Cursed (The Curse Trilogy Book 1)

by Nicole Marsh

  Opening my eyes again, I reach my hand out slowly and gently stroke the downy fur on the wolf’s neck, like I did with Eric. The wolf slowly stops growling and leans into my hand. I take a tiny, half step closer so my arm isn’t stretched out quite as far. I pet a bit harder, stroking my fingers deep into the beast’s fur, scraping the skin beneath with my nails. His eyes flutter shut, and the teeth grinding has ceased, but his form doesn’t begin to shrink, nor does his fur fade like it did in the woods with Eric.

  I meet Vlad’s eyes across the room. His face looks bewildered, I’m sure mine does too. It’s as if I’ve tamed the wolf, but I certainly haven’t cured it. Eric must’ve been mistaken. I’m not a cure for lost shifters. Maybe he was more in control than he thought. Maybe he shifted back in the nick of time.

  After ten minutes of petting the wolf, I take a step back. The wolf whimpers at me, his brown eyes begging for more of my attention. I smile at him, muttering, “I’ll see you soon, friend.” Not knowing if it holds any truth, but needing to comfort him before rejoining Vlad in the center of the room.

  “Why did you stop?” The female councilwoman demands.

  Exchanging a look with Vlad, I shrug and hold both of my hands up in front of my body. “When we found Eric, he changed within sixty seconds of me touching his fur. If I was able to cure this poor shifter, I think that it would’ve already happened by now.” I tell the Council, holding eye contact, one by one, to help drive my point across.

  “You’re not leaving until you heal one of my shifters!” The councilwoman shrieks.

  At the end of her statement, the large wooden doors leading into the room fly open, hitting the wall on either side with a loud bang. The noise causes me to jump slightly, and Vlad pulls me back into his chest, offering me his reassurance and protection.

  My eyes widen as a small figure with gray hair and a billowing robe strides into the room. “You should be ashamed of yourselves Council,” The woman calls out in a confident, nasally tone as she moves towards Vlad and I, still standing in the center of the room. “You know as well as I do that it’s against the law to go after a Witch that just turned of age to join her Coven.”

  The graying haired man stands from behind the table again. “Ahh, Molly Spells. I would say it’s a pleasure to see you again, but I don’t like to lie. You’re not allowed at the Community Hall… after the last incident.”

  The woman named Molly, pulls a scroll from somewhere off her person and rolls it out in front of her. She walks confidently to the Council and slaps it down violently on the table before them. I want to laugh as three of the five jump and recoil as if she’s just laid a snake or dead rodent on their table.

  Molly scoffs, she stands confidently in front of the Council. Her shoulders are back, her hands on her hips, her head held high. These men, and woman, don’t seem to frighten her at all and her attitude gives me courage, causing me to straighten my own posture even as I stay pressed against Vlad.

  “Oh come on. It’s an immunity scroll, not poison.” Molly drawls out. “The Coven has granted me immunity to come and rescue their future apprentice and her boyfriend from your clutches. You have no right to detain them here, or to force my granddaughter to try to use magic that she no experience, nor business experimenting with, Sylvester.” At the end of her statement she looks directly at the graying haired man. I’m guessing he’s Sylvester and I’m also guessing that there’s some history between the two.

  The longer I stand there and think about her statement, the more one word pulses to the front of my brain until I acknowledge it.

  Granddaughter. I have a grandmother?

  14

  The Truth

  Mirabella

  My new-found grandmother exchanges several quips with the Council Members, before finally pulling a small, green, circular bottle from somewhere off her body, possibly a hidden pocket. The Council must be aware of the contents of the bottle because their protests immediately stop. They let us leave with a small threat to Vlad and I, that they’ll be “keeping an eye on us.”

  I don’t remember much about leaving the Community Hall after that. My head is filled with thoughts about my grandmother. I’ve gone eighteen years thinking all of my grandparents were dead. Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful to her for saving Vlad and I, but why didn’t she make an effort to find me sooner? Hasn’t she been curious about me? Didn’t she want to see me grow up?

  My stomach churns with anxiety from what we just experienced and the truth that’s come to light. My parents lied to me. One of them has a parent that’s alive and they lied about it, saying we were all the family that each other had.

  As soon as we fully exit the building, and are standing on the front steps, I halt. Coming to a dead stop, I wait for Vlad and my grandmother to notice that I’m no longer following behind them. Vlad stops barely two steps away, his leg lifted in mid stride, when he turns back to see me hanging back, clutching at my stomach. “Are you okay?” He questions in a low voice.

  “How did I not know I had a grandma?” I ask back, also in a quiet voice. Looking over Vlad’s shoulder, I see my grandmother has also stopped. She’s a few steps further down, but my voice must have carried to her on the wind.

  Her eyes are fixed on me. In the short distance I can see they’re a clear gray color. The same as my own. “Come on, Dear. Even the trees have ears here.” She glances around as she speaks and lowers her voice even more. I find myself leaning forward to hear her next words, “I’ll take you to my house and you can ask all the questions you’d like, hmmm?”

