by Nicole Marsh
Cursed
Nicole Marsh
Contents
1. The Dinner
2. The Graduation
3. The Job
4. The Partnership
5. The Interview
6. The Competition
7. The Party
8. The Birthday
9. The Curse
10. The Doghouse
11. The Wolf
12. The Council
13. The Grandma
14. The Truth
15. The Research
16. The Expo
17. The Date
18. The Cure
Books by Nicole Marsh
Copyright © 2019 by Nicole Marsh. All rights reserved.
Cover Design: OA Book Covers.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used simply for the purpose of furthering the storyline and do not represent the institutions or places of business in any way. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental or used for fictional purposes.
Created with Vellum
Mirabella Love
I used to be a normal, reclusive teenage girl, dealing with typical teenage stuff. Like getting bullied by my hot, but rude ex-best friend and trying to not get fired from my first job.
Everything changes the day of my eighteenth birthday.
My parents reveal they’re part of a witch coven and now I’m old enough to join. They want me to prepare to become part of the coven, as soon as possible, to continue our family legacy of strong witches.
After I find out the truth about my parents and our ancestry, weird things start to happen around town. I realize I’ve only been told a portion of the story and there’s much more to our town than meets the eye.
Suddenly I go from being a normalish teenage girl, to being a girl with magic, three potential love interests, a secret grandma, and a council of werewolves breathing down my neck.
What could possibly go wrong
1
The Dinner
Mirabella
I’m hiding away on the balcony attached to my room, avoiding both my parents and their dinner guests until the last possible moment. We have the same dinner every week, and every week I try to get out of it. To date, I haven’t been able to do so successfully, except for the time I had the flu. My usual routine is to hide out until the last minute to avoid as much interaction as possible.
Honestly, I kind of enjoy the ritual of standing outside before Sunday Dinner, enjoying the air with a light hint of misty rain. My balcony has always been one of my favorite places, with its two contrasting views. Leaning against the middle of the rail, I’m able to see a cliff overhanging the water on my left and a view of sloping houses surrounded by the forest on my right.
I live in a small town, Florence, on the Northwestern coast of the states. Like most of the North West, the weather is mostly soggy year round and our town is surrounded by lush green forests. Overall, it’s a small, sleepy place with a population of about six thousand people. Soon, we’ll experience our annual tourist season, with a small influx during the summer months to see our one claim to fame, an operational lighthouse that’s a century old. The kooky lighthouse fanatics are one of the most exciting things about our town.
That and the conflict that caused the town to become divided. The Main Road in town acts as a bit of a line, between the wealthier houses lining the coast and the more modest homes backing the woods. Money doesn’t seem to be the reason behind the divide, just a notable difference between the two sides of town. Over the years, each side has developed their own schools through grade twelve and separate grocery stores. There’s still some common ground in the downtown area, but if you’re from one side of town, you don’t often mingle with the other side intentionally. Most newcomers end up on one side of town and never leave. It’s just the way things have been for as long as I can remember.
Local legend says that almost two-hundred years ago when the town was settled, there were two families that tried to stake a claim on the land. Instead of making two separate towns or one family finding new land to settle, the two families made an arrangement to marry their eldest children together when they came of age.
Fast forward a few years and one of the families has a successful lumber mill and the other struck lucky with gold. The two families coexisted peacefully until their children were old enough to wed. The wedding was planned, the priest was arranged, the church was decorated, but one of the children defied their family’s wishes, running off to elope with another.
Things between the two families got ugly. Both refused to leave the town where they built their life and neither would offer forgiveness.
Rumor has it that the bad blood between the two families led to a curse being placed on the family that broke their promise, but both sides of town were affected in a different way that day. The same rumor says, the only way to fix the curse is for the eldest children of the two family lines to marry. Following the curse, however, the town was split and there was no chance of reconciliation or a cure. Other settlers chose their sides over time, aligning with one of the two feuding families. And now the town remains divided, with the main road establishing a line.
Of course it’s unlikely that the split between the two sides of town was caused by a centuries old curse, but small towns sure do love their gossip.
“Mira! Come downstairs to greet the Morts!” My mom yells up at me interrupting my thoughts as I gaze outside.
I let out a deep sigh and step away from the view. Facing my bedroom, I let my eyes sweep over my pale pink walls, sturdy gray canopy bed and my small pale gray sofa. My assessment of the room ends on my vanity with its attached mirror. I wish that I could just curl up on my bed or go to my studio to paint, but I know my parents would never allow me to skip out on their beloved weekly tradition.
Walking to my mirror, I do one last check before I head down stairs. I’m wearing a new white sundress that my mom had left hanging on the back of my door this morning. It has dark, wooden buttons down the front, tight in the bust, but flares out down around my hips, ending near my ankles. It’s the perfect length for my petite frame. My waist length blonde hair is flowing down my back in loose curls.
