The Cursed (The Unearthly)

by Laura Thalassa

  “Probably. We won’t know for sure until we exchange notes. But Gabrielle,” Caleb’s eyes met mine. “That’s not all.”

  A wave of unease passed through me at the worry in his eyes.

  “The woman at the club,” he said, “you told me that the first thing she did when you met her was kneel.”

  “Uh huh,” I said, not sure where this was going.

  “That’s kind of strange, isn’t it?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know what’s normal for a killer. She called me consort. I can only assume that she worshipped … the devil.” I furrowed my brows even as I said this. A Satanist that performed pagan rituals over an altar depicting Hades and Persephone? The religions seemed mutually exclusive.

  Rather than dampening Caleb’s enthusiasm my words seemed to stoke it. “The other woman who was there called you something unusual too, didn’t she?” he said. “Something that started with a ‘P’?”

  I stared at him for a moment trying to connect the dots. When I did, the blood drained from my face. I thought back to the club, to my interaction with the petite woman who’d stabbed me. “She didn’t call me Persephone, though,” I whispered.

  Caleb’s determined expression didn’t change. “She goes by several names,” he said, “And at least one other starts with a ‘P’.”

  “Which one?” I barely breathed as I watched Caleb.

  He looked at me pityingly. “Her Roman one—Proserpine.”

  “Did our suspect call you that, Gabrielle?” Caleb probed.

  As soon as he’d mentioned the name, I’d remembered. Like a puzzle piece it fit with the rest of the memory.

  “Sweets?” Oliver asked gently. I blinked and looked at him, then at Caleb.

  “She did.” A thoughtful silence descended as we all took this in. These killers thought I was this Persephone, the daughter of the goddess of the harvest.

  Harvest. My eyes snapped to Caleb. “I need to grab something,” I said, rising from my seat. Uncomfortable silence descended as I reached into my book back. If I looked up, I was sure I’d find Caleb and Oliver giving each other uneasy looks. They probably thought I’d lost it. Who knew, maybe I had.

  I flipped through my bag until I pulled out what I was looking for. I laid the cream-colored slip of paper down on the coffee table. On it were five lines written in loopy handwriting. Caleb and Oliver craned their necks to read it along with me.

  Daughter of wheat and grain,

  Betrothed to soil and stain,

  Your lifeblood drips,

  The scales tip,

  But will it be in vain?

  Shit.

  That first line—it only took a little imagination to realize that Cecilia was describing Persephone. I rubbed my forehead. It was one thing for two killers to call me Proserpine, and another for a Fate to.

  “But why? Why would anyone assume I was Persephone?” I said out loud. “We’re not the same,” I said. My mother may have had the looks of a goddess, but she wasn’t one. She lived as a mortal and died just like one. “I mean, I’m dying, for crying out loud. Wasn’t Persephone all about life and fertility?” I asked, looking between Oliver and Caleb.

  “Well, the devil isn’t quite the lord of death, either now,” Caleb said. “He’s simply the lord of the Underworld, the lord of the damned.”

  “There’s still the fact that the myth preceded me by thousands of years. That marriage between Hades and Persephone happened a long time ago—if it ever happened at all.”

  “Hmmm,” Oliver had that I-know-something-really-important-but-I-don’t-much-care tone of voice.

  “What?” I asked.

  Oliver shrugged and picked a nonexistent piece of lint off of his shirt. “What if the myth isn’t really a myth? What if it’s a prophecy?”

  The thought made me pause. Another prophecy? But I already had one—and it was disturbing enough as is. Instead I said, “But the details are all wrong.” I mean, all the details.

  “The details may not be what’s true. You may be what’s true,” Caleb said.

  My eyes flicked to him. “So you also think the myth of Hades and Persephone might be a prophecy.”

  He hesitated. “Maybe—it makes sense.”

  I sat back on my heels and pondered that, my stomach plummeting. The devil was undoubtedly after me, and on Samhain Cecilia had called him Pluto, the Roman name for the god Hades. Could the man in the suit be both the devil and Hades?

