurt yourself or someone else.”
“I’m not drunk, Tom.”
“Nevertheless, I’m going to drive you home.” His mouth lifted into a smart-ass grin. “Unless you’d rather I drive you to the police station.”
Some choice. “Fine.”
As soon as we reached the parking lot, the torrential downpour immediately stopped. If Tom noticed, he didn’t comment. Instead, he guided me toward his police cruiser, which was parked next to my beat-up car. Tom opened the passenger door for me. I offered him a tight smile and climbed in. At least he was letting me ride up front.
He made his way around the back of the car and popped the trunk. After he climbed behind the wheel, he tossed me a beach towel. “Here.”
I grabbed it. “I didn’t know towels were standard issue in a police car.”
He chuckled, using another towel to dry his face. “They’re not. But I was a Boy Scout.”
He must have stopped to grab the towels before driving out here. “Why are you being so n
ice to me, Tom?”
He stopped rubbing his hair with the towel and slowly lowered his hand to his lap. “Maybe we weren’t in the same grade, but we were friends through Claire’s sister.” He paused and tilted his head. “And I know that you’re all alone now that your dad’s gone. You don’t have any grandparents around. No aunts and uncles. No siblings.”
“I have Myra. And Claire.”
“True,” he acknowledged. “But Claire is getting ready for her wedding. And your stepmother is in mourning herself, not to mention all the overtime she’s putting in at the Fort Raleigh visitor center and the bed and breakfast.”
My eyes widened. He must have really been paying attention to my life to know all of that. I wasn’t sure I liked it.
“You need someone to keep an eye on you.”
My back stiffened. A few weeks ago someone else had insisted on keeping an eye on me whether I liked it or not. Look how that had turned out. “I can take care of myself.”
“No one’s disputing that. I just feel better watching out for you.”
It was pointless to argue with him so I stared out the windshield as we drove down Highway 64 back to Manteo.
A voice over his police radio broke the silence. “Helmsworth, we got a call about another mutilated dog off of Highway 64.”
Tom’s shoulders stiffened and he cast a sideways glance at me before answering. “Roger. I picked up a stranded driver, and I’m dropping her off in town before I head out there.”
“Roger.” The dispatcher gave Tom the address.
“Mutilated dog?” I asked, my stomach churning with dread. Had the spirits’ campaign of terrorism escalated?
Tom groaned. “As if animals dropping dead all over the island wasn’t bad enough, now something is attacking dogs and ripping their guts out without eating them.”
“What do you think it is?”
Tom’s eyebrows lifted. “Why don’t you tell me.”
My stomach dropped to the floorboard. “How would I know?”
Sighing, he ran his hand through his hair. “Sorry, it’s been a rough few weeks.”
He didn’t know the half of it.
“So, Ellie.” Tom shifted in his seat. “What do you know about the Native American gods?”
What had he heard? I shrugged. “Not much. Why do you ask?”
“Well . . .” His hand twisted on the steering wheel. “It just seems a little odd for a woman who can practically trace her ancestry back to the Mayflower to be shouting at Algonquian gods.”
I could go back further than that. I was a direct descendant of Ananias Dare of the Lost Colony of Roanoke, but I wasn’t about to tell him that. Especially when all the history books said there were no survivors. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I notice you’re still marking your door with those symbols.”
I twisted in my seat. “Are you investigating me?”
Tom parked at a stoplight and turned to look at me. “Ellie, two weeks ago there was a local death every day for four days and each person had ties to you. Of course I’m investigating you.”
My mouth dropped open, my anger rising to the surface again. “You really think I’d kill my own father?”
His face lost all expression. “I thought your father had a heart attack.”
Shit.
“Ellie, I’ve known you since you started kindergarten. There’s no way in hell you killed anyone, least of all your father.”
I turned away, trying to get it together. Tom was trained to get information from people. I needed to start thinking before I spoke, not a natural impulse for me.
The light turned green and Tom drove through the intersection. “So are you going to tell me the real reason why you have those marks on your front door?”
I didn’t answer.
“When I asked you after Marlena’s death, you said it was for protection. Protection from what?”
I closed my eyes and resisted the urge to shake my head. “I told you—it was insurance.”
“Where did you learn how to do that?”
I decided to turn the question around on him. “Where did you learn about Algonquian gods and markings?”
“My mother is part Lumbee. I asked my great uncle after I first saw them on your door.” He stopped at another stoplight.
This had to be the longest drive ever.
“And what’s with the marking on your back?”
Goddamn it. How on earth had he seen that?
As if reading my mind, he reached over and shifted the strap of my tank top to the side. “Your shirt isn’t exactly covering it. What’s it for?”
