Page 306 of Castings & Curses

“No shit, Sherlock... Do you want to hear the story or what?”

I zip my mouth shut. She glares at me for a second, then sucks in a deep breath.

“Once upon a time, there was a warlock in love with a witch.” She stares me dead in the eyes. “Yes, I’m the witch. And I couldn’t care any less about that wealthy psycho across the forest who had his stone-cold piece of crap he calls a heart set on me.”

My eyes widen. “You mean to say that weirdo who sent his guards to kill me is a—”

“Yup. Gwideon Malevant. He’s bad news, Rowan. But for whatever reason, the world adores him.”

“He’s richer than Croesus, that’s why.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Melancholy taints her countenance as she stares out of the window. She heaves a heavy sigh once more, then resumes. “Anyway, he wanted me to love him. Probably thought that since we both had magic powers, we could rule the world or something. But how could I love such an atrocious creature? Besides, well...” She eyes me up, half a smirk drawing on her lips. “I like boobs. He doesn’t have boobs.”

I chortle, and so does she. We burst into laughter, and suddenly, the sun shines through the window and illuminates everything in the kitchen. She takes my hand across the table and strokes my fingers, all pensive and serious again.

“He didn’t appreciate that I refused him, and being the selfish, entitled jerk he is, he decided I was better off cursed and unlovable if I couldn’t be smart enough and accept his offer.”

“Malevant turned you into a beast?” I whisper in a trembling voice as I fight off the tears threatening to flood my cheeks.

Bella nods, shoulders hunched, eyes on the floor. “I managed to transfer my powers to the house before it was too late. That’s how we get the best food in the whole wide world. How I can still be me when I’m inside its protective walls, and how nobody’s ever supposed to find the place.”

Bella stands and goes to the fridge, where she takes a jug of freshly pressed orange juice. Magic. I can’t even imagine how it works, nor do I really want to know. I prefer the mesmerizing immersion and that tingling sensation every time something whimsical happens.

She pours herself a glass, offers me some, then sits again to sip on the juice. It seems like she’s taking comfort and courage from the pulpy liquid. I also have a clever contraption that notifies me when someone steps on my grounds. That’s when I go for a walk and make sure the trespassers find their way out of my forest and back to that mucky village outside of my property. I’ve never harmed anyone. Never voluntarily, that is.” She stops, sips, sucks in soothing breaths. “Well, until the other day. They had it coming, though. I couldn’t let them hurt you and get away with it.”

Her brow is furrowed, her eyes focused, determined. She’s territorial, and protective. She didn’t just save me that day, she came to protect me.

“I can’t imagine what it was like for you to kill those bastards,” I whisper, filled with anger and sadness. She became a killer for me. But had she not done it, I would be dead now. Worse, she could be dead too. “Thank you.”

She glances up at me, resolute, sultry. “I’d do it again if I need to. They have no right treating anyone like they did you. And that asshole in his dreadful mansion should not be allowed to do what he does. What he did. To you, to me, to so many other girls. He’s the monster.”

Tears stream down her cheeks, and I can’t help but move closer and take her in my arms. I kiss her face, kiss away the pain, the anger, the resentment. I try at least. She kisses me back, then pushes me away, albeit gently and not too far.

“I hate him so much.”

“So do I,” I chime, remembering the knot in my guts when I stumbled upon the ritual he was presiding. So many other girls have been his victims. Where are they now? Dead? Lost? Transformed? I don’t know which is worse.

I shudder as the chilly thought freezes the blood in my veins. A wild interrogation makes its way through my brain. I know how the stories go. “Wait. Where there’s a curse, there’s gotta be a way to reverse it, right?”

Hope trickles through my words, but her glare dries it up fast. How naïve must I be?

“No true love’s kiss can dispel this bastard’s magic. I’m not even sure killing him could help.” She rests her chin on her forearms and stares ahead like a dog waiting for a treat that’ll never come. Her hope is long gone.

“Why did I find the house, then?” Mine is ever reloading.

She lifts her head and cocks it. “Beats me.” She studies the kitchen, just about ready to tell it off for betraying her. “It heard your plea, though. When you asked for the door to open. I didn’t do it. It did.”

“But you led me to the house, though.”

“I didn’t. I tried to lure you out of the woods, like I’ve done for all the others.”

“Yet somehow, I found the house.”

We stare at each other quizzically, then around at the walls and beyond. I want to laugh at the ridicule of the situation, yet the unanswered enigma sends thrills down my spine. The hair raises on my neck.

“Anyway,” she breaks the silence so abruptly I jump on my chair, but she doesn’t see. “That’s the full story of what’s up with the house and me.”

One mystery remains. “Can I ask about your scar? Who did that to you?” I think I have an inkling, but I want to hear it from her.

---