  I nod at her, appeased. I’m filled to the brim with questions, about her, about her life, about my parents. Having the time to talk everything over sounds like exactly what I need after the events of today. I resume walking down the steps and Vlad grabs onto my hand, passing on a bit of his static electricity, the way he always does when our skin connects. Maybe it’s a shifter thing, static clings to their fur or something.

  My grandma starts chattering again but has slowed her pace to stay beside us. “Did they let you drive yourselves?” She asks us.

  Vlad and I exchange a look before we both shake our heads, “no.”

  My grandma lets out a deep sigh, but waves her hands around in the air. “No matter, it’s probably easier if I just drive you anyways. My house can be hard to find the first time.”

  She stops next to an ancient looking Chevelle in the parking lot. The three of us pile in, with Vlad in the passenger seat so that he can have the extra bit of space. Even in the front seat, he looks ridiculously large in the small vehicle. One bump in the road and he might end up taking out the window with his elbow.

  It lightens my mood to see him crammed up there for some reason and I laugh out loud, lifting my hand at the last minute to try and stifle it. Hearing my giggle, Vlad cranes his neck the best he can to see what’s happening in the back seat. His movement makes me laugh harder at his expense. Vlad seems to catch onto my humor and soon he and my grandmother join in laughing at the clown car type scenario.

  After we collect ourselves, my grandma starts up her car and zips away from the building. I watch out of the rear windshield with relief as the Community Hall rapidly fades from view. Our car ride is spent in companionable silence as we move down the Main Road for a couple minutes before turning onto a dirt path that appears on the shifter side.

  It seems like we drive for miles down that road, which is entirely unpaved, creating a bumpy ride. We move at a slow pace, and I watch as the forest surrounding us becomes denser, indicating that we are getting further and further from the rest of the town.

  My grandmother takes a sudden left, past a boulder, onto an even smaller, less-maintained dirt road. We jolt along for another five minutes before we pull in front of the most beautiful tree in the entire forest.

  It sits, low and squat, maybe five feet off the ground, but sprawling each direction, further than I can see. Even if Vlad’s form wasn’t blocking half the windshield, I wouldn’t b
e able to see the end of the large piece of nature. As I stare at the tree, I realize there’s a small, paneled cottage nestled behind the curtain of vibrant, green leaves. It looks like the house that Snow White would live in, but placed in a tree. It’s stunning.

  My grandma turns off her ancient car, then addresses Vlad and I, “We’re here. Let’s head inside and I’ll answer any questions the two of you may have.”

  Together we ascend the few steps into the tree. The entire time I crane my neck trying to take in everything at once. The house is literally settled on top of the tree branches, nestled perfectly inside. It’s as if the house came first and the tree grew up around it, holding it between its branches, protecting it from prying eyes with a shield of leaves.

  The inside of the tree-cottage is cluttered and eclectic. A red painted door opens right into a cluttered living room, with two floral-patterned couches, a dark wooden coffee table, and a wall entirely filled with books and nick knacks. A pink chair sits off to one side, with an end table on either side of it, creating a cozy corner. Each of the tables is also piled high with books, scrolls and papers. An open doorway leads into the next room and I fight the urge to walk into the next room, wanting to discover more about my grandma and how she lives.

  “Go ahead and sit down. I’m going to make some tea, then we can all settle in for a talk.” My grandmother instructs before puttering through the open doorway and into the next room.

  Vlad and I sit on one of the floral couches together, side-by-side. I allow myself to lean into him, accepting the comfort he offers me without words. The angle of the couch allows us a glimpse through the open doorway, revealing a portion of what looks to be the kitchen.

  The room has a beige tiled floor, with dark cabinets, and colorful countertops. The surfaces that are visible from our vantage point appear to be cluttered with kitchen gadgets and more books. I’ve never seen so many books in one place, except for maybe the Florence Library.

  From what I’ve seen of the cottage so far, I wouldn’t be surprised if my grandmother had her bed covered in books as well. Vlad squeezes my leg and I look at him. He’s staring quizzically at the bookshelf across the room and I follow his line of sight with my own eyes.

  On the bookshelf, a small figurine of a black cat sits in a pose that conveys stretching. My eyes widen when the cat stops stretching, moving to pace along the shelf instead, weaving between the books and other nick knacks in a path of back and forth.

  My grandma’s burgundy robe suddenly blocks my view of the bookcase as she bustles into the living room, setting a full tray onto the table in front of us. It’s laden down with a kettle, cups, some biscuits and a few other odds and ends. My grandma takes her time, pouring us each a cup and handing it over before claiming one for herself. She moves to the pink chair across from us and shifts her body around for a few minutes without looking in our direction. She takes a sip of her tea, then finally levels her gaze on me. “What do you want to know first?”

  I hesitate before asking the question I’ve formulated. I thought about it the entire car ride, if I could only ask one question, what would be the most pressing? The one I decided on will be an answer I think that I need to hear from my grandmother and I want to start there. It’s not about our world, not about the crazy events from this afternoon, but about our family. My voice is shy when I finally speak, “Why haven’t I met you before today?”

