Capricorn Cursed (12 page)

“Just be grateful it wasn't you,” Maggie said. “What else could you have done? It was his time.”

The women hugged one another. From the other room, the rest of the women were calling for Natasha. When she returned, a large birthday cake complete with lit candles and her name written in fancy frosting script greeted her.

Natasha touched her amulet, made a wish, then blew out each and every candle.

 

 

 

Listen to the music within yourself.

 

Music Has Charm

 

Natasha ran her bow along the strings as the brightness of the full moon cast a spotlight on her. Craig plucked his guitar, and as they played together the cacophony of sound was discordant and catchy.

When the song came to an end, Natasha put down her violin and bow. “I'm thirsty,” she said. “I'll go get some wine.”

“Do you have beer?” Craig asked as he placed his guitar in the stand.

“Beer it is,” Natasha said as she went through the door to her apartment. As she pulled on the door, she was aware of the energy shift.

They had been waiting for her, listening at the door, seething with impatience as the recent smudging kept them at bay.

They swirled feverishly around her as Natasha pulled two beers out of the fridge. She batted at them as if they were pesky flies. Their misty forms twirled around her head, their anguish making her dizzy. They chattered and chided at her, resentful of being locked out of her room.

“On second thought,” she said as she pulled out two more, “don't want to come back in here if I don't have to.”

She took the beers and the opener back into the other room. The ghosts teased her hair and pulled at her clothes, urging her to come back and be with them.

“Bye-bye,” she said as she kicked the door shut.

“Huh?” Craig asked, looking up from a music book.

“Sorry. Just talking to myself.”

Craig laughed. “I do that too. A sign of genius, or maybe it's just insanity.”

Natasha put the beer down on the coffee table. “I brought several so I don't have to keep going back and forth. Help yourself.” She gestured at them.

Craig opened a beer and gave it to her. He opened another one and took a long swig from it. “Ah, that's better,” he said. “I'm much better now.”

“Me too,” Natasha said. “Beer was a good idea.”

The smell of his cologne was sweet; his sweat was sweeter. Natasha's teeth began to itch. She took another sip of beer. She couldn't start getting hungry again so soon. She had to wait.

Craig continued to talk about the merits of beer while Natasha stared at his neck. The veins throbbed when he talked, enticing her. Up and down, undulating blood flowed through them. Rich, red blood that tasted so wonderfully salty. She could almost taste it oozing along her tongue, dripping down her throat.

Natasha drank the rest of her beer in one gulp. A burp slipped from her lips, surprising her. Embarrassed, she clapped her hands over her mouth.

“Oh my goodness. I'm so sorry,” she said, her face growing flushed. “I never—”

“That's what happens when you drink beer fast, little lady,” Craig drawled. “You'll be belching like the men folk 'round here.”

They laughed as he opened another beer for her. As he handed it to her, he teased, “Now you drive slower this time, hear?”

“Righty so, pardner.” Natasha lifted the beer and took a ladylike sip from it as proof. Before long, they decided to jam some more. They were learning how to feed off each other in a harmonious give-and-take that resulted in sensational vibrations resonating through the room. Natasha was lost in the reverie of their music when there was a crash outside the window.

Even Craig heard it through the sound of his wailing guitar. “What the fuck was that?” he asked as he clutched the neck of his guitar and held it out like a weapon.

“It sounded like something just outside the window.” Natasha looked toward the window where the sound had originated.

“This high up?” Craig asked.

“Well, it could have been from the street. That window over there is open a bit to keep the air flow going.”

“It sounded like someone was out there.”

“I do have a fire escape,” Natasha said. “One can't be too careful in these old places.”

“That's it, then,” Craig said as he ran toward the window. He lifted it up and looked down the fire escape. Natasha saw a dark figure loping down the street. She couldn't tell if it was a man running with his coat flapping or if it was a bear.

“There's nothing there,” Craig said, satisfied he had looked down the fire escape enough. “Maybe it was just a raccoon. Look, that flower pot is broken.”

