The Curse Breakers

by Denise Grover Swank

Collin had led me to believe we were dealing with just Croatan gods. Maybe this meant I could expand my search.

  Sleep was elusive again. I got my usual visit from the animals begging for my help, and the badger was back too. My neighbor’s dog, Chip, lay on a patch of grass, his guts exposed. The badger was rooting around in his open body cavity, but he lifted his bloody face when he saw me. “Do you know why I eat their hearts, witness to creation?”

  “No,” I whispered.

  “That’s where their Manitou is purest.”

  The full implication of what he was saying sunk in and I fell to my knees.

  I was awoken by a banging on my door and I sat upright, clutching my sheet to my chest, my palm itching.

  Okeus had come to eat my heart.

  No, Okeus had plans for me, although those plans might very well include my heart. But I didn’t think he’d just show up to bang on my front door. Okeus seemed like a god who went for pomp and circumstance and special effects. When he was ready to pull off whatever he had planned, it would be a production.

  Convincing myself it wasn’t Okeus, I padded to the door, nearly hyperventilating with fear. “Who is it?”

  Please let it be a human. Three weeks ago, it would never have occurred to me that there’d be an alternative.

  “Curse Keeper,” the spirit hissed.

  Closing my eyes, I rested my head against the door. Couldn’t I catch a break? Just one?

  “What do you want?”

  “Ahone wishes me to relay a message.”

  Ahone?

  From what little I’d learned, Ahone was a standoffish kind of god and my experience with him had borne that out. Sure, he’d sent his messenger to me after the curse was broken, warning me not to align myself with Okeus, and then right before the ceremony at the inn to tell me that Daddy was my sacrifice. And Ahone had possessed enough balls to show up and take Daddy’s Manitou, but I hadn’t heard from him since. He told me I could bear his mark, and then the bastard had taken off without bothering to tell me what that was. Okeus and his merry band of baddies were much more faithful.

  I opened the door a crack. “What is it?” A white owl sat on my porch railing. It would have resembled a real bird if I couldn’t see through it.

  “Your time is running out.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know. Maybe if I knew Ahone’s mark, I could do something to protect myself. Collin says he doesn’t know it.”

  “Your father knew.”

  My chest tightened. “But my father’s dead.”

  “He left his legacy to you.”

  What was he talking about? Then I realized. “His notes? I can’t find them! If Ahone wants me so badly, why won’t he show me what it is?”

  “All warriors must be tested. You are on a journey.”

  “Is this what this is? A test? Shutting the damn gate and sacrificing my father wasn’t enough proof of my loyalty?”

  The owl remained silent. I didn’t need an answer. I already knew.

  “Let’s say I discover this magical mark and I get it tattooed on my back. What does it mean? I’m not stupid enough to believe there’s no price.”

  “You forfeit your soul to Ahone.”

  My chest heaved as I tried to control the tidal wave of emotion washing over me. Sell my soul to one god or let the other torture me. Not that it mattered.

  “How long do I have?”

  “Two days. Maybe three.” The owl faded.

  I still had at least two days to find the mark. Maybe the professor at Pembroke could help. All the more reason to go see her after work.

  I couldn’t go back to sleep, so I washed my body off with a washrag. I would have given anything to take a shower, but I was desperate to keep my mark for as long as possible. I did a little housekeeping before walking to the inn at around six fifteen.

  Myra was surprised to see me when I walked into the kitchen, but she seemed happy to have me there. When she looked up from stirring her breakfast casserole and got a better look at me, though, the smile fell off her face. “You need more sleep, Ellie. You can’t keep going on this way.”

  I suppressed a yawn. “I know.”

  “I have some sleeping pills my doctor prescribed me after your father died. You can take one of those tonight.”

  I was tempted. I hadn’t slept more than three consecutive hours in weeks. “Thanks, Myra. I’ll think about it.”

  “What are you doing here this early?”

  “I’ve been up awhile, and I figured you could use the help. Did the new guests get settled in all right?”

  She poured the egg and sausage mixture into two baking dishes. “Yes, and thank you for cleaning up the rooms. The flowers were a lovely touch.”

  “That was Claire’s idea.” But thinking about the rooms reminded me of the stain I’d found in my old room. “Myra, did Daddy ever talk about Momma’s murder?”

  She froze for a second, her eyes wide, but then recovered enough to put the casseroles in the oven. “That caught me off guard.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Shaking her head, she put the bowl in the sink and turned on the water. “No, there’s nothing to be sorry about. It’s just that no one has mentioned her death in ages.”

  I sat on a bar stool at the counter. “So did he ever talk about it?”

  Myra poured a cup of coffee and added creamer before handing it to me, then poured one for herself. “Not much. He didn’t like to think about it.” She sat on the stool next to mine and leaned her elbow on the counter with a sigh. “I think he felt responsible.”

  “Why? The man was after me.”

  “Maybe he thought he should have been here.” She took a sip of her coffee. “He said he wished he’d never left the house that night.”

  “I don’t remember much about the attack and nothing at all about the investigation after. I only know what Daddy told me. He said they thought the man who did it was someone who didn’t like him.”

