“She is right,” Belle said. “The ghost must be vanquished.”
“How?” Mark asked. “Spirits may be reasonably easy to summon, but they are notoriously difficult to dismiss.”
“I had been wondering why I was brought here,” Belle said, her eyes widening with understanding. “Now I see the reason. However, even if I could speak to the spirit upstairs, I truly do not know what would appease it enough to make it turn toward heaven’s light.”
Nevara remembered the flames licking around that wraith, and she shivered with dread. All of her life, her aunt had convinced her that she was destined to end in hell’s hot embrace. “Belle, heaven is not the place that seeks her.”
Chapter Sixteen
ANNA LOUISA JUMPED up from the floor, startling Nevara.
Mark pulled Nevara away from the witch whose books now lay scattered in lazy piles about her feet like discarded toys, although she still had one clutched to her chest.
Anna Louisa fixed her wide open eyes fervently on Nevara. “You have thought of some trick to send the evil one away. If there is anything I can do to banish her, I promise on my father’s grave, I will help.” Her chin quivered. “Perhaps, in this small way, I can make him proud of me again. You can do as you wish with me after—turn me over to the Inquisition, kill me. But, por favor, allow me to do this one good service to atone for my deeds before I meet my maker.”
Nevara faced Mark. “While I was lying on that bed, I had an opportunity to study the wraith. Surrounding her was netting, similar to the one you built around the Magdalena.”
“The spell to guard the ship?”
“Yes, like that. Only, the wraith’s spell keeps the flames of hell from drawing her in. It keeps her earthbound.”
“Can you dismantle it?” Belle asked, sounding awed.
“She will never allow you near her,” Anna Louisa interrupted in a frightened voice. “She is crafty. She knows how to hide when it suits her.”
“Then what we need is a distraction,” Mark said. “Something to keep her from noticing Nevara’s activities.”
Anna Louisa’s laugh was harsh. “Nothing diverts the old one, save her feeding.” And then she went still.
“We are not offering up another victim,” Mark said.
“You could cast a spell,” Nevara said.
“If she is ancient and crafty,” Belle said, “I doubt a spell would fool her for long.”
“We could try,” Nevara said. “I will risk it.”
“You will not,” Mark said.
“Anna Louisa!” Belle cried out. “No!”
The woman had slipped a vial from her bodice and held it to her lips. Before Mark could grab it, she swallowed the content.
“What have you done?” he asked.
The woman sank to the floor to lie over her books.
“Poison.” Belle frowned, concentrating on Anna Louisa. “I sensed her thinking of it and turned to check. But I was too late.”
Nevara knelt beside the dying woman. “Oh, Anna Louisa, why?”
“Only I might be strong enough to hold her back,” she mumbled, “while you work your magic.”
Nevara held her gently in her arms. What a sacrifice this lonely, betrayed woman was making.
“Will you take care of my home?” Anna Louisa asked.
“Do not worry.” Nevara turned to Mark. “We need a doctor.”
Belle shook her head before he could answer. “I suspect this is a fast-acting poison, kept close at hand as a contingency.” She closed her eyes. “She has carried that vial for years, ever since the French first invaded Spain.”
“Poison might be easier than the authorities sentencing her to death,” Mark said.
“But is it better than what the wraith has in store for her?” Nevara asked in concern. “How can we do as she proposes?”
“It is her choice,” Belle said. “She wants to make amends.”
“My father liked his land to be well cared for.” Anna Louisa’s mind seemed fixated on that topic. Her gaze never wavered from Nevara’s as she cradled the book in her arms, caressing it. “He believed an owner should be present, always, to see to the needs of the land and its people. I failed him in that. You must not. Promise me you will care for my home. Promise.”
The plea surprised and worried Nevara. How could she do as Anna Louisa asked? London was her home, with the other alliance members. And with Mark. He had always insisted that his home was England. Nevara glanced at him, her heart breaking.
He knelt and took her hand. “There is no longer any reason for me to remain exiled from Spain. So where you go, I go.”
His answer gave her the courage to nod to Anna Louisa. “I vow that your home will not need for anything.”
Anna Louisa touched Nevara’s face. “My father would have been proud of you. You would have made him a good daughter. Better than I have been.”
“He sounds as if he loved you,” Nevara murmured. “Love like that cannot be lost or thrown away. Whatever you have done, whatever your mistakes, his love for you would have never died.”
Anna Louisa shivered, perspiration beading her forehead. She coughed, and spots of blood splattered her gown. “Take me to my bedroom.” She stared intently at Nevara, daring her to argue. “My grandmother always insisted the killings be done in her presence. I do not wish to disappoint her.” She clenched Nevara’s hand. “Work quickly and be careful. That old wraith is wily.”
Mark picked up Anna Louisa, and her book slipped from her grasp, thumping to the floor. As he carried her upstairs, Nevara picked up the volume and followed with Belle. The door to Anna Louisa’s bedroom, though no hinges held it in place anymore, opened at Mark’s nod.
Nevara marveled at his casual command of his magic. There was so much about him she did not know. If they succeeded at this dangerous task, they would have all the time they needed to learn about each other.
