Cursed

by Shawntelle Madison

  That tricky old lady got me good.

  “And you just let her go?” I gasped.

  Mom didn’t bother hiding her amusement. “You must think my mama is fragile.”

  “She is! Have you seen how long it takes her to put on her stockings?”

  Mom shook her head. “She’ll be fine, Nat. She looked nice and everything. Truth be told,” Mom’s voice lowered, “She put on my red lipstick. Dark red, I tell you. I bet Mama’s gonna get lucky tonight.”

  Horror smacked me hard against the face. I shuffled backwards and headed for the door. On the way out, I caught a few of their words.

  “What’s wrong with her?” Mom asked Dad.

  “She’s close to her babushka. Natalya’s never seen her with anyone before.”

  With anyone? I raced down the steps and jumped into my Nissan Altima. Gee, what could happen if the date went wrong? That creature might well gobble up Grandma, and I wasn’t having that.

  I made it to downtown South Toms River in record time. For a small town, we didn’t have many stoplights to get in the way. During the whole drive, my hand clutched the steering wheel while the other one squeezed the hilt on the goblin knife hard enough to hurt.

  The parking lot for Roger’s Place wasn’t too packed, so I found a spot toward the back. Might as well try to be inconspicuous. Once in the lobby, I peered inside and hoped I wouldn’t be spotted. The wondrous scents of baked spaghetti and chicken scampi reached my nose. The fact I hadn’t eaten dinner hit my stomach.

  “Hey, Nat,” a lady who often shopped at The Bend of the River Flea Market where I worked waved.

  “Hello,” I whispered softly.

  At the other side of the room, about a table away from the spot where I’d had my disastrous date with Quinton the janitor, Grandma sat across from Philip Divine. Like Mom had said, Grandma dolled herself up. I stood there transfixed—before I pushed myself into action and hurried to a spot near the bar. With my back to Grandma, I couldn’t see them, but she was vivid in my mind.

  Her scarf had been left at home. Soft, white hair fell in waves to her waist. Her thin lips were glossy from red lipstick. A bit of pink blush made her cheeks rosy.

  Grandma looked absolutely ethereal.

  The bartender approached me, but after a brief shake of my head, he sauntered off. Time to listen in. Tuning out the other sounds in the dining room required focus, but I’d eavesdropped on enough conversations to get pretty good. And well, not too many people in South Toms River spoke Russian. Catching the soft lilt to Grandma’s voice was easy.

  “You might want to get down to business, but I happen to be hungry,” Grandma said.

  What business?

  I hated coming in after a conversation began.

  “Oh, get anything you like, then. I heard the lasagna is to die for here,” Philip replied.

  I shuddered, recalling how Quinton’s undead minion waltzed up to us, spouting how our human server—the poor boy—was unworthy to serve his master. Just thinking about the minion’s decaying smell pushed my anxiety to alarming levels. My stomach muscles clenched and the air rushing into my lungs stopped for a moment. I sucked in a deep breath and closed my eyes.

  Focus, Nat.

  A server, this one with a pulse, showed up and took their order. I waited patiently. The bartender wandered over again, so I ordered a citrus martini. My first choice had been water, but then I caught the impatient glint in his eye.

  “How long are you going to follow me?” Grandma asked Philip, a hint of exasperation in her voice.

  “As long as we’ve known each other, Sveta, you shouldn’t be surprised to see me.”

  “I kind of hoped you perished in Moscow during that fire in 1812.”

  Philip scoffed. “Napoleon’s troops coming in for a little visit wouldn’t keep me away.”

  She made a rude noise as I took a sip of my drink. “Your persistence isn’t attractive. If people knew what you really are—”

  “They’d tremble in fear?” he finished coldly.

  “Trembling wasn’t what I had in mind.” I caught her hard swallow over the clink of silverware. “Humans avoid you, and normally, werewolves do as well, but you preyed on me at a point in my life when I was lonely.”

  He laughed. “A lonely, budding werewolf who knows old magic, a meal fit for any king who dwells in darkness.”