“It was a dare from Claire. She knows how much Myra hates tattoos. So before Daddy died, I got a henna tattoo and pretended it was real.” It was all true except for the dare part. “It’s fading.” Which also meant I was almost out of time. Okeus’s symbol on my back was a temporary protection from the gods and spirits. Once it was gone, my Manitou—or life force—would be fair game. And they’d all made it quite clear that they considered my Manitou a gourmet feast.
“More Native American symbols, Ellie.”
He was starting to piss me off. “When did it become a crime to be fascinated with another culture? People get Asian symbols tattooed on them all the time.”
The light turned green, and I held back a sigh of relief. We were only five blocks from my apartment.
“You have to admit that the timing is a bit coincidental.”
“How do you know I haven’t been interested in Native American things for a while?”
“Call it a hunch. You just admitted you got the henna tattoo right before your father died, and that’s around the time you started marking your door. Something fishy is going on here.”
I needed to learn to keep my mouth shut. I sucked at this covert crap.
We rode the rest of the way to my apartment in silence, although Tom kept sneaking glances at me. When he pulled into my parking lot, I reached for the door handle like it was my lifeline. He grabbed my arm. “Ellie, wait.”
I paused, refusing to look at him.
“Like I said, I know you’re not a murderer. I’m not accusing you of anything. In fact, I think you’re in trouble, only I’ve done a piss-poor job of telling you that.” He tugged on my arm. “Ellie, look at me.”
I slowly turned to face him.
“You’re scared of someone or something, and I want to help you. But I can’t do that unless you tell me what’s wrong.”
As I stared into Tom’s earnest face, I realized I felt like telling him everything. That I was one of two Curse Keepers, the descendant of the Ananias Dare line. As the eldest child of the previous Keeper, my father, my job had been to watch and wait for the breaking of the curse that made the Lost Colony of Roanoke disappear over four hundred years ago. The other Keeper was Collin Dailey, a commercial fisherman from Buxton, North Carolina, and part-time petty thief, who took his role more seriously than I did mine. He was the descendant of the line begun by the Croatan chief Manteo. Only Collin had purposely broken the curse . . . and instead of closing the gate to hell before the morning of the seventh day, he had tricked me into opening it wide.
Everyone was scrambling for a reasonable explanation for why the Lost Colony had suddenly reappeared a few weeks ago, preserved down to the food in the colonists’ bowls. I wanted to tell Tom the truth: Collin had shown up in the New Moon restaurant while I was working and pressed his right palm to mine, breaking the curse.
I would have loved to tell Tom about the horrifying things that had escaped and how they now lay in wait, regaining their strength before seeking their revenge against humanity for locking them away. That the mutilated dog he was about to investigate had undoubtedly been butchered by one of them.
But if I told him any of it, he would think I was crazy. If I told him all of it, he’d have me committed. The curse was my cross to bear.
I offered him a tired smile. “Thanks, Tom. If I find myself in a sit
uation where I think you can help me, I’ll be sure to call you.”
Before he could ask more questions, I hopped out of the police car and headed up the two flights of outside stairs to my apartment. When I reached the landing, I realized that I’d left my keys and purse in my unlocked car, but I wasn’t about to let Tom know that. I bent over and pulled my spare key from underneath the mat and slipped it into the door. As I swung it open, I froze. There were fresh markings on the door.
Collin had been here.
I swallowed the lump in my throat and summoned my anger. Collin Fucking Dailey didn’t deserve my tears. I had given him my heart—not to mention the fact that my soul was now literally bound to his for all eternity—and he’d thrown it away. He’d thrown me away for whatever reward Okeus had promised him in exchange for opening the gate.
So why was he still helping me?
After the curse was broken three weeks ago and the first spirits were released, Collin had started to mark my door with symbols that represented the day and the night, forces of nature, and, in the center of each side, his symbol for the land, asking all the forces to lend me their protection.
Collin was the son of the earth, and I was the daughter of the sea. Our power was stronger combined than it was individually. So right before the end—before he betrayed me—we intersected our symbols for added protection.
Now, every few nights, he would sneak up and either scratch on fresh markings or place his symbol over mine.
He was protecting me even now.
I wanted to hate him—I did hate him—but this very act had softened my heart to him before. And look where that had gotten me . . . I needed to grow up. Collin wasn’t doing this out of love.
Collin Dailey loved one person—Collin Dailey.
He was helping me out of guilt. It would only be a matter of time before he decided he’d paid his dues. Either that, or he thought he still needed me for something. Perhaps it was a combination of the two.
Any way I sliced it, I was in deep shit. The henna tattoo had faded so much it was almost gone, and Collin would soon stop lending me his marks.
I needed to learn how to protect myself or I was as good as dead.
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