The room remained dark. Mark laid Anna Louisa on her bed, and Nevara tucked the book in beside the dying woman. Anna Louisa gripped it fiercely and thanked Nevara.
The window curtains billowed as Mark picked up an unlighted candle and blew on it. The wick flickered to life. He used that to light another and then another until the room glowed.
Mark, Nevara and Belle stood at the end of the bed.
After several minutes, Belle tugged at Nevara. “Anna Louisa is growing despondent. She is giving up.”
“Will she be strong enough?” Nevara whispered.
“She may fail herself as she has done all of her life.” Belle let go of Nevara’s hand. “Anna Louisa,” she said, approaching to sit on the bed. “Listen to me.”
Anna Louisa’s eyes were barely open but her gaze shifted to Belle. Nevara saw defeat there and worried for the soul of this tormented woman.
“You must ask God for forgiveness,” Belle said.
Anna Louisa did not reply at first, but then she spoke. “Too . . . late . . . for me.”
“It is never too late,” Belle said. “Anna Louisa, you cannot win this battle alone. You need help. Ask for forgiveness. Now!”
Anna Louisa’s tears pooled. “No! I cannot face my father. Better that my soul be condemned.”
Nevara let go of Mark to sit by Anna Louisa’s other side. She gently brushed her cheek. “If you cannot save yourself, think of those coming after you, to be tormented as you were if we do not finish this.”
The Spanish woman’s eyes widened.
“You said I have courage.” Nevara cupped Anna Louisa’s face. “I gift that to you. Take it. Use it.”
Anna Louisa’s determination returned, falteringly.
“A small part of all those who died in this room are now a part of you,” Belle said. “This is your chance to fight for them. Save what little remains of them that
is in you.”
Anna Louisa’s eyes widened in shock, and then she nodded. “Dios, por favor,” she gasped, “perdóname.”
A tear slid down Nevara’s face as Anna Louisa de Rivera died. She wiped away the droplet but another trickled down her face. She returned to Mark’s side, and he held her tight.
Nevara glanced around the room but did not see the wraith. Belle pointed to the bed. Mark frowned and shrugged as if he could not see what had caught the countess’s attention.
Nevara nervously adjusted her spectacles and focused on Anna Louisa’s body. A ghostly specter of white rose upward and wavered in the air, as if confused.
A dark shape swooped down and yanked Anna Louisa’s spirit across the room. The two wrestled, the wraith releasing an unholy howl of rage. Nevara shrank from the vicious battle.
Belle’s hand at her back stopped her retreat. “Now.”
The two spirits struggled for control. The darker shape eroded into the lighter one, each time producing cries of agony.
Nevara approached the specters and forced herself to ignore the fighting, to ignore Anna Louisa’s valiant struggle, and focus instead on the netting around the wraith. Gently, so as to not alarm the dark spirit, she unhooked the threads one at a time. Her fingers heated, and her heart thundered. She wrinkled her nose against the stench of rotting flesh.
The more threads she released, the hotter the room grew. Perspiration soaked her back and sides and stung her eyes. She glanced at Mark and saw Belle restrain him. Only then did she discern the lava-like flow of flames swirling around her and the combatants. The wraith that feasted so ravenously, though, did not notice. For once, her victim fought back, and she was focused entirely on subduing her granddaughter.
Nevara’s body heated almost beyond bearing. Her fingers spasmodically grasped the remaining strands. The wraith swung back, finally realizing what was going on, its eyes glowing with rage and then with fear. It charged at Nevara, but the white spirit held it back. Nevara scrambled to untangle the remaining threads. Grasping the last one, she yanked hard, and it snapped free.
An inferno of red-hot flames swelled. Screams, moans and weeping rose in a horrendous crescendo. Nevara covered her ears. In the midst of that unholy cacophony, she was unable to distinguish the wraith’s howls from Anna Louisa’s cries. The old ghost clung to her granddaughter now, drawing her down with her.
“No,” Belle shouted, running up to Nevara’s side. “Anna Louisa, do not let her take you.”
The frail white specter fought the pull, but it was weak. Mark tugged Nevara’s trembling form back to safety.
“You do not belong with your grandmother,” Belle shouted. “Turn to the light, Anna Louisa. Look,” she said, pointing to the side, “your father has come.”
Another specter had appeared near the corner of the room, bringing a gentle glow and a sense of serenity.
“You belong with him,” Belle urged. “Not your grandmother. Release her grip on you, and you will find the peace you seek. Listen. He calls to you. He has been calling to you your whole life. Go to him. Let him guide you home.”
Anna Louisa faltered and then reared back. Dark and light separated. Flames engulfed the wraith and, with a final blessedly quiet swoosh, the wraith vanished along with the fires of hell.
Sometime during the fight, the candles had flickered out. Only the glow from the two remaining spirits brightened the room. Hesitantly, Anna Louisa’s spirit reached for her father’s hand. The two specters embraced. In a wink, they too disappeared.
Mark released Nevara and instead of re-lighting the candles, he pulled back the curtains to let in the sunlight.
Belle hugged Nevara. “Splendid work, my dear friend.”