  My mind kicked over again and again. Why can’t I figure out what Philip Divine is? The goblin blade sat lifeless in my purse—not a good sign. Did that mean I dealt with a goblin of some kind?

  Philip also knew about her knowledge of old magic. Not too long ago, I didn’t even know werewolves could cast spells. It’s rather mind-blowing. Werewolves called it old magic, and these days, the laws governing werewolves, called the Code, prohibited any werewolf from using it.

  “I’m not what I used to be. I’ve got too many years on me to play with old magic,” she replied.

  Their food arrived, and I had to wait before Philip spoke again. Oh, man, I could practically smell their platters of veal parmigiana from over here. At least they hadn’t ordered the lasagna.

  Grandma ate in agonizingly slow bites, rare for her, while Philip ordered for their check and stopped making noise after a few minutes. Had he even bothered to eat?

  Their server brought their check. Alarm crept down my back.

  “Power seeps from you, my dear,” Philip said. “No, it isn’t as strong anymore, but you’re more than what I need. You’ve always been.” The sounds of his chair scraping back stung my ears.

  I turned slightly to peek over my shoulder and opened my purse to reach for the lifeless weapon inside. If I had to use what equated to a letter opener on him, I would.

  “Why delay what’s about to happen?” he asked.

  Grandma’s chair moved. She stood. Did she really plan to leave with this crazy bastard? From the corner of my eye, I watched her leave her napkin on her plate.

  “Every road has an ending, Svetlana Lasovskaya,” Philip Divine said as they headed for the door. “Take a walk with me to see yours.”

  Chapter 5

  In the time I wasted paying for my drink and running out to the parking lot, Grandma and Philip crossed Chamberlain Street and entered the woods.

  They weren’t going that fast. I was trailing two old people.

  Even though I smelled them, their destination was clear: South Toms River Park.

  I raced after them—narrowly avoiding evening traffic on the road. Following Grandma’s scent was easy. Eventually, I caught up to them in a clearing with a single set of playground equipment. The half moon cast a radiant glow along the metal curves and lines of the jungle gym. The park benches could be barely seen among the murky shadows.

  Grandma stood on one side of the clearing while Philip Divine was on the other. At first, neither of them moved in the darkness. Then a strange sensation crawled along my skin like beetles scuttling beneath a fallen log. The alarming tinges of magic building. The wolf stirring in my chest urged my feet to move backwards.

  Not without Grandma...

  Philip moved first.

  I prepared the goblin blade for action. Any moment now, he’d be on her. Uh, I take that back. His walk was so wobbly it couldn’t even be described as a stroll.

  By the time he reached the middle of the clearing, he’d found his footing and advanced faster now, crossing the field while Grandma stood there, a slow-moving morsel waiting to be eaten.

  “If Pyotr had never married you, would you have still come to me if I’d called?” he whispered, his voice as deep as an empty grave.

  She made a tsk noise. “Time has never ever been kind to you. Even as a goblin king.”

  I turned to look at him. Truly look at him. Working at The Bends for so long helped me see through goblin glamour, but his magic had to be powerful. Hell, my goblin blade hadn’t reacted to him at all.

  I glanced at my hands. They’d be good enough to beat the crap out of him. I took a step toward
the clearing, unsure what to do. I had yet to face an adversary like this one. Would I be willing to cast an old magic spell for her? Werewolves drew their power from within, an exchange of life for power. Tamara, a werewolf who had recently taught me more old magic, had given me a warning: “The sad thing is that, as spellcasters pulling from ourselves, we have little say in where we pull from. You could be pulling from your fingertip. You could be pulling from your stomach. The worse spots are your internal organs.”

  I took another step without any doubt. The answer was undeniably yes.

  Philip was closer now. Just a few steps away. The wrinkled, translucent skin on his cheeks was now a sickly brownish-green. His gaudy, dark green suit appeared muddied. Spiky teeth filled his mouth and forced his jaw to jut out at a gruesome angle.

