Adversity (Cursed #2.5), Page 3

  Drina’s throaty laugh filled the air. “Perhaps she will take a fancy to my husband.”

  “She’s barren. It wouldn’t matter.”

  Drina shrugged. “Let’s hurry. I’m half-starved. You did well today. Keep that up, and we could be together again.”

  Kali hoped so, but her father was less hopeful.

  “You barely made more than Drina,” he scolded. His fingers dug into her shoulders as he shook her. “Did you work at all today?”

  “I never stopped,” she insisted. “What did you do today?”

  The slap to her cheek surprised her, as always, but she didn’t flinch at the stinging pain or the bad memories dancing around her. She held his gaze without a tremble, and he turned on his heel in disgust. Only then did her heart pound and her hands shake. Only then did she let herself see her mother’s suffering.

  He hadn’t hit hard enough to leave a mark, but lately his frustration seemed to boil over for more trivial reasons than usual. She knew she provoked him, but she was as tired of him as he was of her. She almost wished he would sell her off already, and be done with it, so she would never have to see his face again.

  Chapter Three

  Amelia

  I sat on a swing at the back of my house, a wolfhound at my feet, and replayed my memories and not the ones stemming from that day in the woods, for once. I was tired of remembering the pack of werewolves that had come for me but had taken my grandmother’s life instead. This time, I let memories of my dreams fill my mind with vivid imagery and intensely realistic sensations. I had felt the sun warm my skin, the sweat trickle down my back, and the blisters burst on the soles of my feet. I had smelled food and felt hunger and weariness, and had almost suffocated in the anger and resentment and pity of the people around me.

  But those memories weren’t the strangest ones.

  That morning I was awakened by the sting of a sharp slap on my cheek. My blood boiled in my veins, and within minutes of waking, the headache had returned. My head hurt so much that I thought it might split open. But the slap? How strange was that—to physically feel, in real time, the slap which had happened in my dream?

  Nathan distracted me before I could dwell on it any further. I knew he was trying something to make me feel better, perhaps, but his efforts seemed false to me, as if they were only an afterthought. I resisted the temptation to ask him if Perdita was busy and if that was why he had time for me. That would be mean. But I wanted to be mean sometimes, to force my remaining family to remember me.

  When he told me that he and Byron were planning a hunt, I nodded because I really wanted him to go away so I could think some more about Kali’s world.

  “Want to read my fortune?” he asked.

  Kali’s frustration, and her real power, was too fresh in my head. I was a pretender in comparison. I knew I would never be able to read the cards again.

  He persisted in trying to discover the source of my distraction, so I made up a story about wanting to organise our grandmother’s memorial myself. As if. Although, I did feel strange that my uncle was paying someone to deal with it all and paying for problems to go away. I didn’t think that was going to work with most of our problems; we couldn’t pay the werewolves that hunted us to leave us alone. We still weren’t sure what they wanted, but I was almost certain it wasn’t money.

  In all honesty, I hadn’t thought about the memorial as much as I should have. The dreams had distracted me from everything, and maybe that was the point of them.

  Still, when Nathan suggested visiting our grandmother’s grave, I jumped at the chance. Why hadn’t I thought of doing that? The dreams seemed to protect me from the real pain. I believed in the impossible, and perhaps my grandmother’s spirit was lingering, waiting for the chance to say goodbye to me properly.

  “I like that,” I said. “We could bring Perdita,” I added as an afterthought.

  He hesitated, his insecurities revealed in the fleeting fear that darted across his face. He didn’t know how to deal with her anymore, and he was afraid to push it.

  “I’m not sure she would be into that. Not after everything.”

  A chasm between us filled with unspoken words.

  “She’ll be okay, Nathan. I mean, it’s Perdita.” I needed him to understand that she was strong enough to get through it, and that eventually she would get over the fact she’d murdered a killer werewolf to save my grandfather. Nathan didn’t seem so sure. I left the subject alone. “Well, if it’s only us, let’s go right now.”

