A Perfect Curse

by Shereen Vedam

  That jarring thud, combined with her out of control vision, left Nevara dazed for a moment. A few blinks and her sight cleared to show the witch striding toward her, fists clenched. Behind her, Belle lay still on the ground beside her dog.

  “Help!” Heart pounding in panic, Nevara scrambled to get to her feet.

  The witch paused, looking over her shoulder and then with a smug smile, she continued toward Nevara. The lynx limped over to crouch before Nevara, growling, teeth bared, hackles raised.

  “Somebody help us!” Nevara called again, backing away from the advancing witch.

  “Miss Wood,” Mendal’s voice rang out from the forest. “We are coming. Hold on.”

  The witch gave a frustrated grunt and then ran off in the opposite direction. Don Sabio gave a sad whine and limping badly, hobbled after her.

  Nevara’s heart went out to him, and she shouted, “Stay,” but he refused to listen. She could not go after him, not before checking on Belle.

  She hurried over to her friend’s side. Like Earnest, the countess lay unmoving. Unlike Belle, the dog breathed steadily. Something was blocking her friend’s breathing. Nevara pried her mouth open and spotted a piece of orange covered in tiny black strands lodged in her throat. She pulled at it but her fingers kept slipping.

  Mendal and the gypsy family rushed to their side. “Oh, my lady.” The maid fell on her knees beside her mistress. “We have come too late.”

  “A piece of orange is choking her, and I cannot get it out.”

  The grandfather looked around the campsite and then bent to pick up the fallen basket of fruit.

  Nevara sat back, her insides churning with horror and let the maid’s groans and the gypsies’ fearful chatter fade away. She had to do something. Her sight was crystal clear now, and as plainly as she saw Belle lying before her, Nevara was certain this attack had been aimed at her.

  She was the one meant to lie in this enchanted sleep.

  Spotting a slender branch close by, she pushed Mendal aside and used the stick to spear the piece of orange.

  “You are pushing it further down,” Mendal protested in a teary voice.

  The throbbing had begun in Nevara’s head again, the annoying side effect of her special vision flaring. She released Belle and sat back, furious at the inconvenient pain, but that thudding pulse at the side of her forehead suddenly brought to mind something the maid once said.

  “Mendal, when I look at the piece of orange in Belle’s throat, I see black threads woven into it, but the oranges in that basket, they seem normal.”

  “I do not know what that means, Miss Wood,” the maid said, shaking her head, her tears flowing freely.

  “You once said that my vision might warn me, perhaps even help me. But how?” Nevara opened Belle’s mouth again and looked inside. “If I can see the threads, maybe I can untangle them?”

  “Oh, miss, if you can do that, maybe it will release the orange from her throat!”

  “I will need both my hands to work.” Nevara snapped the branch and used it to prop open Belle’s mouth. “Mendal, hold this in place.”

  Putting her spectacles aside, Nevara forced her sight to shift so that she could clearly see the minute black strands. Slowly, she began to unravel each thread, the way she would untie a knot. “It is coming apart.”

  “Thank the Lord,” Mendal said.

  The gypsies were all hovering over her now, and Nevara gestured them back. “I need light to see.”

  The threads came loose and finally, Nevara was left with only the end of the thread embedded inside the orange lodged in Belle’s throat. The rest were bunched in Nevara’s fist. She yanked the thread out, dislodging the fruit and snapping the branch loose on its way out, and the thread vanished.

  Belle gasped and then coughed, dragging in painful gasps of air. Drops of blood dotted her lips, probably from where the branch had scratched her gums.

  “Oh, my lady, you are alive.” Mendal helped her mistress to sit up, rubbing her back until she could breathe easier.

  The gypsies crowded close again, ‘oohing’ in surprise and wonder.

  Mendal gently wiped Belle’s lips clean with her sleeve.

  Nevara readjusted her vision so she could see normally and put her spectacles back on.

  “What happened?” Belle asked.