“Yeah, I get raccoons a lot. He probably ran up to the roof,” she said, looking up. He followed her gaze.

“I don't see him now. He's lucky this time,” Craig said as he shut the window. “Do you mind? I don't want to see any raccoon running in here. Or anything else.”

“Not at all,” Natasha said, locking the window. After glancing at his face, she went around and locked all the windows, even ones that weren't near the fire escape.

“Better?” she asked.

“Almost,” he said as he put his arms around her and pulled her toward him. He kissed her long and full on the lips. When he was done, he stepped back and stared into her eyes. “Now I'm better.”

Natasha smiled coyly. “I can make you feel even better.” She kneeled down and unbuckled his belt. Within seconds and with his help, she had his penis out. He sighed as she sucked him fully.

“Oh yes. You know how to make a man feel real good.”

As Natasha sucked him, she wondered about the noise and the figure she had seen. She touched the locket around her neck. It felt warm. She wondered if that was a sign.

“Oh, deeper, baby. That's it, that's good,” he directed her as she sucked him. When he was hard, she took a condom from her purse on the coffee table and slid it over him. She hiked up her skirt and leaned over the couch. He held her hips as he slid his cock into her warm, moist pussy.

“Yes.” She sighed. “That's it.” He pushed deeply into her and held it for a moment until they both could feel him throbbing with excitement inside her.

He pulled out slowly, then plunged himself in quickly and deeply, causing her to moan. “Oh, God, that's delicious,” she sighed. “So good.”

He teased her for a while, changing strokes and depths until his own excitement took hold. His fingers danced on her clit while he pushed into her rhythmically.

“Oh yes.” She sighed. “Yes. Yes.”

Just when she thought he was going to come, he pulled out. “Lie down,” he panted. “I want to look at your face.”

She lay down. He held her legs up as he entered her, staring into her eyes.

Natasha could see lust in his eyes and something more. A softness she hadn't seen in a long time.

He pulled out and thrust in again repeatedly. The smell of him so near caused her stomach to rumble with hunger and excitement. The flesh of his neck was so close, and it would be so easy to just have a nibble. A teeny, tiny taste.

She reached up, clamping her mouth over his neck. She sucked on his warm, salty flesh, her eyes rolling back in desire and anticipation. She didn't bite hard as he continued to fuck her.

“Oh, yes, baby,” he cried out. “Nibble my neck, you sexy vampire. I love it.”

She bit down harder, enough to taste a bit of salty blood. It stung her lips, her stomach roiling loudly as it craved more. She licked and sucked on his warm flesh, careful not to bite deeper, but carefully savoring the tiny, weeping wound. Her body quivered with excitement, and she was coming.

“Yes, come on my cock,” he cried as he fucked her faster.

She held onto his neck as he pumped into her furiously. He came with a groan.

They lay together for a moment, and Natasha slowly released her mouth from his neck. She was frustrated but satiated at the same time. The little taste of him was delicious, but it only served to make her want more. His essence was sweet and hearty, much different from most of the married men she picked up at the fetish club. His flavor resembled virgins more than most of the men she had consumed over the years. Perhaps it was his innocence. Or maybe the sweetness was a result of his genuine affection for her.

Craig rolled off her, and they lay hanging off the couch for a bit. He touched his neck with his finger and saw a smudge of blood.

“You enjoy role-playing?” he asked, holding his finger up in the air to examine the smear of blood.

“I didn't hurt you, did I?” she asked, reaching over to his neck to wipe away the last drop of glistening blood with her fingers.

“Not at all. It was sexy. Delicious. Fun.” He saw the blood on her fingers. “Although, you really did draw blood.”

“I'm sorry,” she said as she slowly licked her fingers. “It's a fetish, I guess.”

“I like your fetish. We can play vampire anytime you like.” Craig leaned over to kiss her. “Anytime at all.”

 

 

You may run into an old friend.

