Capricorn Cursed (13 page)

Natasha smiled as she thought about the circle and how the women were all going to consult Gwen's charts to create magic for love.

It seemed to be working for Maggie. Or was it?

Remembering Maggie kissing that guy that night still annoyed her. If Weldon had seen that, chances were that he would have broken up with her right then and there. Natasha had seen Maggie screw up good things before, so it would be no surprise to her if her relationship with Weldon crashed and burned before it even got started.

She grew weary of smiling at strangers and stood up again, fidgeting with a crystal ball. She didn't want to look into it; she was using all her energy to push away the spirits so she could have a clear head and peace for a moment.

The smudging and
feng shui
seemed to work at keeping the spirits at bay in her music room. She would have to have Ellie do her whole apartment—and soon. The lucky energy of her birthday only lasted a few days before and a few days after. Anything new she undertook during that time would last the year, or so the theory said. Even Gwen agreed with the idea of lucky birthday vibes.

Natasha dug through her purse to find the smudge stick she'd brought with her that day. The spirits were already peering out at her from the billows of her curtains, and she knew it wouldn't be long before they were jabbering in her ears again. She pulled out the stick and the small ceramic bowl of sand. As she lit the stick, the brush of spirits shifting around her, as if to see what she was doing, created a slight breeze. She held her hand over the blazing stick until it had burned down far enough to act like incense. She carefully blew out the flame over the bowl, sending bits of herb and sand scattering over her table.

She held the stick in one hand, the bowl in the other. Steady, dark smoke rolled up from the stick, and she walked around her booth, allowing it to waft up and down the curtains and into all the cracks where the spirits liked to hide.

The thick smell of the incense blended in with the rest of the flea market odors. Finally, she ground the stick out in the sand and put it aside. Satisfied that her booth was now more auspicious than ever, she returned to her comfy chair and watched more people stroll through the hallways.

Although she tried to look patient and inviting, she was aware that she was creepy-looking to strangers. Her long, dark hair and pale skin, coupled with her dark, penetrating eyes and dark clothes put people on edge. Now, she wore the giant locket with her long, black dress, and she imagined it was odd to the tourists as well. It was huge on her slender frame.

Fortune-tellers were easier to approach because their trades were obvious. A medium was more elusive, and she didn't have much business when she'd opened her booth. Although she was always willing to chat up new customers and gain some fresh appointments, the average person was spooked by ghosts and Ouija boards and of course, her gothic persona.

After a while, when it seemed as though no one would come to her booth, Natasha reached over to grab Madeline's latest book. It was an account of ghost-hunting around New England and opinions about which legends were true and which weren't. Madeline had an uncanny knack for capturing very intriguing sights and sounds. She had some orb pictures that couldn't be explained.

Natasha smiled. Of course orbs existed. She knew they existed, for she had been present when Madeline had taken pictures of them on multiple occasions.. If she could be a vampire with eternal life, why couldn't there be orbs? She could see dead people, so why couldn't some people see orbs? Why did it always have to be dust on the lens or some random reflection to explain the orb phenomenon?

Sometimes she found some people to be so very narrow-minded. Of course, they hadn't seen what she'd seen or done what she'd done.

There were many pictures of orbs in the book, and, as Natasha examined them, a shadow fell across the page. Looking up, she saw a worried man staring back at her. She had to restrain herself from leaping to her feet in joy.

“Gus?” she said, putting down the book.

“Yes. I didn't know if you would recognize me,” he said softly. He was disheveled, as if he hadn't slept in days. His coat was torn, and his jeans were damp with snow and sand. A small, blue, knitted hat was pulled tightly over his short, blond hair.

“Why wouldn't I? I had a marvelous time New Year's Eve, didn't you?” Natasha asked. His eyes gleamed as she spoke, as if she were telling him he just won a million dollars.

“Of course I did.” Gus waved his hands as if he had lots to say but couldn't find the words to say anything at all. “I was so happy to meet you.”

“It was so sweet of you to remember my birthday too.”