Mark approached the bed. The Spanish woman’s corpse lay peacefully, now showing every wrinkle and crease of her age on her leathery skin. He covered her and then glanced at Nevara. “We cannot do more for her, but there are people who need our help. Are you up to the task?”
“Rufus!” A flare of guilt stained Belle’s cheeks.
“Do not worry,” Mark said with a bland face. “We will not tell the earl that for all of twenty minutes, you completely forgot the love of your life.”
“I certainly did not forget him, Mark,” Belle said with outrage. “I was merely . . . preoccupied.”
Nevara chuckled. “I am sure he will forgive you, Belle.” She glanced at Mark. “And yes, I am ready. I find undoing these spells not at all onerous. Unlike when I fought my vision and was swamped by headaches, each time I unwind a black thread, it feels as if something is set right with the world. I end up exhilarated, instead of drained.”
“Then you perform the best type of magic,” Mark said in a quiet voice. “You do not steal from the world, but rather give it peace, and it rewards you in kind.” He glanced around the shattered room, the result of their earlier battle.
With a swirl of his hand, chairs sat upright, a broken lamp reformed and came to rest on the dressing table, broken pictures sailed up to resettle as they once had on the walls. The bedroom door, too, affixed itself to the frame. He blew at the open window and the mounds of ash and dirt rose up from the floor and flew outside, as if following a Pied Piper’s seductive call, to scatter across the Spanish landscape, leaving the curtains gently fluttering at their passing.
With a satisfied smile, Mark held out his hand to Nevara. “Shall we go?”
She pushed her spectacles up the bridge of her nose and accepted his support.
“I might have you come and clean my home now and then,” Belle said, sweeping an admiring glance around the now tidy room.
Downstairs, Mark paused by the parlor to collect the statue of the golden Huntsman.
Back in the olive grove, the Zincali greeted their return with hugs, kisses and outlandish praise. The surrounding trees gave them the privacy to bring out the three bewitched people and line them up for Nevara’s inspection. As silence reigned, Nevara worked on releasing her three magically paralyzed friends.
Lord Terrance, upon gaining his freedom, extracted a long, slow deep kiss from his wife, to the cheerful applause of his gypsy audience. Earnest’s joyful leaps almost toppled the couple.
Paco awakened to find his wife and children dancing around him, each requiring sound kisses and hugs to certify that he had indeed returned.
While Nevara worked, she occasionally glanced back at Mark. He sat in a clearing nearby with Don Sabio lying beside him. The cat watched, proprietarily, as his master cast spell after spell, trying to free the Huntsman. Unlike Nevara, however, Mark was having no success.
At each failure, he seemed to withdraw more, and she guessed that he was reliving the grief of his brother’s passing, no doubt feeling as helpless now as he had then.
Her heart went out to him as she finally released Mendal from the immobilizing spell.
Belle ran over to hug her maid, promising the shaken woman that she would never again complain about her maid’s harangues on proper behavior.
“My lady,” Mendal said, “pray do not change your character for my sake or I will not know that I am indeed returned to my world.”
Mark walked over and joined them. At Mendal’s request, they all held hands and bowed their heads as she gave a quiet prayer of thanks.
Nevara then went directly to the clearing where Mark had left the foot-tall golden Huntsman basking in the Spanish sunshine. She sat across from the statue.
Mark followed her and, unable to disguise his eagerness, asked, “Could you do something for him?”
She took off her spectacles and shifted her sight. “He is completely encased in gold, Mark. I see no black threads that bind him.” They sat in silence as Nevara twisted the statue, looking for a way to break the spell.
“He speaks,” Mark said after several moments.
Nevara glanc
ed up in surprise.
He nodded. “That is how Anna Louisa knew you were at Widow’s Weep. She stroked him and asked of your whereabouts. He seemed compelled to answer. Both the question and the answer were spoken in rhymes. She referred to him as the Man of Gold.”
“Then perhaps he can tell us how to free him.” Nevara looked across the crackled Spanish landscape as she thought of what to ask. Nodding her head firmly, she rubbed the statue’s arm. “Man of Gold, most noble and wise, the means to free you, can you apprise?”
The statue blinked awake and his eyes widened. His gaze searched the grove.
“Your mistress is dead,” Nevara said.
The Huntsman appeared confused.
“He might only understand rhymes,” Mark suggested.
Nevara nodded and repeated her question. “Man of Gold, most noble and wise, the means to free you, can you apprise?”
The statue stretched out his arms. “Lady fair, wiser are thee, you must unravel, the secret of me.”
Nevara sighed. “That hardly helps. Your relative is as obscure as you are, Mark. Is this a family trait?”
Mark chuckled. “Perhaps the secret to his freedom lies with you, Nevara.” He gazed at her with love and so much trust, it worried her.
What if she failed?
She swallowed hard, afraid to disappoint him, for she had no idea how to free the statue. Absently, she scratched Don Sabio under his chin, thinking that the Huntsman was partly to blame for this disaster. He was the wizard who had cast one of the three spells on Maria and her gypsy lover. Nevara’s anger flared as she mourned for the family both she and Mark lost and the freedom they were all denied because of this man and his enemies.
A Perfect Curse Page 26