  He made a couple of lame excuses, but I ignored his predictable hesitation and refused to let him take back the offer. I ran off to my room before he could really come up with a good excuse.

  I needed to find an important symbol that I could leave at Mémère’s grave, something that would let her know I hadn’t forgotten her. My bracelet twisted on my wrist, and I remembered she hadn’t been buried with its match. My piece was a replica of hers, the one my grandfather had given her a long time ago. If he didn’t bury it with her, he sure as hell had forgotten about it, so I moved to their room to find it.

  Slipping inside the room made me panic. Oppressive, stifling heat and a cloying smell stuck to me almost immediately. I felt as though no air had come into the room since her death, as though the room had closed itself off from the rest of the world.

  I moved to her dresser slowly, suddenly timid. I felt as though there was someone behind me the entire time, and although it didn’t scare me, it unnerved me a whole lot. I opened Mémère’s jewellery box and rummaged until I found what I was looking for. Lifting the bracelet with care, I slipped it onto my other wrist for safekeeping.

  There had to be something else I could bring. Of course. Her tarot cards. They were the one thing she had refused to give up for my grandfather. She had many packs scattered around her room for reasons known only to her, but there was one pack at the top of her wardrobe, a special set that she rarely used. I stretched to reach the top of the wardrobe, but my fingers touched wood, instead of the cards I was expecting. Puzzled, I pulled her dresser stool over to the wardrobe and stood on it to see properly.

  The cards were there, sitting right on top of a wooden board. I pulled the board closer to me, but the stool wobbled. I fell, pulling the board after me, and I landed heavily on the floor, gasping as the board, followed by the cards, landed right on my stomach.

  “Damn it,” I hissed, feeling winded. I picked up the board with every intention of pushing it back up on top of the wardrobe, but as I touched it, a shudder ran through me, and I gazed at the board in surprise.

  The object was a spirit board… interesting.

  I picked up the cards, stood, and shoved them in my pocket, but for some reason, I couldn’t put back the board. Hearing Nathan call my name, I made my decision and ran back to my room to hide the board under the bed. I didn’t feel right about leaving it on top of a wardrobe to gather dust.

  We walked to the graveyard together, making the most of the good weather.

  “Still feeling ill?” Nathan asked, disturbing my thoughts.

  “I’m okay. You know me, always coming down with something.” I tried to laugh, but my effort was weak, and we both knew it. He glanced at me, and I recognised the look. He had absolutely no idea what to do with me, either, so I made small talk to ease his mind. All the while I thought about that spirit board.

  By the time we got to the grave, I was ready to spill my guts. I could tell Nathan was feeling awkward. He had never been comfortable around death, or the idea there might be something after, and even now, he fidgeted as though his clothes were full of ants. I dug a neat little space in the earth in which to leave the cards and the bracelet. I felt better when I covered them with dirt. Being at her grave felt important, and I thought something important would happen if I spoke to her there. I wanted to wind back the guilt, to cut the rope that bound it to me, and throw it away for good.

  Nathan made a face when he saw me digging the little hole. Maybe he tho
ught I was desecrating her grave, but I defended my right to leave something with her. I felt relief when he finally stopped hovering and let me get on with my ceremony of sorts.

  “Mémère, I miss you so much. I need you now. You’ve no idea how much. Everything’s gone wrong without you. Opa’s gone. He left. Just like that. I don’t… I don’t understand what’s happening anymore. Nathan’s told me so many things that I didn’t know. Things I should have known that you and Opa should have told me. Why didn’t you tell me anything? Why did you hide so much from me? How did you think that would make me feel? I wish I could talk to you and understand, but I can’t. It’s as if… it’s as if you’re all strangers to me now, as if I don’t know any of you. And I feel so ill; I don’t know why. The headaches are so bad, and the dreams… I don’t get any rest at night because I’m so busy in the dream world.”