  “The witch suffocated you with an orange piece.” As she spoke, Nevara realized her head no longer throbbed. She sat back on her heels, stunned at how good she felt. Full of energy and joy. All around her, the sky looked bluer, the grass seemed greener and the air was fresher despite the gypsies crowding close.

  Normally, a shift would be followed by hours of suffering through a pounding megrim. Could the dismantling of the black thread, of the dark magic spell, have also released her pain? Was that why her shifts came? To help Nevara right what was wrong in the world?

  “The witch choked you with this.” Nevara picked up the squished piece of fruit from her lap. It was orange and juicy with not a thread in sight.

  Belle shook her head in amazement and then looked over at the hound. “Earnest! Has she killed him?”

  “He breathes.” Nevara moved over to the wolfhound and pointed to his eyes, which were open and following their movements. “He can obviously see.” She gently stroked his forehead. “Though he cannot seem to move.”

  “This is like the spell she has used on Rufus,” Belle said. “He is alive and aware, but immobile.”

  “Perhaps I can help him as I helped you.” A little amazed by her own temerity, Nevara took off her spectacles again, and searched Earnest’s body for black threads. At first, she saw nothing, but when she turned his face over, she gasped. On the top of his forehead, a mass of black threads were knotted, going in and out of his skull.

  “I have found it,” Nevara said, amazed.

  Don Sabio came limping up to them and slumped beside the hound.

  “Oh, thank heavens, you are alive!” Nevara hugged the lynx in relief. She sat up and looked him over. His hind limb was bleeding again.

  “I will take care of him,” the gypsy mother said and ran to the cart. “I get healing salve.”

  Nevara sighed with relief but also in confusion. Why was the lynx unharmed? He should be lying still like Earnest, or be dead in the woods. How had he escaped the witch’s retribution? Unless she was not as powerful as they assumed?

  “Nevara!” Belle drew her attention by pointing back to her beloved dog.

  She nodded and focused her shifted sight back to the black strands on Earnest’s forehead. One by one, she undid the threads, unweaving them to release the knot. The final loop came free, one end of it dipping into the left side of Earnest’s head. She snapped on the black strand and it came free, disintegrating in her hand.

  Earnest sat up in a jerk and then leaped up to lick Belle and Nevara.

  “That was remarkable,” Belle said. “I knew you were working away but I could not see what you were working on. The result, however, is unarguable.”

  “You should have seen her healing you.” Mendal sounded as proud as if she had witnessed a miracle. “She is an angel.”

  The comparison shocked and delighted Nevara. Never in her wildest dreams had she ever been compared to any being from God’s realm.

  Belle clutched Nevara’s hand. “Do you realize what this means?”

  Nevara nodded, hope flaring in her chest. “We have a means to free Mark, Rufus and Paco.”

  Belle faced the gypsies. The children looked terrified while the mother clutched the pot of salve to her chest, and the grandfather still hugged the basket of oranges.

  “Paco is in trouble. He, my husband and Mark are the prisoners of the de Rivera witch. We are going to their rescue. And we could use your help.”

  Chapter Fifteen

 
NEVARA AND HER party traveled swiftly now, and in silence. They changed the horses for mules and kept going. A day later, the covered cart trundled through a narrow calle in Seville. They pulled up once to get directions to the de Rivera estate and then continued on, entering a country of orange orchards and vineyards. At dusk, they set up camp, but even before the sun rose the next morning, they set off.

  As they drew closer to their destination, Nevara and Belle had a long talk about how they would approach the de Rivera estate. Since the witch thought Belle dead, it would raise the witch’s suspicions if she accompanied Nevara. So they decided that it would be best for Nevara to distract the witch, while the rest would secretly enter the house and knock out their enemy before she could use her magic.

  Paco’s wife planned to carry her big iron pot as her best weapon and the grandfather, a heavy club. Nevara was terrified at the idea of confronting the de Rivera witch, but Mark needed her, and she would face Lucifer himself to save him.