  “This shit may not be science,” Caleb added, “but that doesn’t mean you should ignore it.”

  I looked between Caleb and Oliver. “So you think that I’m the devil’s Persephone, his consort, and what, these killers are running around, offing people in the devil’s name?” I tried to sound skeptical, but I didn’t pull it off. The devil liked to collect his due in flesh and souls.

  “Yes, but not in just his name,” Caleb said. “They’re killing in your name, too.”

  Right about now the breakfast I’d eaten earlier wasn’t sitting so well in my stomach. I put the back of my hand to my mouth.

  It was one thing to think that the murders were to appease the devil. It was another to consider that people were being killed to appease me.

  Oh God, if I was responsible for those deaths, how could I ration that my soul was worth the cost of those lives lost?

  “Well, I’d say that all in all this is turning out to be a crappy Christmas,” Oliver said, interrupting my dark thoughts. He stood up. “I think this calls for a quest to find alcohol. Anyone want a drink?”

  “Hell yes,” Caleb said.

  When Oliver looked at me I said, “Don’t bother bringing me a glass. I’ll take the bottle straight.”

  Oliver whistled. “We got a sailor in the room.”

  Instead of responding, I covered my face with my hands, my shoulders beginning to shake. I was about to lose it.

  I heard Oliver pause, then crouch down next to me. He gave me a tight squeeze and kissed my temple. “I’ll be right back with enough spirits to raise yours and make you forget,” Oliver said, pushing himself back to his feet. A minute later I could hear his footfalls get fainter as he moved away from the study.

  Caleb and I sat quietly for several moments—together but apart—and then I heard him get up. He dropped down next to me and slung an arm over my shoulder.

  “Hey,” he said, shaking me, “it’s going to be okay.”

  “No it’s not.” I dropped my hands and took in a shaky breath of air.

  The devil was coming for me again, and innocent lives were being lost because of it. And if the myth of Hades and Persephone was prophetic, then I should cast away my hope now. Because in that myth, Hades kidnapped Persephone and took her away to his kingdom to be his wife, his queen. He tricked her.

  And it worked.

  Chapter 22

  By the time the sun was setting, Oliver, Caleb, and I had made good use of Andre’s liquor. We’d been playing pool for what seemed like hours in Andre’s game room. Who knew the king of vampires enjoyed these types of pastimes? Never would’ve guessed it.

  I tipped back my drink, enjoying the way the spicy liquid burned going down. I quickly figured out that dark rum was my favorite liquor. And like I’d promised earlier, I was swigging it straight from the bottle. My worries were now fuzzy things.

  “Hey, Jack Sparrow,” Caleb called, “it’s your turn.”

  I eyed him as I took another gulp, then brought the bottle from my lips. Using the back of my hand, I wiped my mouth. “Sure thing,” I said, capping the bottle.

  I tossed the drink onto a nearby couch and staggered over. I lurched to the right and grabbed the edge of the pool table for balance. Both boys were staring at me.

  “What?” I asked a little too loudly. “Scared you’re go
ing to lose this round? Should be.” I drew the words out. My skin flared and then settled. It’d been doing that now that the alcohol flowed through my system. And each time it did so, Caleb’s eyes flickered with interest.

  As soon as my skin went back to normal, Caleb was shaking his head. “Shit, Gabrielle, I’m cutting you off. I can’t handle this glamour.” He walked over to the couch I’d thrown the bottle on, and grabbed the rum.

  “Look who’s talking, chameeeeeleon,” I sang, my voice hitting several notes at once. For the last few hours Caleb’s features had flickered and changed as the alcohol coursed through him.

  Caleb placed the bottle on a high shelf. I snorted at that and leaned back against the pool table. “I can just glamour you into getting that for me.”

  “Do that, and I’ll report your ass,” he said, coming back to the game.

  That shut me up.