Earlier my mom came upstairs to see me in the dress. She fawned all over me, telling me how beautiful and grown up I look. I’m her “Her beautiful young woman!” now. I never wear much makeup, but she added some mascara and winged eyeliner to “Make my gray eyes pop”, and a little bit of dark pink lipstick to “Make my lips poutier”.
My reflections mimics me as I turn my head side to side, regarding my heart shaped face in the mirror. I can see my almond eyes look larger and my lips look fuller. My mom applies makeup like a professional, never failing to help dress up my looks when I allow it.
Sometimes I think she’s disappointed that I don’t love dressing up and doing my makeup as much as she does. I try to tolerate clothes shopping with her as much as I can, and I always make sure to wear the new clothes that she gets me, but I’m just not passionate about fashion like her. I’d much rather be at home in the art studio my dad built, in a pair of paint stained jeans flinging pant onto a canvas and a bit on myself, than spend time trying on clothes at the mall.
Dragging my eyes from the mirror, I admit that I’ve delayed the inevitable as much as possible. It’s time to head d
ownstairs now, otherwise my mom will be upset I kept everyone waiting. Grudgingly, I leave my room and trudge down the stairs.
I step into the sitting room, where my parents are chatting with the Mort family. The Morts are my parent’s best friends and they come over with their son, Vlad, for dinner once a week. Their family is the first and only family in the recorded history of our town that moved from one side of the Main Road to the other.
About five years ago, when Vlad turned fifteen, his family sold their five-thousand square foot house next to ours and moved to a small three bedroom ranch home on the other side of the road. People gossiped for a while, with all sorts of crazy rumors flying around about their move. Things eventually settled down, and our parents maintained their friendship even though they’re now from opposite sides of town.
The dinner is a highlight of my parent’s week, but it’s one of my least favorite parts. The Morts are nice enough, except for Vlad. He’s a monster.
“Mirabella, you become more stunning every time I see you!” Vlad’s mother, Tricia, exclaims, swarming me as soon as I step foot into the room. She stoops down a bit, to wrap me in a warm hug while she gushes over my dress.
As soon as she steps back, my gaze sweeps across the room. When our eyes meet, I offer a small smile and a wave to Mr. Mort, or Bart as he insists that I call him. Finally my eyes land on Vlad.
Vlad is incredibly handsome, tall and well-built, with a sculpted face and black hair that he wears swept back off his face. His exterior is his only attractive feature though. Vlad’s amber gaze collides with mine and the neutral expression he was wearing turns into a deep, angry scowl. I don’t know why Vlad is always so angry to be in the same room as me.
Tonight, for whatever reason, Vlad brought a friend to Sunday dinner. To his left sits Marvin, his close friend from high school. They used to be co-captains of his school’s football team and they’ve stayed friends since. He’s also tall and broad shouldered, but with lighter brown hair and coffee colored eyes.
When I look at Marvin and wave a brief hello, he doesn’t appear angry like Vlad. He just sweeps his gaze across my dress with an assessing look before he turns and whispers something too low for me to hear. I’ve met Marvin a few times, when my family’s dragged me out to events with the Morts, including Vlad’s football games. He’s not’s that bad. He’s definitely not as mean and angry as Vlad is. Just kind of a big dumb jock.
Shortly after I sit near the Morts our family’s butler, Jacob, comes into the sitting room and announces dinner is ready. There’s a small shuffle as we all stand from the couches and file into the dining room. Settling into our seats, I realize belatedly, that I’m somehow trapped between Vlad and Marvin. I let out a sigh and send up a small prayer that he’ll leave me alone for the next hour, just in case anyone’s listening to my requests.
Across the table I watch Mr. Mort focus on Vlad and me, looking elated at our spots at the table. My mother is also hiding a small, secretive smile behind her wine glass as her eyes glance at the small space left between us. Our parents are delusional and think that Vlad and I are still best friends, like we used to be years ago and that someday we’ll end up married, uniting our two families. Just a case of people wanting to see what they want, I guess.
“What are your plans for your last summer after high schoo;?” Tricia asks me after the first course has been served.
I dart a glance at my parents before I respond, “I was thinking about applying for the open position to be a part time assistant at the library.” I hear my mom’s sharp inhale, but decide not to look at her. Technically the library is on the opposite side of the Main Road, but people from both sides go there to check out books. I’m not sure if she’s reacting to the side of the street or the fact that I haven’t sat down and told my parents I don’t plan to spend my entire summer laying by our pool like I normally do.
I don’t really need the money, but Sylvia, my one and only friend in Florence, recently got accepted to become a “hair designer”. The school is just outside of town and it starts two weeks after we graduate from high school. Instead of moping around the house all summer, I thought I could spend some time working at the library, earning some money and experience.