  Fear catapulted into me, forcing me into a breakneck sprint toward Grandma. All the words I needed waited on the edge of my tongue. Everything Tamara had taught me about old magic. With a few words, I could set his ass on fire, freeze him into a goblin kabob, or shake the heavens until the ground opened to swallow him whole.

  Grandma opened her arms. Almost as if to welcome him. Blackened claws extended from his fingertips toward her.

  Almost there.

  I murmured the first old magic word. Daka.

  I stumbled but kept going. Binu.

  The moment his claw touched her chest, she bowed inward, her face cringing.

  My third word melted into a moan.

  Oh, please God, no!

  They fell into a heap. A screech followed by a crunch filled the clearing.

  But it wasn’t my babushka. The crackly sound—like dead leaves crushed underfoot—didn’t match what I said. Grandma’s chest was now a black void sucking him in.

  I ground to a halt, mouth gaping in awe at the damnedest thing I’d ever seen. And I’ve seen really crazy shit. The crunchy noises were Philip trying to escape. Bit by bit, she pulled him in, her eyes closed while her mouth moved as if murmuring a prayer.

  The smell of ozone was overwhelming now. Bitter enough to coat my tongue and suffocate me where I stood.

  One moment Philip Divine was there, and in the next with a single wet slurp, Grandma Lasovskaya swallowed him whole. I turned away from the sight.

  When I glanced back at her, my mouth still hung open, stunned.

  “Grandma?” I whispered.

  The moonlight didn’t shine down on an old woman, but someone my age.

  She placed her index finger against a perfectly curved mouth. Beautiful blonde hair, instead of white, framed an oval face with shining brown eyes. I couldn’t help but return the devilish grin she gave me.

  Was that a dimple I saw in her cheek?

  She placed her fingertip on my mouth to hush me from asking more questions.

  “Let’s go home, Nat,” she implored as she took my hand, and what a wonderful hand she had. What had once been fragile, papery skin was firm to the touch.

  We reached the edge of the woods on Chamberlain. Instead of heading for the parking lot for Roger’s Place, she tugged me to walk down the road. So many questions circled my head. First of all, how in the hell was I gonna explain this to Mom and Dad?

  “Just for a little while,” she said.

  As we continued down the road, I began to understand why. The wind played with her hair, but with each step we took, the blonde faded to white. Her confident step slowed to a steady shuffle. Time took its rightful place behind us. The firm hold of her grip weakened. By the time we reached my parents’ Colonial home, I held my elderly Grandma’s hand.

  Before we climbed up the porch steps, I had to know what went on before she escaped me.

  “What happened back there, Grandma?” I tugged her to stay outside for a bit.

  “Eh, I threw away some dead weight, and now I’m rid of Philip Divine for good.” She was so casual about it. Like it was a break up or something.

  I groaned. “You can’t do all that and expect me not to ask questions.”

  Her laugh was sweet, a welcome sound to my ears. “Do you remember the first time you saw me change form?”

  I’d never forget the night she saved me from invading pack members who wanted to kill my injured brother while he slept. She’d used old magic and transformed into a hideous creature with great strength. Her sacrifice had left her sleeping for days.

  “A part of my life was taken away that night.” Her grin returned. “I took that back tonight.”

  “How?” Now she had my attention.

  “Bah! Like I’d tell you how I manipulate dark goblin magic!” She gave me a gentle shove. “Your goblin boss doesn’t even play with that mess and neither should you.”

  Exasperated, I continued to follow her to the house steps. Yet again, Grandma’s many secrets had come to light.

  “Okay, how about a hint?” I asked.

  “Nyet.”

  “Stop being greedy, Grandma!”

  “Ha, so funny. The hoarder is telling me not to be greedy.”

  For the longest time, I’d called myself a collector instead of a hoarder, but thanks to therapy, I could see mere semantics hadn’t made my problems go away. Grandma’s words were in jest. “Fine. I hope you enjoyed your little date, then.”

  “Of course, I did. A devuskha like me has to play the field. Get the boys jealous.” She chuckled, and I couldn’t shake that she might’ve lost her natural mind.

  “Would you like me to stay with you tonight?” I managed as Mom opened the door. Mom must’ve heard us coming.