  “Yes, he told me there had been some kind of zoning meeting and his was the deciding vote against the man who had made the zoning request. I don’t even remember what it was about.” She frowned and reached over to tuck a loose tendril of hair behind my ear. “It seems wrong of me not to know.”

  “It’s okay, Myra.”

  She shook her head. “No, it’s not. It’s normal for you to ask questions. Especially after what happened to your dad. Honestly, I’m surprised you haven’t asked sooner.”

  I never thought to ask because I carried so much blame myself. But the new dreams and the stain on the floor made me wonder if what I remembered was true. Why it mattered now, of all times, was more of a mystery.

  “The man made threatening calls to your father and mother. Then he started mentioning you, threatening to harm you. That’s when your dad called the police. The police questioned him, your dad filed a restraining order, and that seemed to be that. In fact, the man moved off the island, so everyone thought you were safe.”

  “But I wasn’t.”

  She frowned. “No, you weren’t.”

  “If they knew who did it, why didn’t they arrest him?”

  She sighed and crossed her legs. “Well, for one thing, they never had concrete proof it was him. They only suspected. And for another, they couldn’t find him. He left the island about a month before your mother’s death. And when the police tried to find him to question him, it was like he fell off the face of the earth. They had no idea where he was.”

  I leaned my elbows on the counter. “So he got away with murder.”

  “If he did it, yeah, I guess so.”

  I expected to feel bitter at the realization. Instead, I only felt profound sadness. “I remember being upstairs getting ready for bed. A storm was blowing in, and I was scared, especially since a tree branch kept banging against my window. Momma told me to pick a book for her to read to me, but first she went downstairs to make sure the doors were locked. Then I heard breaking glass.”

  Myra took my
hand in hers.

  “There was shouting, and I went to sit at the top of the stairs, too scared to go down even though I heard the man yelling for me.” I still lived with the guilt of my cowardice. I looked into Myra’s face. “I didn’t know that man had threatened me before that night until you just told me.”

  “I’m not surprised. You were only eight. They probably didn’t want you to be scared.”

  “I should have gone downstairs, Myra. If I’d gone downstairs, Momma might still be alive.”

  Tears in her eyes, Myra squeezed my hand and shook her head. “No, Ellie. You would have been killed.”

  “But I could have saved her.”

  “Do you really think your mother could have lived with the knowledge that you were murdered in front her and she couldn’t stop it? I assure you that she very willingly sacrificed herself for you. And she’d make the exact same choice again. Just like I would.”

  My voice broke. “It’s not fair. Daddy sacrificed himself for me too. I didn’t ask either of them to do that.”

  She smiled through her tears. “Oh, Ellie. You carry so many burdens, sometimes I forget how young you really are.” Tears streamed down her cheeks. “Of course you didn’t have to ask them to do it. That’s what it means to be a parent.”

  I threw my arms around her neck and clung to her, needing to feel close to her. I knew that soon I’d have to sacrifice my own needs to keep her safe, just as my parents had done for me. I was dangerous to Myra. I had to figure a way to send her away. Even if it meant losing her.

  “You have no idea how much it hurts me to see you with all this responsibility heaped on your shoulders.”

  I sat up. “You know I don’t mind helping with the inn.”

  “That’s not what I’m talking about.”

  My mouth parted, but no words came.

  She grabbed my right hand and spread my fingers open, exposing the mark on my palm. “I know what this is. Your father drew it from time to time when he wasn’t himself. Sometimes he’d try to draw it on his own palm.” She paused. “It’s the mark of the Keeper.”

  “The gate’s closed, Myra. Thanks to Daddy.” I choked on my tears.

  “It may be closed, but you and I both know that the spirits and gods were set loose all the same.”

  My eyes widened and I took a deep breath. Myra had enough to worry about without adding me to the list. “My job was to close the gate.”

  “So you say. But I noticed the fresh marks on the doors last night.”

  “It’s insurance.”

  Her chin quivered as her fingertip traced my palm. “We both know your job isn’t done,” she said with calm resignation.

  I didn’t know how to respond.

  “I’ve told you time and again that you’re my daughter. You may not have been born to me, but you’re firmly implanted in my heart. If I could sacrifice myself for you—”

  I gasped and closed my hand around hers. “Myra! Don’t say that!”

  “I would do it, Ellie. If it would give you peace, I would do it willingly.” She swallowed. “It kills me wondering what terror you’ve faced . . . what terror still awaits you. I know those things are trying to bait you. Chip . . .” She looked at her coffee cup, then stared into my eyes again. “I don’t want you to be alone in your apartment. I want you to move back home so I’m not worried about you every minute of the day. At least when you’re here, I’ll know you’re safe.”

  “Myra . . .” I understood, but I didn’t know if I could do it. Although my financial circumstances might make the decision for me.

  “Just promise me you’ll think about it, okay?”

  I nodded. “Okay.”

  Myra slid off her stool. “I have to leave an hour early today. The research team will be leaving at about seven forty-five.”