  “Fine. No more booze—for now.” I reached over to take the cue stick from Oliver’s glittering hand. I tugged, but he wouldn’t let it go. I guess he still hadn’t completely forgiven me for calling his iridescent wings “cute.”

  “Majestic, sexy-as-hell, exquisite—those are all appropriate descriptions,” he had said. “Not cute. Puppies are cute. I. Am. Not. Cute.”

  Now he said, “I’m not giving this to you until you ask nicely.”

  Geez these boys were grouchy.

  I tightened my grip on the stick. “Oh Beautiful One with the sparkly, erotic wings, please may I have the damn cue stick?”

  Begrudgingly Oliver let it go. Very begrudgingly. “I almost feel bad for Andre right now,” he said. “He’s got his hands full with you.”

  I lifted my hand into the air and gave him the bird. As I did so, the air seemed to shift. I felt the ripple of awakened power along my skin. I sucked in a breath and straightened. Andre had woken up.

  I panicked, turning to Oliver. “He’s awake.”

  “Who’s awake?”

  “The monster under the bed—who do you think?”

  “Andre?” Oliver rolled his eyes. “So?”

  “So,” I sputtered, “I’m drunk on his expensive liquor, and I’m supposed to fill him in on Caleb’s theory.”

  “Bitch please—Caleb’s theory? I was the one who told you about the myth being a prophecy.”

  “Not the point.”

  “Then what is the point?” Oliver asked, pursing his lips.

  I scrubbed my face. I could feel my mood slipping through my fingers, turning dark and despairing. I didn’t know if the alcohol had caused it, or if it had actually been holding it at bay all this time.

  “I don’t want to tell him,” I whispered into my hands. And what would I say? That we might be soulmates, but I was destined to be the devil’s wife? My head began to pound at the thought.

  I dropped my hands, and a bloody tear snaked down my cheek. I could feel Caleb’s curious eyes on it.

  “Sweets,” Oliver said gently, his annoyance with me forgotten, “you’re going to have to.”

  “What has Gabrielle so worked up?” Caleb asked coming over to us.

  “I think the king of the vampires is awake,” Oliver said.

  Caleb took a step closer to us. “How can she possibly know that?” he asked, eyeing me.

  “It’s sunset,” Oliver said smoothly. He turned so that Caleb couldn’t see his face and winked at me. I gave him a small, tight-lipped smile in return.

  I could feel the connection between Andre and me getting stronger, which meant he was getting closer.

  “Oliver …” I didn’t know what I was asking for at this point. Maybe just someone to soothe my fear.

  He squeezed my hands. “Sorry love, but you’re going to have to tell Andre.”

  “Tell me what?”

  My eyes fell on the door to the game room, where Andre stood, taking in the scene. In one of his hands was a small gift-wrapped box.

  “What’s going on?” he asked, sauntering in. His voice sent pleasant skitters up my arms, but fear sliced through me. This was going to ruin his Christmas, and I’d already made a hot mess of his birthday.

  I was a holiday wrecker.

  Andre’s assessing eyes passed over me. “Gabrielle, your heart is beating much too quickly.” He took several steps towards me, looking scary as all get out. His nostrils flared. “And the room stinks of booze—you smell of booze.” His eyes hardened when they met mine. “I will ask one more time: what is going on?”

  “Time to scram,” Oliver whispered to Caleb, grabbing his arm. Caleb hesitated, looking between Andre and me.

  I too began to edge away from Andre.

  “You are not going anywhere, Gabrielle,” Andre said, “so don’t even consider it.”

  Yikes.

  Very slowly Andre turned to stare at Caleb, who had taken a step closer to us. “I will need to ask you to leave us,” Andre said. “I would like to speak to my subject alone.”

  Caleb’s jaw tensed and the two stared each other down. I wanted to roll my eyes at the display. After a tense few seconds, Caleb jerked his head in acquiescence and backed away from us. Oliver, I noticed, had already bolted from the room. Smart fairy.