“Did you like the flowers?” Gus said. “You seemed like the type that could appreciate black roses.”

“Most definitely. I just didn't know how to contact you to thank you.”

“I'm here now.”

“And thank you.” Natasha smiled. They looked awkwardly at each other, Natasha sitting in her chair, staring up at him. Gus shifted his weight from foot to foot. Natasha noticed his work boots were soaked and leaving wet marks on her carpet. She'd have to remember to clean it up once he was gone. She indicated the chair across from her.

“Have a seat.”

“Don't mind if I do,” Gus said as he settled into the chair. His large, broad frame looked almost silly in the carved, wooden chair, as if he were a teddy bear in a dollhouse.

“So, what brings you to the flea market today?” Natasha asked, studying his chiseled cheeks and firm jaw line. As much as she liked Craig, she lamented that he didn't have the strong jaw Gus possessed.

“I wanted to see if you were here, and I wanted to buy a few things. So here I am.”

“I'm here.”

Gus looked around the booth from his chair and nodded. “You have some interesting things here. What is it exactly that you do?”

“I'm a medium,” she said.

“No kidding. That's kind of cool. Like a ghost whisperer.”

“It has its good points and its bad points.”

Gus stared at her as if trying to see through her. He tilted his head as if to challenge her. “Do you really talk to ghosts? Isn't it all puppets and stuff?”

“I talk to ghosts. They're here,” Natasha said as she waved her hand.

“There are ghosts here now?” Gus asked, looking up in the air.

“Of course there are ghosts here. We're in a flea market. All these antiques are swarming with souls trying to communicate.”

“Creepy.” Gus shuddered. He looked around as if though expected to see one materialize right in front of him. Natasha was pleased to note the saging seemed to be keeping the pesky ones off to the edges of her booth.

“At first, yes, it's creepy. Very. Because you just don't know if you're crazy or if you're really seeing things. But then it's just annoying. Everywhere I go…” Natasha stopped and looked at Gus. “But enough about me. What do you do?”

“Me?” Gus laughed. “Me? My parents call me a bum, but really, I'm a writer.”

Natasha nodded. “Ah yes, bum, writer…it's all the same. I know many writers.”

“Are they bums?”

“None are rich, if that's what you mean.”

“It's discouraging. I figure a place like Hermana would welcome the likes of me. An oddball with not a lot of bucks. Although lots of people around here seem to have very big bucks.”

“There's a lot of old money in New England. Most of us have to work for a living, though. Like you. Like me,” Natasha said.
A writer. That's worse than a musician.
“What kind of stuff do you write?”

“Stuff no one wants to read, that's for sure.” Gus sighed, playing with his fingers. Natasha noticed how long and dark his eyelashes were. She wondered why it was that men always had the prettiest eyelashes.

“Are you published?” she asked.

“Not yet.” Gus was sweating; his forehead was glowing under his little hat. A nervous, sweaty smell wafted from him and tickled Natasha's nose. She licked her lips, enjoying his masculine scent.

“Well, maybe one day you'll get published. Maybe you'll let me read some of your stuff sometime.”

“Sure. I'd like that. Hate to have it rot away in a drawer,” Gus said.

“Well, will I like it?”

“Okay. Here's the thing. I've written a couple of very long stories, maybe they're books, I don't know, but they're all about love, and it's kind of embarrassing, really.”

“You sound romantic,” Natasha said, studying his torn pant leg. “Imagine that.”

“Do you read romance?” Gus asked.

Natasha laughed. “Oh dear me, no. I can't st…well, let's just say I read a lot of action-adventure and some horror.”

“Action-adventure? In books? I prefer mine in the movies. I want to see everything go down.”

“Movies have their place. I love to go to the movies. Big screens, bigger sound.”

“I like all the special effects in the big action scenes.”

“Yes, I like them too.”

They smiled at each other, and Natasha stood up. The hunger surged through her, roiling in her stomach.

“I didn't know if I'd see you again,” Natasha said wistfully as she watched a couple walk by arm in arm. A pang of guilt shot through her. The feeling was familiar. The conversation was familiar. She imagined she had been in this kind of situation before. She'd have to read her diaries. Or maybe not.

