The Curse Keepers Collection (130 page)

He shrugged again.

“Who’s in charge of creating all these coincidences anyway? Ahone?”

“That is for you to determine.”

I groaned my frustration, then we sat in silence for several moments. But the more I thought about how my life had been manipulated, the more my anger grew. “That stupid collection has killed so many people.”

“More than you know.” He sounded weary.

How many were there? “I’m sure my mother was killed because of it.”

He was silent for a moment. “Your life is like a spiderweb. There are many connections, finely woven, only there is more than one spider spinning your web. You have more tangled threads than I have ever seen.”

“Who has woven the threads? Ahone and Okeus? And can I burn the web and make my own?”

He laughed. “Surprisingly, I think I will like working with you.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Maybe it’s the wrong question.”

I shook my head. “I’m too tired for riddles.”

Tsagasi chuckled softly.

“Why are you helping me?” I asked, rubbing my forehead with one hand. He was making my head hurt with all his talk of tangled webs. “You still haven’t really answered that.”

“I want to ensure your success.”

I released a heavy sigh. We sat next to one another on the porch and listened to crickets chirp all around us.

“You did well tonight, witness to creation. Better than I’d expected.”

I turned to him, my mouth gaping. “Why are you so surprised?”

“Your sex for one. You’re a female. A curious choice.”

Were the spirits all misogynists? “There have been female Curse Keepers in the past.”

“Yes, but not very many. Less than the number of fingers on my hand.”

I glanced over to see how many fingers he actually had. Five. “Why?”

He shrugged. It was a wonder he didn’t have a muscle spasm from all his shoulder rolling. “There is another question that is more important.”

“What question?”

“You must figure it out on your own.”

I groaned. “You’re talking in riddles again.”

“Try to figure out what that question is and ask me tomorrow.”

“Now that I have the power from being a witness to creation, do I still need to use the ring and the spear and the sword?”

His eyes narrowed and he leaned toward me, his gaze piercing mine. “As I already said, you need
every
tool at your disposal. What works in one situation might not work in another.”

“So you’ll answer every question I ask?”

He laughed and sat back. “It depends on what you ask.”

“Ahone was there on the night of my mother’s death. Do you know why?”

“I was locked away in Popogusso with the others. How would I know?”

“That’s not an answer.”

He grinned. “This is why I like you, Curse Keeper. You pay attention. I knew he was there.”

“And he let my mother die?”

He remained silent, his gaze intent on the woods behind the house.

“My memory of that night is coming back in bits and pieces.”

“Many things happened that night. You must try harder to remember. It is important.”

I nodded, picking up the sword next to me and laying it across my lap. I’d never been a proponent of citizens arming themselves, but holding the weapon gave me a confidence I hadn’t felt seconds before. “A Raven Mocker told my future and called me a vessel,” I said. “Does it mean that Okeus will get his way?”

“Fortunes and prophecies are purposely vague so that they can be interpreted in many ways.”

“You didn’t answer my question again.”

He sighed. “Sometimes there is no answer, Curse Keeper. Sometimes there is only the question, and it is up to you to supply your own answer.”

“I think that’s bullshit,” I said, even though there was a certain Yoda-like wisdom in his response. “I think that’s your answer because you don’t know and you’re not willing to admit it.”

He laughed and climbed to his feet. “Enough questions for one night. I need rest to face your next interrogation. You are like a human toddler with your endless questions.”

“How long will you be around to help me?”

He stood next to me, inches separating us, but I still had to look down at him. His head didn’t even come to my shoulder. “I will help you as long as you need me, but once you don’t, I will be gone.”

“Okay,
that’s
vague.”

He hopped off the porch and started walking toward the woods.

“Tsagasi, one more thing and then I’ll go inside.” He twisted at the waist to look back at me. I needed an answer to a question I’d already asked and he’d left unanswered. I took his previous advice and rephrased it. “What do you get out of helping me?”

His grin faded. “Survival.”

C
HAPTER
F
IFTEEN

The next morning I gasped in shock when I reached the door to Myra’s apartment.

There were marks on it.

Myra had never shown any interest in the markings I put on the doors to the inn each night other than concern for my safety. But the most perplexing part of it was that these marks weren’t the same ones I used. While they were primitive, they were mostly lines and circles. What were they, and why had she started using them?

I lifted my hand to knock, but Myra opened the door before my fisted hand could connect with the wood. A smile spread across her face. “Ellie, I’m so happy to see you.”

My palm burned when I crossed the threshold, but the sensation stopped as quickly as it had started. I turned around to check behind me. Myra’s apartment had an inside entrance, and the hall was completely bare.

“Is everything okay?” Myra asked with a worried tone.

“My mark tingled.”

“Do you think something’s out there?”

“No, doesn’t look like it.” I turned to face her. “It happened when I walked through the door. What are those marks?”

“Oh!” She grimaced and looked embarrassed. “I confess that once I got here, hundreds of miles from you, I got a little paranoid. Steven found a Native American shaman to come by and start marking my door.”

“These marks aren’t Croatan.”

“No, but I figured the gods and spirits this far inland were more likely to be associated with another tribe.” She shut the door and headed to the small kitchen that was separated from the tiny living room by a short bar.