  “No tricks, Caleb,” Andre called out after him. “If I sense you lingering, I will not be pleased.” That was a euphemism if I ever heard one.

  Caleb gave a wave of acknowledgement and left the room. The door clicked shut behind him, and then Andre and I were alone.

  For a beat Andre stared at the door, and then, painfully slow, he turned his attention to me.

  Ho, was he scary when he wanted to be. Like right now. I was sobering up real quick.

  He stalked forward and I backed up until I bumped into the pool table. Andre didn’t stop until his chest brushed mine.

  Once he reached me, he set the small gift on the edge of the table. Then he ran his knuckles down my cheek. “Why does my soulmate fear me right now?”

  My throat worked, but I didn’t respond.

  He tilted my face left and right, assessing me. “I can smell the alcohol in your blood, and I’ve never seen you drunk. I’m guessing it’s not Christmas that has you worked up?”

  I closed my eyes and shook my head. Oliver was right; I had to tell Andre. “Caleb discovered something about the murders,” I admitted.

  Andre took my hands and held them between his own. “This is a good thing, is it not?”

  “No,” I choked out. A bloody tear dripped down my cheeks, and then another.

  Andre’s brows furrowed, and his hands left my own to cup my jaw. Frowning, he wiped away my tears with his thumbs. “Please don’t cry,” he said, his voice gravelly. “I can’t stand the sight.”

  That only made me cry harder. After a moment, Andre pulled me into his arms, holding me tightly to him. He kissed the top of my head and stroked my hair, murmuring gentle words to me in Spanish. It would’ve been incredibly sexy if I weren’t such a wreck right now.

  I hadn’t fallen apart when I was kidnapped, nor when we got into an accident. I’d held it together when I’d visited the devil and again when he dropped in on Andre and I. I’d even stayed strong throughout the day, thanks to the alcohol.

  I’d bottled up my emotions for too long, and now they were spilling out all over the place.

  When I finally got myself under control, I stepped away from him. The arms that had encircled my back now dropped to my waist.

  “Are you ready to tell me what has you so worked up?” Andre asked.

  I stared at his chest. “Yes.” Then I took a deep breath and told him.

  The muscle in Andre’s jaw ticked. And ticked again as I waited for him to rally against Caleb’s—and Oliver’s—theory. I even wished for that frightening laugh of his, just to hear his absolute disbelief.

&nbs
p; But he hadn’t said anything. Only stared at me with agony in his eyes.

  “You think the theory might be valid?”

  He watched me for moment before responding. “It could be.”

  I looked away. “But I’m your soulmate.”

  “Yes, you are. Nothing changes that,” he said, his arms tightening around me. “And I will die before I give you up to him.”

  “But if it’s a prophecy … then it will come to pass.”

  “It was also prophesied that you’d become my queen and exterminate our people, and that hasn’t yet come to pass.”

  A darker thought entered my mind. “Or perhaps you do die for me, Andre, you and every other vampire. Perhaps the devil still gets me anyway. Perhaps both prophecies come true.”

  Andre stepped closer to me. “You can choose to be bound by those prophecies, Gabrielle, but I won’t.”

  His words angered me. “And what am I supposed to do, ignore them?”

  “Belief—not fate—rules the world,” he said. “Believe in us, believe in free will.”

  His words reminded me of what Leanne had told me two months ago: You’ve outwitted fate over and over again.

  My eyes moved up to Andre’s. Perhaps I really was his curse. The soulmate he could never quite have. I guess it really did come down to what you believed in at the end of the day.

  And me, well, I believed in happy endings.

  “Okay.” I nodded to him as the thought seeded itself in my mind. “I can do that. I can believe in us.”

  We stayed in the game room just long enough for the alcohol to work itself out of my system. Eventually Andre led me out.

  “Even if the devil is behind the murders,” he said, opening the door and holding it open for me, “he did not kill those victims, Gabrielle. People of flesh and blood did this. They are who you need to worry about because they, and not the devil, are the ones doing the killing.”