  As I spoke, a breeze blew over me, cooling my hot cheeks. I hadn’t meant to sound so accusing, but apart from the grief, I was so angry I could spit. I wanted to tear things apart with my hands, to see things shatter and break before me. They should have warned me of the danger I was in. If only they had told me everything. If only I had known what to expect, maybe I wouldn’t have fallen apart and been so bloody useless when the werewolves finally came for me. The grief was bad, but the rage… the rage was so much worse.

  Sitting there telling her how I felt, I let everything that had been bubbling inside me release itself into the world. The relief felt good, as if weights floated off my shoulders. I still didn’t understand, but my head felt clear for the first time in weeks. Opa wasn’t here anymore. Nathan and Byron weren’t exactly wells of information, but maybe I could talk to her—to Mémère—through the spirit board. Maybe my pulling it down had been a sign that Mémère wanted me to contact her. It was worth trying. I had to believe that.

  “Your turn,” I called out to Nathan. He took a deep breath before approaching her grave, and I knew he was nervous.

  “Do you think you could give me a minute? Alone, I mean.”

  I didn’t mind, so I wandered off.

  “Stay where I can see you,” he shouted after me, sounding way too much like the mother of a little kid. Idiot.

  I strolled around the graveyard, freakishly interested in the graves. I had a hard time remembering a body lay in a grave under the earth when the surface was suffocating in butterflies or pink glitter ornaments. Some headstones were piled up with flowers and plaques and still living memories, so it made me sad to see the deserted ones. The ones that were dirty and overgrown had been obviously forgotten.

  On the edge of the cemetery were a batch of incredibly old graves, and they got me thinking about Kali. If she had been real, then her grave would be out there, old, ruined, and forgotten somewhere in the world. I didn’t want that for Mémère.

  I stared at those cracked headstones until Nathan found me.

  “You ready?”

  I wasn’t ready. Not for goodbyes. Not to walk away.

  “I feel bad for these ones. There’s nobody left to miss them. Think it makes a difference?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s just… do you think Mémère is still around?”

  “Not really, Ammy.”

  His use of my childhood nickname made me smile, and reminded me of the old days before Nathan became consumed with the idea of the old gypsy curse that would afflict his and his soul mate’s lives. “You haven’t called me that since we were little.”

  I couldn’t bear to look away from the graves. I didn’t want to let Mémère go. Not her memory. Not her presence. I wasn’t ready to be on my own. If using the spirit board would keep her with me a little longer then it seemed like the right thing to do.

  “What if they knew nobody was here to mourn them anymore? What if there was nothing holding them here? Maybe if we keep missing her, she’ll stay with us longer.”

  Nathan literally squirmed on the spot. “Why would you want her to? What if there’s something better for her than seeing us right now?”

  I scowled at him, unable to understand. She loved us. Of course she would want to see us. To stay with us. She would never willingly leave us.

  “What could be better than family?” I asked.

  “Do you really think she’d want to see Opa like this? Do you think she’d be happy to see the family all… distant like this? This isn’t her family. Not the way we are right now. She’d hate to see this. But as long as we remember her, we keep her with us in a different way. Do you understand?”

  I hated when he was right. No. She wouldn’t enjoy watching her family drift apart. “What do we do now? There’s nobody to take care of us anymore. Byron doesn’t exactly love being around us, and I’m starting to think Opa’s never coming back.”

  “Opa’s just… grieving in his own way. He’ll come back. Besides, we’re old enough to look after ourselves. And I’m not leaving you; don’t worry. We’ll have to wait for the oldies to get over themselves and come back into the real world. That’s all.”

  He was pretty cool when he actually paid attention to me, and maybe he was right. We had to take care of each other and wait for everything else to get back to normal.

  We actually had fun on the way home, and by the time we got there, I had laughed so much that my cheeks ached. Maybe it was better to leave the spirit board alone, after all.