“So are they Cherokee?”

Myra grabbed a pot of coffee and poured some into a mug. “I’m not sure. Steven called a Cherokee shaman, but he told me he blended in some other local tribal signs to be safe.”

Worry knotted my stomach. “Maybe I should mark your doors before I leave. Just to be sure. I heard about the missing Duke students.” That was the only reason I was here instead of with David after all we’d been through the previous night. In light of Allison’s death and the missing students, I had a possibly not-so-irrational fear that Myra was in danger. I needed to see her for myself. A phone call wasn’t good enough.

She shook her head, tsking. “Everyone on campus is quite upset about it, justifiably of course.” She poured creamer into my cup and handed it to me. “That’s why I decided to mark my door. Steven thinks I’m crazy.” She rolled her eyes with a grin. “In Manteo, we explained the marks on the doors as part of the colony experience, but here . . . ” She looked up and chuckled. “I told him it was because I was homesick.”

“Good thinking.”

Myra grabbed a basket and moved past me to set it on the table. “While I’m grateful for your offer to re-mark my door, I think I should keep these ones. Yours will fade, but the shaman can come back and redo his work every week.”

“Okay . . . I just want to make sure you’re safe.”

She offered me a soft smile. “Ellie, that’s what I love about you. You’ll do anything to make sure the people you love are safe.” She spun around and returned to the kitchen, leaving me standing on the opposite side of the bar.

“Can I do anything to help?”

“Nope. I’ve got it.” She pulled a bowl of cut-up fruit out of the refrigerator and a hash brown casserole out of the oven, then scooped a generous helping of both onto a plate and handed it to me.

“Good heavens, Myra. Are you trying to fatten me up?”

“You look like you need meat on your bones,” she said, scooping her own plate. “Isn’t David making sure you eat?”

“It’s not his job. I’m a grown woman, capable of monitoring my own caloric intake,” I teased, giving her a wink as we sat down at the small table.

She held up her hands in surrender. “Point taken, but worrying about you is part of my job description. You can’t expect me to give that up just because I live a few hundred miles away.”

“Fair enough.”

She picked up her fork, her mouth puckering with worry. “I hope David wasn’t upset that I asked you to come alone. You know I’m quite fond of him, Ellie, but he gets to see you all the time. I wanted an hour or so with you all to myself.”

“No, he wasn’t upset at all. I just told him that I wanted to talk to you alone about the B&B.” In reality, it had never come up. One of David’s friends had called around seven in the morning to tell him about Allison’s death. She was supposed to have gone running around six with Cheryl. When she didn’t answer her phone or the door, Cheryl peeked in the front windows. She could see Allison lying on the sofa, surrounded by tissues and cold medicine. Frantic, she called 911, and the emergency personnel declared her deceased upon arriving at the scene. The coroner had already declared the death an illness—a sudden onslaught of the flu—and decided an autopsy was unnecessary. Devastated, her friends had all gathered to console one another, David included. And since I would have felt like an outsider in their group, I’d decided to keep my date with Myra. But I didn’t want to tell my stepmother any of that. She worried about me enough.

“I want to hear about your new job,” I said, forcing myself to sound cheerful.

Myra spent the next fifteen minutes telling me about the classes she was teaching, along with some humorous encounters she’d had with students. I was happy to see how animated and excited she was, but something seemed off. I knew people changed—look at David and me—but I still felt sad. Myra had moved on without me.

That was a good thing, right?

“So how’s Claire?” Myra asked with a wide smile. “How was her honeymoon?”

“She’s good.” I paused, unsure what to tell her. “She had a great time.”

Myra’s smile froze, then faded. “What are you keeping from me?”

I gave a half shrug and shoveled hash browns onto my fork. “Myra, it’s nothing.”

She reached over and covered my left hand. “Ellie, something’s worrying you. I’m still your mother. Don’t shut me out.”

Tears filled my eyes. “So much has happened in the last two months. Some days it’s just so overwhelming.”

Myra scooted her chair next to mine and pulled me into a hug. “Oh, Ellie. It’s just so much responsibility for one person to carry. I so wish you could give this up. You have no idea how much I worry about you.” She cradled my head to her shoulder. “Maybe I should come back home.”

I jerked out of her hold, panic racing through my body. “No. Don’t. Please don’t give this up. This is your dream. I want you to have it.”

Her hand cupped my face, her skin feeling warmer than normal. “But Ellie, you’re my daughter. I want to be there for you.”

“The best thing you can do for me is stay here.” I still thought she was safer here than at home, particularly if Claire was right about the inn. “Myra, are you feeling sick? Your hand is warm.” Any sickness would make her fair game for the Raven Mockers.

Laughing, she pulled her hand free. “I’m fine. I’ve been
cooking
. It’s made my hands warm.”

“There are things out there killing people who are sick. They rip their hearts out after they terrorize their victims. If you’re sick, I’m not leaving you alone.”

“Oh dear.” She paused, then shook her head. “Ellie. I’m fine. You have enough to worry about without worrying about my welfare. Besides, my door is marked and the windows are sealed. There’s no need to be concerned.” She offered me a soft smile. “Enough about me. How about you explain your cryptic message about the inn?”