“Oh, dear, you don’t want to work at the library! It’s so stuffy and boring.” Tricia exclaims. She looks pensive for a minute, tapping her long red nails on the table cloth while her brain processes data. “I know! Vlad has been working at the F.O. Daily. He could probably help you get an intern position, then you and Vlad could spend your summer together, like you used to!”
F.O. Daily is our town’s local newspaper. Nothing really exciting happens in our town, so it’s mostly fluff pieces, marriage announcements, and business ads. One time we had a homeless person that wandered through our town. Literally wandered through. He was here for maybe three hours before he moved on to greener pastures. That homeless man was front page news for three weeks until his story was finally replaced by the local pie baking competition.
I glance up from my plate, where I’ve been mashing all my food together with my fork, to take in the expressions on everyone’s faces. My mom and Tricia both appear excited at the prospect of Vlad and I spending our summer together. My dad and Bart are both holding up glasses of whisky and talking in quiet voices on the other end of the table, not making their feelings known about the matter. I chance a peek next to me and Vlad is wearing a pained expression. I don’t bother to examine Marvin, the whole dinner he’s just been shoveling food in his mouth and I don’t think he’s even paying attention.
I open my mouth to respond, intending to give a vague ‘I’ll think about it’, when suddenly a cold liquid lands in my lap, seeping into my dress. A brown stain is quickly spreading across the white fabric covering my thighs. Scanning the area near me, my eyes finally land on Vlad’s smirking face, and his hand holding an empty glass, still turned to the side.
Typical Vlad. Always finding ways to torment me without making it obvious that he’s doing it. I jump up at the shock to my skin, when the liquid finally seeps through my dress. Some of the soda sprays onto the white tablecloth and my entrée. “What the heck, Vlad?” I demand angrily.
Vlad attempts to flatten his lips from a smirk to something more contrite. “Sorry Little Mir, it slipped.”
Our parents all make sounds of condolences that my pristine white dress is now covered in soda, but they all seem to believe Vlad’s act. Letting out a huff and stomp out of the room to go change.
Back in my room, I rip the dress over my head and throw it into the hamper. Hopefully the stain will come out, that dress was really pretty and brand new. Well, it was before Vlad destroyed it. I huff again and start looking through my closet for something else to put on.
Deciding to call Sylvia to tell her about the soda fiasco, I use my shoulder to hold my phone to my ear while I flip through hangers. I’m looking for something that my mom would deem appropriate for a dinner with guests.
Sylvia is the only person that has been willing to look past the wild rumors spread by Vlad and his cronies and be my friend. Her family moved here during the ninth grade and they’re all rebels. They live on our side of town, but they mingle with everyone. Her parents also caused a scandal when they first arrived, refusing to be featured on the front page of F.O. Daily as newcomers, which was previously unheard of.
Sylvia answers the phone on the first ring. “Thought it was time for your weekly dinner with Vlad the asshole.” Her tone is droll and I can hear her two brothers fighting in the background.
“It is, he just threw his drink all over me during dinner.” She lets out a low growl. “His mom thinks I should try to become the intern at F.O. Daily, so Vlad and I can spend our summer together.”
Sylvia makes a hmming noise. Indicating that she’s mulling something over. From past experience, I know it’s not worth it to say anything else until she’s done thinking and has checked back in to the conversation.
“I think you shou
ld do it, become the intern.” Are her first words, following her hmm of thought.
“Uhm, what?” I ask, shocked that’s the conclusion she came to. Many good ideas have come from Sylvia’s hmms, but this is definitely not one of them.
“Hear me out,” she starts. “He’s tortured you for YEARS, and now you have a chance to mess with him, at his JOB. You can make him look bad in front of the whole town, which would be pretty great revenge if you ask me.”
Now I’m the one letting out a hmm. While I contemplate her words I pull a short-sleeved dress off of its hanger and slip it over my head. We hang up after I promise to think about the idea of revenge more. I mostly say it to help rush Sylvia off the phone, I’ve already been gone almost ten minutes and I don’t want my mom to come looking for me.
Vlad shoots me another smirk, coughing behind his hand to cover a laugh as I return to the table. His rudeness sparks something inside of me. Anger bubbles to the surface of my skin and I react, which is out of character for me, but I’m fed up. Instead of sitting, I stand behind my chair and clear my throat loudly, waiting for everyone to cease talking and give me their attention before I make my grand announcement. “I thought about it while I was upstairs. I think I would love to have the internship at F.O. Daily. What comes next?”
2
The Graduation
Mirabella
Graduation Day.
I’ve been dreaming of this day since high school began. Some of those dreams admittedly turned into nightmares where I forgot to put on my dress under my graduation gown, or my cap takes out someone’s eye after I throw it into the air. But I’m trying to push past those fears to appreciate no longer having to spend eight hours a day avoiding verbal and physical abuse from my classmates.