  The estate came into view and the gypsies hid their cart behind a thick grove of olive trees across the road.

  “Miss.” Mendal tugged at Nevara’s arm. “You should not face this wicked creature alone. May I accompany you?”

  Nevara, whose insides were quaking at their plan, almost cried in relief. She hugged Mendal. “Thank you, and yes.”

  Belle joined them in the hug. “Be careful, both of you.”

  Clutching each other’s hands, Mendal and Nevara descended and approached the hacienda. A tall, thin cowherd glanced up as they passed by. He ducked his head and continued on with his work.

  The estate looked as deserted as others they had passed along the road. Even this hacienda had only one cowherd tending cattle outside. That worked in their favor. If there were as small a number of servants inside as outside, the rescue attempt might go smoothly.

  Nevara gave Mendal a reassuring nod and the maid knocked on the front door. There was no answer. The hot sun beat down on their backs. Mendal raised her hand again when the door opened.

  A beautiful Spanish lady greeted them. Nevara was surprised. She had expected to see the hag who had attacked them in the forest.

  The woman eyed them with curiosity. “Puedo ayudarle?”

  Nevara hesitated, not understanding, and then she moved forward, offering the speech she had rehearsed in English. “I am Miss Nevara Wood. This is my maid, Mendal. We are here to see Señorita de Rivera.”

  The lady’s face remained still a moment, then a gracious smile turned the tips of her lips upward.

  “I am Señorita Anna Louisa de Rivera,” she said in beautifully accented English. “Come inside. It is too hot to converse on the doorstep.”

  She showed them into a drawing room and once they were seated, she said, “Excuse me while I fetch us something to drink. I recently lost my house servants and must do the deed myself.”

  Once Anna Louisa left the room, Nevara squeezed Mendal’s hand in worry. “She does not resemble the hag who attacked us.”

  That was an understatement. Señorita de Rivera was breathtaking. Nevara suddenly felt self-conscious in her unkempt Zincali clothes and ratty headscarf.

  “I hope we live past today.” Mendal’s voice was trembling.

  Their hostess returned with a silver tray that held three tall glasses of liquid. She set the tray on the center table and moved a glass in front of each of them. “Drink,” she said softly, sitting back. “It will quench your thirst.”

  “In a moment, perhaps,” Nevara said. She had no intention of taking a sip and was prepared to dash the glass from Mendal’s hand if the maid was foolish enough to lift it to her lips. She was not.

  Anna Louisa picked up her glass, took a long drink, then asked, “How may I help you, Miss Wood?”

  Nevara hoped her story would intrigue this woman enough to keep her here until Belle and the Cales approached the rear of the house. “I was recently shipwrecked.”

  “Oh! Were you injured?”

  She sounded so sincere, Nevara almost believed her concern. “We were lucky to have made it to shore.” In a hard voice, she added, “Many died.”

  “Life is often unfair.” Anna Louisa shook her head as if in sympathy. “We must be thankful you survived. You have God’s blessings.” For the first time, Nevara heard a hint of bitterness lacing her words. She covered that slip with a brilliant smile.

  “God’s blessings, indeed,” Mendal said.

  “Señorita de Rivera, I came to advise you that I am a descendant of Señor Cordero Juan Nero de Rivera.”

  Anna Louisa observed her with a set face, not a muscle twitching to indicate she had heard Nevara. Finally, the woman placed her glass on the table and approached the front window behind Nevara. She stood beside a three-foot tall mahogany cabinet and absently stroked it as she gazed outside.

  Nevara shared a nervous glance with Mendal. That view would allow her to see anyone approaching the house from across the road. Had her friends reached the back yet? Time had been crawling since Anna Louisa invited them inside. It was hard to tell if their allotted fifteen minutes had lapsed. And having Anna Louisa at her back made Nevara’s neck twitchy.

  She rose to her feet and faced her terrifying hostess. If this stunning woman was indeed the hag who attacked them in the woods, then she was formidable, and not a person Nevara wanted to turn her back on. “I did not mean any disrespect, Señorita.”