  “Nah. I’m feeling spry this evening. I might even be up for a friendly game of Bingo with Carlson on Saturday.” She winked at me.

  “Who knows,” she added. “With all those men calling on me, I might win more than fifty bucks.”

  The End

  Chapter 1

  Reader’s Note: This story takes place one year after Compelled (Coveted #3)

  The brochure quite loosely used the words “quaint Southern charm” about Bright Haven, Georgia. I turned the trifold piece of paper upside-down just in case I missed a disclaimer on the advertisement. Before we stopped for gas on the outskirts of town, we’d passed a kudzu-covered, lopsided Welcome to Bright Haven sign and two abandoned bungalows.

  My husband, Thorn Grantham, gave me a wry grin as he pumped gas into our SUV. “Natalya, stop worrying.”

  Worrying? Pfft. I was a werewolf. My vision worked just fine, and based on what I saw as we drove into town, there was little to excite me. The 800-mile trip from Jersey to eastern Georgia should be the beautiful wedding we never had when we became mates a year ago. A chance for us to experience saying our marriage vows in a more formal setting.

  Once he finished filling up the SUV, he got in and leaned over to kiss my forehead. His warm lips left an impression on my heart, too. His sandalwood scent filled my senses, and I couldn’t resist smiling. He always knew what to say at the right times.

  “You’ll be fine,” he said softly. “We’ll be fine. They promised us our renewal vows would be an event to remember.”

  I needed something good to remember. On the night we became mates for life, I had to fight my way into our pack and prove my place as alpha female. Now that we were together, I wanted so much more with Thorn, but at a pace I could manage. A family someday, maybe even a chance to feel normal. For the past couple of months, he noticed I hadn’t felt the same about kids.

  The need to be optimistic tugged at me. A rather hard task when I was a professional worrier. A few weeks ago, Thorn received an invitation from a pack alpha who briefly stopped in South Toms River. The invite included a weekend stay at a romantic Southern bed and breakfast. For someone like me who wasn’t fond of staying in strange place, I wasn’t keen on the idea—until Thorn gave me the brochure. The place was an antiquarian’s paradise with over ten antique shops. Like an antique junkie waiting for her next fix, I immediately packed our bags—while leaving plenty of space for whatever goodies we planned to bring home.

 
So now that we drove down Main Street deeper into town, where the Uncle Barker’s Bed and Breakfast was located, I wondered if maybe there was a misprint on the brochure and maybe this pamphlet was for another town. Grand, live oak trees along the street blocked most of the overcast, November sky. Water from a recent rain shower dripped down the Spanish moss hanging from the trees. Those things I expected. What made me wary were the boarded up shop windows and the cars with flat tires along the curbs. There weren’t many people walking around either. Only a lone woman in a long overcoat walked her dog, her face obscured by the dark blue scarf on her head. Something about her slow gait pulled me in to stare.

  The narrow street opened to reveal the center of town and a glorious stone building surrounded by trees. I leaned against the window to look closer. Columns of dark red and white bricks peeked from between tall pines and cypress trees. As more of it became visible, I noticed there wasn’t much to see—what was left of the building was nothing more than old, charred wood and stone collapsing on itself from time. A part of me wanted to explore the land as a wolf. To see and smell what lay hidden from human eyes, but the human side of me didn’t want to touch the emptiness that lingered.

  “Is that what’s left of the old Bright Haven Fortress?” Thorn asked.

  “Yeah.” I wiped off the fog accumulating from my breath on the window. “According to the brochure, it was burned down and rebuilt three times. Once by the British, then the Union Army, and the third time was an accidental fire from the drunken mayor during a Fourth of July celebration in the 1920s.”

  “I guess the town was determined to keep the place,” he replied. “Talk about bad luck for the place. Wow.”

  Not far from the fort, we pulled up to our destination. The red and green glow from Uncle Barker’s Bed and Breakfast sign lit the interior of the car. I opened the door, and a gust of wind brought humidity into the car.

  With a nod of approval I said, “Now this is what I call Southern charm.”