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Eric tilted his head. “So, there were rumors about him going around?”
“Oh no,” Sadie swore, “for as stupid as Hunter was, he was good at hiding his indiscretion.”
“Then how did Sorrel know?”
All the women looked at each other, debating with their eyes if they should say what was obviously on the tips of their tongues.
“Ladies,” Eric coaxed.
The older woman leaned in and whispered, “Well, some around these parts say it’s witchcraft, but the good Lord knows she’s too sweet for that to be true.”
“Witchcraft?” Eric chuckled. These small-town people were something else, always wanting to blame everything on the devil instead of people’s human nature. He was quite confident whatever Sorrel was into was more illegal than evil. He knew evil, and she wasn’t it.Chapter FourSorrel. My mother’s piercing voice could wake the dead, or in my case, dead asleep.
I shot straight up on my couch where I had fallen asleep, clutching the wretched silent book, wishing it would, for once, speak to me. Help me know what to do about that reporter, Eric Knight.
Sorrel, can you hear me?
I closed my eyes and focused on the sound of her voice, wishing so much we could speak in person and not only in our minds. As far as the world knew, Elizabeth Black had died in a tragic scuba diving accident in Palau, Micronesia, five years ago. Her body was never recovered. I didn’t even know where she lived now or what new name she’d assumed, all for my protection. Yet I didn’t feel protected. I felt cursed, living a life where I never aged past twenty-five, which made it impossible for my mother and me to stay together. It was getting harder and harder for people to buy that we were mother and daughter, no matter how many gray streaks my mother put in her hair or the horrid makeup she applied each day to age herself.
We had stayed together as long as the book directed. Long enough for her to pass the book on to me on my twenty-fifth birthday. The day appointed by this curse that each new descendant, all female in my family tree’s straight line, inherited the book our magic was tied to. It had been the day I was supposed to find out which mortal I would be forced to marry. It was the day the book stopped working.
I rubbed my tired eyes. I can hear you.
Happy birthday, my love.
I picked up my phone to check the time. It was just before midnight. It made me wonder if my mother was close by in the same time zone as me. Or did she just instinctively know I was alone, and it was a good time to contact me, as she didn’t know where I lived either. I hated not being able to share everything about my life with her. She didn’t even know I owned a bakery. She felt the less info we shared, the safer we would be.
Thank you. I leaned my head back on the couch, exhausted.
You’re worried. I can feel it. Did the book finally say something to you? So much hope and trepidation filled her voice. She hated that she’d passed down this curse to me, yet she feared what the book’s silence meant for me and her.
The book is ever silent. I ran my hand across its ancient cover that had been woven together with the brightest, greenest leaves I’d ever seen. I’m not sure what species the leaves were, but they were indestructible, as far as I knew. Inside the book, the pages were made of a substance like white animal skin, and every word was written in gold. There were pages and pages of instruction on things like how to prepare elixirs to cure everything from acne to the flu, even serious diseases. The last page, though, had been added later, but how long ago, no one exactly knew. Family legend stated it was when the curse began. It was when the messages began to appear, directing the life of the keeper of the book. The only messages the page contained now were ones to my mother from years ago, including the directive to marry my father.
Maybe you’re right, Sorrel; maybe the curse will end with you.
Dad always said I would be the one to break it.
Mom sighed. Your father was a mortal who told you fairy tales because he desperately wanted to give you hope.
Why do you speak of him like that? You loved him and he loved you.
Did he, or was it the curse I thrust on him and you? Guilt riddled her words.
I knew Mom worried Dad had loved her only because the curse made him, but I didn’t believe that. I saw the way my parents used to look at each other when they didn’t know I was watching. And even though I was only nine when my father unexpectedly died of a heart attack, I knew love existed between them. It was the kind of love I wanted. The kind my father promised me I would have. Though maybe my mother was right. Dad only told me the stories about Princess Sorrel, who I realized as I got older was really me, to help me deal with the curse in the only way he knew how to at the time.