  Anna Louisa glanced at her and sadness shaded her gaze.

  Nevara breathed in silent relief at drawing the witch’s attention back to her.

  “Have you noted the state of my home? Torn fences. Depleted cattle. If you came to collect a rich heritage, you are too late.” She stroked the cabinet. “The French robbed you of it.”

  “I was sad to see the state of the countryside and of this estate,” Nevara said, stepping to the side, forcing Anna Louisa to turn away from the window in order to keep watch on her. “The Spanish people have suffered much at French hands.”

  “And at your English hands,” Anna Louisa said, sending a glare her way. With fists clenched, she finally turned her back to the window. “They, too, own part of the blame.”

  “I understand,” Nevara said in a soft, soothing tone. “You must have been frightened when the invaders came.”

  “I fled before their arrival,” her hostess said in a harsh tone, coming closer. “Abandoned all my possessions.” She flung her arms wide to indicate her home. “I returned to an empty husk. They stole everything, including my precious books, which were all I had left of my beloved father.”

  Her voice cracked and she dropped her arms as if in defeat. “I should have stayed to protect the land, this house, my things. That is what my father would have wanted.” She gave Nevara a hard look shadowed with envy. “You would have stayed. You fight your battles.”

  Nevara frowned. It was odd to hear Anna Louisa’s description of her as a warrior. She had always seen herself as timid and broken. “You were one woman, alone,” she said, surprised to hear herself defending this ferocious witch. Yet, she seemed in such pain. “How could you have stood up to the entire French army? Your father would have wanted you to be safe.”

  Anna Louisa waved a hand in dismissal. “I should have done something.” She circled the room, pacing like a caged tiger. “Stayed here to protect this house.” She touched a pillar by the room’s doorway, her hand gentle as it slid down the plaster. “I intend to protect it now.” This time, the menace in her words overrode all self-pity and regret.

  Fear leaped into Nevara’s throat, making it difficult to breathe. Mendal jumped up and stood before Nevara, her hands stretched out as if to physically defend her.

  Anna Louisa’s smile was bitter. “You have an uncanny ability to acquire friends who will risk their lives for you. I have no friends.” She glanced toward the stairs leading upsta
irs. “Only duty.” She swung around and aimed a finger at Mendal.

  Wide-eyed, Nevara spotted the assault coming. Black ribbons flashed across the room and landed on Mendal’s forehead. The maid froze in place. Nevara could not believe how fast that had happened. She glanced at Anna Louisa in time to see another stream of undulating ribbons coming her way. She held up her hand, and that deadly thread struck her palm, halted, quivered in midair and then disintegrated into smoke.

  Anna Louisa’s mouth sagged open, her eyes wide with shock. “How did you do that?”

  Nevara dropped her raised arm but her fingers were twitching, waiting for the next attack. “This is a gift from my great-great-grandfathers, from both the Spanish and the Zincali side, and from a de Rivera witch.”

  “No, that is impossible.” Anna Louisa shook her head in disbelief. “She barely teaches me the least of her powers. Yet she willingly gave you such a tool?” Her next laugh had no humor, only venom and a touch of madness. “I have heard that tale many a time. My grandmother is fond of it, though she failed to tell me the effect her spell had on her stepdaughter’s descendants.”

  Nevara shuffled around Mendal and backed up toward the front door, her thoughts whirling. Was it safe to leave Mendal here? Where were the others? Was there really a three-century-old witch upstairs? “The de Rivera witch I spoke of died centuries ago.” That statement came out more like a wish than a firm fact.

  “She may have died, my dear, but she did not depart this earth. She has haunted me all of my life. I may be her descendant but I can never satisfy her.”

  Anna Louisa glanced at the glasses on the center table. “You were not thirsty, but perhaps someone as powerful as you might finally assuage that one’s hunger.” She indicated the stairs behind Nevara. “Would you like to meet her?”