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I felt myself melting inside.
“I love you too,” I whispered and felt tears stinging my eyes.
“Are you okay, baby?” Rath looked at me with concern.
“Fine.” I swiped at my eyes and then pressed my face to his broad chest. “I’m just…I never expected to get to feel this with anyone. I’ve been lonely all my life and then you came along and…and…”
But I couldn’t finish because I was actually crying harder as emotions flooded me.
“Aww, baby…” Rath put his arms around me and held me close. I felt his big, warm hands caressing my back soothingly as he murmured in my ear that everything would be all right, that he loved me and he would protect me and take care of me.
Little did I know that a threat was coming that even the big Orc couldn’t protect me from…
CHAPTER THIRTY
So as I said, losing my virginity to Rath turned out to be a wonderful experience. I’ve heard so many women say their first time was awful or just not very good. But the big Orc was such a thoughtful and giving lover, sex with him was great every time.
I tried not to think about the family curse or the fact that Rath and I might be Heartmates, and I successfully ignored it until it was shoved in my face again a little while later.
It happened when I was searching through my Grandma’s Grimoire, looking for another recipe I hoped would impress Celia at The Lost Lamb. As I thumbed carefully through the pages of the ancient book, I noticed something I hadn’t seen before—at the very back there was a whole clump of pages that were stuck together.
I frowned as I teased gently at one of the pages, trying to pry it loose. What had happened here? Had someone been making a recipe with something sticky in it and accidentally glued this part of the book together? I didn’t know but I did know I wanted to see what was on those pages—they felt important somehow.
Taking the Grimoire down to the kitchen, I put the old-fashioned tea kettle on to boil. When it started to whistle and steam, I held the kettle and aimed it at the glued-together pages, carefully steaming them until they began to loosen and pull apart.
I sat at the kitchen table and carefully aired the pages. As I peeled them away from each other, I saw that they held a lot of writing. It wasn’t recipes or anything—it looked like someone had written almost a kind of story. Then, on one page, I saw something that gave me a shock—it was a drawing of a thin male face, twisted with anger. The eyes were pure evil—staring with malevolent hatred in a way that made my skin crawl.
“That’s it—that’s him!” I exclaimed, staring at the page. It was the face I had seen in my dreams—the same one I thought I saw when we spent the night in Baba Yaga’s hut. But who was he?
With trembling hands, I turned back to the beginning of the pages and began to read…
“Know then that we are Cursed. We, the female descendants of Mercy Pruitt who was the first witch of our line, have a Curse upon us and we shall not soon be rid of it,” the story began.
I read on, my eyes getting wider as my stomach twisted in knots. The story—which was written in a flowing, old-fashioned cursive handwriting and had capitals in odd places—was an account of my ancestors, dating back to the time of the Salem Witch trials. According to the story, my many-times-great Grandmother, Mercy Pruitt, was one of the women accused of witchcraft, not in Salem, but in another small town in the same area called Andover.
I frowned. I had read about the Salem Witch trials back in school—I had even done a report on them. But I hadn’t read about anything similar to the Salem trials happening in other towns.
I also didn’t remember seeing any mention of a woman named Mercy Pruitt or the villain in the story—a man who was described as a “Witch Finder” by the name of Milas James. But maybe that was because these trials had happened in a different town and the events hadn’t been as publicized as they had been in Salem.
According to the story, (which was written by Mercy Pruitt’s great granddaughter, Charity,) a Witch Finder by the name of Milas James came to the township of Andover. Accusations soon started flying and he had many of the women of Andover arrested—including Charity.
“My mother, of course, was indeed a Witch—but not the sort that Milas James Claimed. For she did not dance naked in the moonlight with the Horned One, nor did she Fornicate with Satan and his Imps,” Charity wrote. “Indeed, it is only that she had THE POWER—which all we of her line did so inherit—that we are able to bend the Natural World to our Will through the use of Spells and Cantrips and Potions.”
Hmm…I had brewed a potion, but that was by accident. Also, I didn’t seem to need spells to make my magic work. I wondered if the power Charity wrote about had somehow mutated over the many generations?
“Milas James did lock Mercy up and then he Condemned her to Die,” the story went on. “For not only was Milas James a Witch Finder—he was also a Warlock of the most Evil kind and he wished to steal her Power for himself.”
Wow—that was a twist! I kept on reading—I was now on the page with the awful face. It was a drawing of Milas James, apparently. I wondered what had happened to him…and to my many-times-great Grandmother.
“He tried to Drown her and he tried to Burn her, but each time Mercy cast a Charm of Protection on herself,” the story went on. “And then, one night, she did escape His Clutches. But she knew that Milas James would never stop hunting her—such was his Lust for her Power that he would follow her to the Ends of the Earth. And so, through her Magic Arts, she found a way to lock his spirit away in the Dark Realm. Behind the Black Door he resides and so lives on forever, though he is Banished from the Land of the Living.”
I frowned as I studied the drawing again. Though it was done in black ink, I could almost see those menacing eyes glowing angry red as they narrowed in hate. Lust for Power indeed—I bet that Milas James was one of those men that hated women and wanted to harm them all. A seventeenth century incel.
At last I dragged my gaze from the disturbing drawing and went on reading.
“Mercy left Andover and founded the town we live in still—Hidden Hollow—banding with the Creatures around her to form a barrier of magic which holds the Outside World at bay. At first she thought herself Safe. But she WAS NOT,” the story went on ominously. “For the Evil of Milas James was too much to Completely Contain. To Mercy’s great Sorrow, he laid a Curse on her and her descendants—that every time a Pruitt woman finds her Heartmate, he shall be able to open the black door and come forth to wreak havoc on the One she Loves.”
Here it was—the family curse! I read on, my heart sinking as I scanned the lines.