  ***

  Kali

  For a week solid, she went to the village, sometimes with Drina, but more often alone. Drina’s pregnancy hadn’t been easy, and she needed her rest.

  Kali worked each day, prepared to earn her keep, desperate to persuade this particular clan that it needed her around. The clan was a large vitsa made up of a number of families, wealthier than most, and a couple of unmarried men had watched her with interest. Not that she encouraged them. She wasn’t interested in any of them.

  She knew she was swapping one keeper for another, but the sooner her father performed the ceremony declaring her no longer a novice, but a chovihani in her own right, the sooner she could prove herself and her magic. She would show her people how she turned toward the light and away from the dark, unlike her father. She would be more important than her father, well-respected, and perhaps her husband would be kind and gentle.

  Perhaps.

  Her father held power, too. He had once been esteemed, even cherished, by his clan, but he wasted everything when he turned to black magic. His power was corrupted, twisted by his greed and vanity, by the things he had done to assert his position. With any other parent, she would have been greatly desired; the clans would have fought to contain her in one of their folds. But in his desperation to beget a seventh daughter, he had taken steps that would lead to them both being unofficially ostracised.

  She swore to herself that she would never be the same as him. She ignored the darkness that pleaded with her whenever she used her talents. The darkness had followed her since childhood, and deep in her heart, she knew it came from her father. She knew he had turned to a darker side to strengthen his power, to make sure she was born, even if her birth would eventually lead to her mother’s early death.

  She had to keep her magic pure. She had to stay away from the curses a chovihani was expected to cast on those who wronged them. Everyone expected her to be as dark as her father, which explained why the various gypsy clans had shunned her, and yet that was why they wanted her, too. She was to protect her people, and when she married, she would leave her father’s clan and join her husband’s vitsa to become a part of his people. Perhaps her new alliances would expect her to harm those who interfered with them. How was she supposed to be that person who decided when someone deserved a punishment of dark magic?

  She would be different, and her children would cast away the darkness around her. Her children would be the light. She had sworn to herself long ago that she would cleanse herself of her heritage, no matter what it took.

  But the shadows, clouds on her heart, followed her to the vil
lage, and drew closer every day. On the way back to camp, the air was heavy with humidity. The heat combined with the increasing sense of time running out made her panic, and she broke into a run, the dry earth hard under her bare feet.

  She almost ran right by the woman from the village, the bitter woman who would somehow raise a gypsy child. This time they met on a dirt track next to a field of glorious green. Only then did she see the darkness surrounding the woman and understand how the woman had invited darkness into her heart a long time ago. Kali was unsettled to see a manifestation of evil so clearly, and openly. Worse, such acceptance of darkness came from one of the gaje, a non-gypsy who should not have knowledge of such magic.

  The woman was accompanied by a young man, most likely her husband, Kali realised. The villagers had called him a boy, Kali remembered, but his wide shoulders and straight posture declared him every bit of a man to Kali. His hair was white blond, his eyes, ice blue, and his complexion similar to the woman. Again, Kali felt a twist of discomfort at the memory of the baby’s image she’d had when telling the woman’s fortune. When the woman set her gaze on Kali, her face lit up.

  “You! I need to speak with you.”

  “Marusya, we don’t have time,” her husband said in a deliciously deep voice that ran right down to the tip of Kali’s toes. She couldn’t take her eyes from his face. What was wrong with her?

  “Oh, go home, you half-wit,” his wife snapped. She may as well have been shouting at a stray dog, for all the care she held in her eyes and voice. He glanced at Kali, his eyes full of embarrassment and shame, and walked away. Trying to contain her shock at the woman’s rudeness, Kali’s stomach still quivered at the memory of her own foresight, and how uncomfortable she felt with the man’s shame. Terrified of the darkness closing in on her, Kali took a tone with the woman and openly challenged her.

  “Marusya, is it? I am no dog to be ordered about. Neither is your husband. Perhaps your barren womb is punishment for your misdeeds. Consider that when you treat another like dirt.”