 

The Flea Market

 

Natasha wandered through the mall's basement flea market. Psychics ran most of the booths from Hermana, although there was the usual collection of antique furniture and record dealers as well. Sometimes Natasha enjoyed looking through the posters of old movies and Broadway shows. Somewhere in the back recesses of her mind, dingy, dusty theaters and velvet seats danced in her fragmented memory. An old phonograph record was playing in one of the stalls as she flipped through the prints. It was the theme from
Limelight
, an old Charlie Chaplin movie.

The plaintive melody dredged up haunting sensations, as if she should remember something connected to the song but couldn't. She stared at an old Broadway poster for
Gypsy
and wondered if she had seen the show.

Around her, ghostly shapes took form and led each other through a slow and romantic dance. Natasha pretended she didn't see them, intensifying her mock search through the prints. Beside her, a little girl pointed to the ceiling and tugged at her mother.

“Look up there! They're dancing,” she cried.

The mother looked up and shrugged. “There's nothing there, dear,” she said and led the child away as she stared back to watch the couples embrace.

Natasha waited until the song ended, and then they were back again, pleading with her in their wailing grief to connect them with their loved ones. It was always worse at the flea market because so many objects belonged to those who had passed on.

Natasha put the prints back with a sigh and wandered farther down the aisles, halfheartedly looking at sweaters and T-shirts among the ornate antique jewelry.

At last, she was at Maggie's stall. Maggie sat at her little cloth-covered table, staring earnestly at her tarot cards while a young man sat expectantly in front of her.

“What does it say?” he asked. Natasha turned her attention from the tarot reading to the line of people waiting to see Maggie. Natasha wanted to tell her about Craig but there would be no talking to Maggie for a while. She continued on, her black boots carefully stepping along the cement floor that was slick with melted snow from people's boots.

Natasha reached her own booth, unlocked the padlock, slid back the gates and pulled open the drapes. She didn't come in on a regular basis because the work she did was better done at the client's house. Nevertheless, there were those curious enough to try to call dead loved ones in a mall, and it was her duty to help.

Once she had positioned her table and sign, she set to work dusting the glass counter that held many pieces of antique jewelry and tiny sculptures of musical instruments. She had a small rack of CDs by local artists who she enjoyed and tried to promote. She would have to remember to get Craig's band's CDs in there as well.

There were a few books on display too, written by various psychics who lived in Hermana. Most were small-press and self-published works, but the tourists seemed to enjoy them. They covered historical stories, orbs, ghosts, witches and witch-hunts. There was even a small book about holistic remedies. Many of the authors had a booth or service in the mall, and Natasha would send the eager readers over to get an autograph.

She had lain carpet on the floor a few months back to add color and class to her little slice of the flea market. It made the booth homier, and the basement floor wasn't so cold through her toes after standing on it for many hours. Long, velvet curtains covered the wooden slats that made up the walls of the booth. Most of the psychics used heavy velvet materials and posters to cover up the, ugly plain clapboard walls of the booths.

Natasha fiddled with, dusted and rearranged her stock until she grew bored. She even dusted some cobwebs off the large sign that had her name on it.
NATASHA: Medium to the Other Side
.

She took to her velvet chair with wooden claw feet, waiting for someone to come and sit in the matching one. She smiled at people who hurried by, looking at merchandise or gossiping about their tarot reading or crystal ball reading. She knew Gwen must still be in town as she watched a few people wander past with Gwen's charts clutched tightly in their hands.

Gwen actually lived in Manhattan these days, but as a flight attendant, she was often landing in the Boston airport. When she had a few days off, she would stay in her favorite bed and breakfast in Hermana and hang out with her old friends. She always made the circle ceremonies. To her, they were more important than her job. She always said that without the circle, she would have nothing.

Gwen had studied astrology as a child; her mother was one of the most famous astrologers in the world. Gwen's mother had columns in newspapers and a client list that could fill a phone book. In keeping with tradition, Gwen had learned all about planets, transits and aspects. She could size up almost anyone just by knowing his or her birth date. Gwen's mother had taught her book knowledge combined with instinct. Neither one of them ever used a computer program to create forecasts, although for neatness's sake, Gwen created charts on a computer for her clients.