  “I can take you, and my car should be done sometime this afternoon.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” She waved her hand at me. “We’re just as behind out there as we are at the inn. I’ll have plenty to do.” She looked over her shoulder at the sink full of dishes. “I have some paperwork I need to take care of. Would you mind cleaning up this mess and serving breakfast?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Since the guests upstairs are all leaving together, I thought it might be easier to serve them in the dining room. There aren’t enough tables and chairs for everyone in the other house.”

  “That makes sense.”

  “I told them breakfast would be on the sideboard at seven.”

  “Okay.”

  I hopped off the stool and pulled her into another hug. Myra and Claire were the only two people I had left, and Myra could have easily walked away from all this craziness. Yet she was staying for me. The significance was not lost on me. “I love you.”

  Her arms squeezed around me. “Child of my heart, I love you too.” Dropping her arms, she grinned at me, her eyes glassy. “We’re turning into a Hallmark movie.” She swatted my arm. “If I don’t see you before I leave this morning, be careful today.”

  “You too.”

  I filled up the dishwasher and washed the remaining dishes in the sink, staring out the window at the side yard. It seemed empty without Chip running around. Myra was right. The spirits had killed Chip to bait me, just like they’d killed people I knew to coerce me to open the gate the rest of the way. Was it time to walk away from the rest of the people I cared about?

  Myra had already prepared a tray of biscuits, so I put them into the second oven and then moved into the dining room, carrying the coffeepot. I set up a coffee station and arranged the table with plates and silverware. I heard the timer go off for the biscuits, so I turned back toward the kitchen. As I was heading down the short hall to the kitchen through the butler’s pantry, I saw a man entering the dining room from the entrance on the other side.

  “Coffee’s ready if you want some. I’ll have breakfast out in a minute.”

  “Thanks,” he mumbled.

  I glanced at the clock in the kitchen, making sure I was still on time. 6:50. He was early.

  After I had everything out of the oven and the biscuits arranged in a cloth napkin–lined basket, I carried the casserole in and set it on the sideboard.

  The man was standing at the window, looking out toward the downtown area. “Cute little town you have here.” He had an English accent, which caught my attention.

  “Most people who live here like it,” I said, giving him a second look before heading back into the kitchen. It wasn’t uncommon to get foreigners on Roanoke Island, but something about him seemed familiar.

  I grabbed the biscuits and the tray of butter, jellies, and jams and carried them into the dining room. The man was where I’d left him.

  “You say most people. Are you not one of them?” he asked.

  He was perceptive. Although these were researchers and not tourists, I still needed to be careful not to damage the image of our town. “No, of course not. I was born here and will die here.” Of that, I was certain. And it would probably happen sooner rather than later.

  “Again, a strange way to put it.”

  I cringed. Damn my need for honesty. Rearranging things on the sideboard, I kept my back to him. “I love Manteo, but things have been a bit crazy here lately.”

  “Since the appearance of the colony?”

  “Yes.”

  “And what about the marks on the doors? The Native American symbols?”

  I froze for a few seconds. Several guests had asked about them over the last couple of weeks, and I’d told them it was all part of the experience. This man’s question seemed more pointed.

  I turned to look at him and was surprised to find myself face-to-face with Dr. Preston.

  “You.” His eyes widened. “We met outside my office a couple of days ago.”

  I froze, speechless and stunned.

  “Why are those symbols on your doors?”

  While hope surged inside me—He’s here! Maybe he can still help!—I had n
o idea how to go about getting the information I needed without scaring him away. “Are you part of the research team?”

  He set his coffee cup on the table, his eyes narrowing in on me. “Not officially. I’m a guest of one of the researchers. He told me that Manteo’s hut was on site, and he asked me if I wanted to check it out.”

  “Manteo had a hut in the village?” Myra had never told me. I knew the village had reappeared completely intact, as if it had been picked up in 1587 and dropped back into place over four hundred years later, with edible food and water still in washbowls. Everything had returned in usable condition. Except for the inhabitants, of course. They had returned as fully clothed skeletons. But those were the only details that had been released to the public. It had never occurred to me that Manteo would have lived with the colonists and kept a home there. Along with Ananias Dare, my multiple-great grandfather.

  I needed to get into those huts.

  His head tilted slightly as he observed me. “You didn’t know?”

  “No.”

  “What is your interest in Manteo and the Croatan?”

  “How long are you here for?”

  My question surprised him. “A couple of weeks. What does that have to do with anything?”

  I could go about this one of two ways. While I’d love nothing more than to charge forward and tell him everything, I was sane enough to realize that it would scare him off. Slow and steady seemed the best way to go about this. I had two weeks to get information out of him. Even if I wasn’t sure the gods would wait that long.

  He was watching me warily and I could tell he was becoming suspicious. The longer I took to answer, the stranger I looked. “I grew up on stories about the Lost Colony. We all know about Manteo, especially with the Lost Colony reenactment play. Shoot, I was the Dare baby.”

  “What’s the Dare baby?”

  “Every August they pick a baby to be baby Virginia Dare in the play. It’s quite an honor. You have no idea how badly people want their baby to be picked.”

  He looked confused.

  “I’m just saying that I’ve grown up living and breathing the legend of the colony. The Croatan are a part of it.”

  “That still doesn’t explain why there are symbols on your door.”