There were many diaries she preferred not to read. There were boxes of them locked away in a storage locker. Hundreds of years of loves found and lost. Memories made and broken. A heart that continued to beat despite the pain.

Once the memories were gone, it was for the better. Why relive pain and grief? Abandonment and loneliness? She preferred to read about her virgins' blood and spells.

Savanna had been right. Forgetting lovers was the best way to live even if she didn't learn from her mistakes.

If only she could forget Craig so fast.

“I was hoping I'd find you. I've been to your house a couple of times, but you never answer the door. I guess you're always working or playing your violin.”

“Well, a girl has to practice. It's part of my livelihood. As well as…this.” She waved her arm around.

“I hear you playing. You don't hear me ringing the bell. You need a louder doorbell.”

“I'm so sorry, Gus. I'm not used to having visitors,” Natasha said.

“Oh?” He stared at her, his eyes growing darker. “No visitors? Who do you practice with?” he asked. “I've heard more than one violin playing sometimes. Do you play with recorded music?”

Natasha went over to fiddle with Madeline's book. His questions stung at her as guilt flooded her. But why was she feeling guilty? She hadn't done anything wrong. She bet Maggie never felt guilty about anything.

“Sometimes, yes.” Natasha turned to look at him while she held Madeline's book for comfort. “You're exactly right. I'll play along with recordings. It can really help sometimes.”

“I see,” Gus said as he stood up. “What do you have there?”

Natasha held it out to him. “My friend Madeline is a journalist and a ghost hunter. I guess these days she's more ghost hunter than journalist. At any rate, she's written a few books, and this is her latest.”

Gus flipped through the pages. “Orbs. She's really into the orbs.”

“Well, that book focuses a lot on the theories of orbs. She doesn't always write about orbs. Her books can be very factual.”

“About ghosts? Factual stories about ghosts?” Gus teased.

“About the mysteries of haunted places. Of murder sites and suicides.”

“And the crazy people who see ghosts.” Gus smirked.

Natasha glared at him.

“I'm just teasing you, Natasha. Really I am. That's what we Gemini's do best.”

Great
, Natasha thought.
Another friggin' Gemini. Am I cursed or what?
” I know all about you Gemini's. Schizophrenics.” Natasha leered.

“Touché. And you're correct.” Gus grinned. “I'm a bona fide whack job. At your service.” He took off his hat, his hair sticking crazily out in many directions as he deeply bowed to her. “In fact, Your Highness of Sanity and Ghosts, I came here to see if you want to go for lunch?”

“Right now?” Natasha didn't fancy the idea of going back out into the daylight, even if it was greatly overcast and snowing.

“Why not?” Gus offered her his arm as if they were going to go skipping down the Yellow Brick Road.

“I'm not that spontaneous,” Natasha said. “I just got here. I can't close down now.”

Gus frowned. “What if I pretended I was your client? I'll pay you to do a séance for me,” he said.

There was a ripple above Gus's head as he spoke. Natasha stared at it. There was someone trying to come through for him after all. Someone that could somehow rise above the saging. Someone or something strong. Or fresh.

The freshly dead had the strongest spirits, Natasha had learned over the years. They were more in-your-face and agitated, angrier at being dead than worrying about messages. But the older spirits were faded, weaker, and their agitations came from being muted, from communication breakdown.

The spirit above Gus shimmered briefly and faded.

“Okay,” Natasha said. “We'll go. But how about we eat in the mall? There are a couple of okay restaurants here.”

“Sounds fine. You pick,” Gus said as Natasha closed down her booth.

They found a steakhouse where Natasha enjoyed a rare steak and a glass of red wine. She ate quickly as the blood dripped from her meat and onto the plate. The pungent aroma of Gus made her light-headed. There was a musky, dangerous smell to him, something animal-like. A hunting smell. She pushed aside her baked potato and announced herself full.

“You really liked your steak,” Gus said.