  She lets out an audible breath from across the room before setting her teacup on the stack of books to her left. “It’s a complicated story, Dear. Your mother is my daughter, but she renounced me years ago.” My grandma pauses, reaching her hand up to let the cat walk off the bookshelf and onto her palm, “I took her sister to another Coven to look for a new home, one that embrace non-traditional magics. It was what your Aunt wanted. She left town and the coven and your mother never forgave either of us for her departure.”

  “I have an Aunt?” I ask, latching onto the idea that I might have a huge family out there that I’ve never met before. First a grandmother, then an Aunt, what about an Uncle or cousins? I love my mother, but family is important and I’m disappointed that she never told me about any of this.

  My grandmother’s face falls. “Not anymore, Dear. But you did, many years ago.” She watches the small cat strut across her arm, making its way up to her shoulder. Once it reaches its destination, it stops moving and curls up into a small ball, closing its eyes.

  When our eyes connect, I can see the pain my grandma holds in her eyes over the loss of one of her daughters. Deciding that I can ask more about my deceased Aunt at a later date, I focus on a different portion of her response instead. “What did you mean by another coven that embraces other types of magic?” I follow up.

  My grandmother steeples her hands together in front of her. “Here in Florence, we are traditional witches, using potions magic only. According to historical texts, years ago, many types of magic were available. Casting and the sight to name a couple that you’ve probably heard of.” I nod, encouraging her to continue. “When the curse was cast on this town, it created a trickle affect that spread out to witches and shifters across the world. Magic has been limited everywhere, but there are still those that seek out the old ways and try to unlock types of magic that haven’t been used in centuries.”

  Talking with my grandmother seems to be creating more questions for me than answers. I feel so sheltered from my family and our history right now. I love my parents, but I can’t believe they never told me any of this. When my mom revealed our potions magic, she barely even scratched the surface of things that I haven’t been told.

  “Shouldn’t every coven be trying to find a cure?” I ask my grandma, wondering why this curse just seems to garner widespread acceptance.

  My grandmother shrugs and the cat statue momentarily distracts me when it lets out a quiet meow as the motion disturbs it. “Many believe we’re better off this way. Your mother says that her sister and I were power hungry to try to find a Coven that wanted access to more magic. To an extent, it is safer to only be able to brew potions. For both us, other creatures, and humans.” My grandma looks like she’s struggling to find her next words, “I don’t think it’s wrong to try to unlock powers that our ancestors had, that we were meant to have, if it weren’t for the curse. But it’s also not something that everyone believes in and we have to accept that choice too.”

  Suddenly another question pops to the front of my brain, “Do we keep humans from living in the town?”

  My grandmother chuckles. “Once a month we spray the edges of our side of town with a potion. Humans can visit, but if they stay longer than a few days they start to become more and more agitated and feel an urgent need to return home, or wherever they came from last. It’s safer for them and easier for us. We don’t have to worry about trying to explain some of the oddities in our side of town. The wolves don’t feel the same compulsion for exclusivity, so there are some humans in Florence, but not too many.”

  We chat for a bit longer, until I’ve exhausted all of the questions that I have for my grandma. I’m glad that she rescued Vlad and I from the Council and was able to provide some of the details of our history that were left out by my mom.

  I still have a lot of questions, but also a slot of information to sort through on my own. As I was sitting with my grandma, I realized that I need to talk to Sylvia. Not only to tell her about all of the insanity from today, but also to ask when she found out she was a witch! I hadn’t known our town was human-free, but now I do and that means that Sylvia has been keeping this secret from me.

  Before we leave her cottage, my grandma pulls me to the side, into a warm hug and whispering in my ear. “I’m not sure what happened with that Eric fellow, but I have a contact I plan to reach out to. We’ll find out what happened with the young man.”

  She drives us to Vlad’s house, upon his insistence because it’s closer to where my grandmother lives. When we pile out of the car, my grandma pulls away with a wave and
Vlad does a set of serious and intense stretches on his driveway, causing me to laugh.

  When he’s done, he turns to me with a raised eyebrow. “Wanna come in?”

  15

  The Research

  Mirabella

  The first thought I have the following morning is, I must’ve fallen asleep on the couch last night. Much like the last time I accidentally spent the night at Vlad’s house, I’m pressed against his warm body. Unlike the last time, I’m not as surprised or terrified.

  The front of him curves around my backside and an arm and leg are thrown across my body, holding me into place. He’s bare chested and I’m wearing a long shirt with a pair of his boxers rolled about seventy times at the waist.

  My bladder is urgently insisting that I leave the bed, so I try to wiggle and worm my way out of Vlad’s tight hold. He emits a low groan as I bump against his lower half and I pause, embarrassed. Waiting a few seconds to see if he’s woken up, I resume wiggling until I’m able to pull free and head to the bathroom.

  When I come back out, Vlad has rolled to lay on his back, spread across the center of the bed like a starfish. His eyes are closed and his face is peaceful and carefree, his chest moving in a slow, deep rhythm indicating he’s still asleep. I hesitate. Do I crawl back into bed with him and cuddle up?

  We really haven’t talked about what’s going on between us, or this new tentative friendship that’s bloomed recently. I don’t want to give the wrong impression by cuddling up in bed with him, if he thinks we’re just platonic friends. Do I even want to be more than platonic friends?