Page 8 of The Curse

Chapter Three

The taxi driver dropped me at the cycle shop and much to the salesman’s dismay, I refused to purchase a moped, opting for a Ninja motorcycle instead. I might possess a hell of a lot of nerdish qualities, but I’d be damned if I motored around Marblehead on a fucking moped. If I was going to die soon, I wanted to at least die with some Ninja dignity.

By the time the Ninja bike and I sped back into Marblehead, I was about two hours past famished and in desperate need of food. Not a clue as to what was good and what was a tourist trap, I opted for a small fish shack in the less busy section of the coastal property. I’d just ordered a huge platter of fish and chips when I heard someone yelling my name. I searched the busy beach and saw Alastair making his way across the sand. He was wearing some shorts that were way shorter than anything I’d ever seen back home in Tennessee, and absolutely nothing else.

He was built much better than I’d thought for an eighteen-year-old, and I felt a wave of disgusting old man wash over me for noticing. I forced myself to look away before I spent too much time admiring the cool tattoos that covered most of his pale flesh.

Feeling overdressed and incredibly old, I dropped down onto one of the picnic table benches and waited for young Alastair to join me. While I waited, I made a mental note to stop off at a shop and purchase some shorts and T-shirts myself. May as well be comfortable before I died.

“Nicholas! How’s it going?” He frowned as he plopped down right next to me instead of the spot across from me like I’d expected.

Masculine heat radiated from his lean yet muscular frame. I’d noticed guys before, often wondered if I was bisexual, but no other guy had ever talked straight to my cock like Alastair seemed to do. I blurted out, “How old are you?”

Fuck, I sounded like a total creeper.

Alastair’s grin spread all the way across his face. “How old do you think I am, Nicholas?”

A nagging headache settled behind my right eye as I imagined what it would be like to explore my possible bisexuality with the hottie next to me. “Not old enough,” I muttered.

“I’m twenty-two years old, and my youthful appearance is a curse,” he answered with a sexy grin…that disappeared as he continued to look at me. “Not really. I’m just lucky, I guess. Your eyes are flirting with me, but you belong to another. That’s not cool, dude. Are you guys in a fight or something?”

What the fuck was he talking about? “I don’t…l don’t belong to anybody else,” I answered. Quickly, I added, “Not that I’m flirting with you, but I don’t belong to another, as you say,” I finished lamely. Fuck, but I sounded like an idiot.

“Sure. Okay,” he answered like he didn’t begin to believe me.

When they called the number for my fish and chips, I got up to gather my food, and when I returned to the table, Alastair had moved to the opposite side of the table. I cocked my eyebrow at him but didn’t say anything about the move.

“Fish and chips. Good choice,” Alastair commented. “They have the best on the coast.”

Since the food melted in my mouth and caused my taste buds to do a happy dance, I had to agree with Alastair’s comments. This was, hands down, the best fish and chips I’d ever eaten in my life. “Fuck, this is good,” I said after I’d eaten nearly the entire platter. I was stuffed beyond capacity but still wanted to keep shoveling the goodness straight into my mouth.

“Yep, I’d be pissed at you for not sharing if I hadn’t just eaten a platter myself,” Alastair joked. “You’re lean like me. Watch yourself when knocking back one of those platters. People tend to get pissed that we can eat what we want and still stay slim.”

“We who? Are you including me in that?” I snorted out a laugh and said, “I admit that I have been lucky so far. My metabolism is just fast I guess. And by the way, you seem to issue a lot of warnings. You worried about me, Alastair? Afraid a big bad witch is going to fly in here on her broomstick and whisk me away?”

Instead of laughing, he frowned and gnawed at his bottom lip. “No, of course not. Maybe. Probably,” he finally said. “I just don’t understand you, Nicholas. Why did you take a job in Salem? That was just stupid.” His frown deepened. “Hey, why aren’t you at work anyway? I thought you were supposed to start working for Morgan Goodheart today?”

“Yep. Got fired,” I answered without the slightest bit of remorse. Most of what Morgan had said to me hadn’t made the least bit of sense, but I’d left the museum one hundred percent certain she knew about the curse and about seventy-five percent certain she possessed some sort of magical powers. If nothing else, she could inflict some fucking pain on a body from a fucking distance. “Apparently, Morgan Goodheart didn’t like me. At all. Might have hated me, actually.”

Alastair barked out a laugh. “You didn’t tuck your magic in, did you? I told you that she frowned on that kind of shit, regardless of how weak the magical powers might be. She’s very protective of her coven and the power she holds over them.” He grinned. “She…uh…picked up on your energy, didn’t she? Why, oh why, didn’t you listen to me?” He clutched at his heart like I’d wounded him but his huge smile said otherwise.

Rolling my eyes, I said, “I don’t have any of that supposed energy you keep bringing up, Alastair. I’m just a boring historian, nothing nearly as exciting as you’d make me out to be.”

That was right, wasn’t it? I didn’t have magical energy. Just a family curse.

“Ookaaayyy,” Alastair answered. “Why, again, are we playing games with each other? It’s not like you’ve been trying to keep your vibe a secret and when you didn’t, I didn’t either.” He shook his head and reached over to swipe some of my chips. “You’re a very confusing man, Nicholas Bailey.”

I shoved another small piece of fish into my mouth and shrugged. “I don’t mean to be. It’s just that the job with Morgan wasn’t the real reason I came here. I really came to investigate a thing with my family. Not that it’s real or anything but the big family curse started in Marblehead about back in 1617, so I didn’t want there to be any connections to that weirdness. Anyway, so I got fired and now I need…”

I stopped talking when I looked up and saw the shocked expression on my new friend’s face. His mouth was hanging wide open and his gray eyes were swirling with a mixture of disbelief, fear, and a dash of…happiness? We stared at one another, each sizing the other up and me trying to figure out what I’d said that made him go white as Casper the Friendly Ghost.

Finally, I asked, “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Your…your family curse. In 1617. Did I hear you, right? And your last name is Bailey?”

He even sounded different as he spoke barely above a whisper. That didn’t fit. Not at all. Everything I’d noticed about Alastair in our two meetings was that he didn’t do anything at a whisper.

“Uh…yeah, Nicholas Bailey. You know that. What’s the big deal with that?”

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