Capricorn Cursed (3 page)

She had to keep rereading her past, and since she was thinking about Marianne, she thought she'd better read about her quickly.

There was a whole thick journal dedicated to Marianne. Natasha opened the book and relived their first encounter.    

 

 

When two souls collide, listen.

 

Marianne

 

When Marianne first appeared to her, it was as if in a dream. Natasha was having a pint of beer at one of the pubs on a dreary New England night.

That was nearly two hundred years ago, when Hermana was still a child turning adolescent. Unescorted women were frowned upon in pubs in regular towns, but not in this town. Women were treated the same, if not better, than men. Natasha was still new to the area, but she had grown rather attached to a pub called The Kettle. Centuries later, during the New Age 90's, the name was changed to Intuition.

That night, though, the pub was still The Kettle and Natasha sat nursing a pint of dark beer, staring morosely at the world around her. The bar wasn't very crowded, and most of the regulars were watching a blue-eyed young man playing a recorder at the far end of the room.

Natasha could tell by sly glances and the movement of lips that a few people were whispering about her. They could have been gossiping about any number of things. Natasha didn't care. A great melancholy had seized her, and she hoped to drown it in beer.

The clock chimed midnight, and the door blew open. A tiny, blonde woman burst into the room with a gust of wind and leaves, her shawl wrapped tightly around her. The lady scurried in, soaked to the bone. She headed for the bar and plunked herself down on a high wooden stool.

Natasha watched as the woman ordered a beer, and then she looked quickly around the bar before pulling out a dog-eared, rain-soaked, leather-bound book. The woman shivered as she drank her beer, frozen fingers trying to flip the pages of the little book that had a big pentacle on the front.

The woman was startled as Natasha stood beside her.

“You're all wet,” Natasha said. Her attraction to the woman mystified even herself. She didn't know why she was standing beside her, nor did she know why she was so curious about that little leather-bound book.

“Pretty bad out there.”

“Here, take off that shawl and put this one on for now. Better yet, come join me at my table.”

A buzzing sensation raced through Natasha's fingers as she helped the stranger off with her shawl and wrapped her in Natasha's own. This woman was something more than she seemed. Tiny, frail, pale, but strong. A sickness formed in the pit of Natasha's stomach. The smell. She was death.

She's like me.

“Thank you,” the woman said as she tossed her golden curls. Her dark brown eyes were like patches of coal. Natasha's own dark eyes burned into the woman's as she held out her hand.

“Natasha,” she said. “Marianne.”

They stared each other, sisters of the skin but afraid to say it aloud. Their observations were broken by the bartender.

“Pretty bad out still, huh?” the bartender asked.

Marianne nodded.

“It's coming down hard. But it's not that cold. Really.” Marianne shivered, rubbing her hands along her faded blue blouse. Natasha noted with interest that as old as the blouse may have been, the handiwork on it was remarkable. Marianne gave the bartender a few coins.

“Thank you,” the server said. “Keep warm. Stay as long as you like, Marianne. You know that.”

“Yes, I do, Elsie.” Elsie returned to her station at the bar. Natasha and Marianne stared into their beer.

“Where did you get that blouse?” Natasha finally asked, looking up at Marianne. “England. I brought it with me when I came over. I used to have all kinds of fine clothes. But I have no one to send me anything anymore.” She sighed.

“Oh, that's a shame. It's very fine work.” Natasha touched the stitching on the hem. The sewing was very neat and very strong.

“I had a tailor, once upon a time,” Marianne said. She nervously fingered her book. Natasha looked at it.

“What are you reading?” Natasha asked.

“This is a collection. Of spells.”

“Whose?”

“A collection.” Marianne sighed. “Some are mine. Some I've gathered from others over the years.”

“What kind of spells?”

“All sorts. It's really quite fascinating.”

“Do any of them work?”

Marianne smiled.

Natasha nodded and looked around. They were getting stares. The whispering was ongoing, and the shushing noises were getting on Natasha's nerves.

“Do you want to go somewhere else?” Natasha asked. Marianne nodded as she finished her beer.

“Definitely.”

The rain was still coming down full force. Natasha took Marianne's hand and pulled her along the cobblestone sidewalk.

“Come with me. I'm not far.”

They made their way up to the loft Natasha lived in at the time. That place had long been bulldozed and renovated into a library in the 50's.

Natasha showed Marianne the washing-up room and gave her a night robe. As Natasha sat at her vanity and brushed her long, dark hair, she stared with worry at her own face. Deep crevices were forming around her eyes and mouth. She frowned, the lines growing deeper.

Marianne returned, a vision of loveliness in white cotton, her long, curly, blond hair framing her pale, cherubic face. Again, the nausea returned to Natasha as she stared at the beautiful creature before her.

“What's wrong?” Marianne asked.

“I'm sorry. You're so beautiful,” Natasha said. “Thank you.” Marianne giggled. “I have a secret. “Eternal youth?” Natasha laughed.

“No, silly girl. I came here to share it with you.”

Marianna leaned over to kiss Natasha, who pushed her back.

“Don't.”

Marianne stared at Natasha, her lower lip pushed out in a pout.

“Don't you like me? I know you do. I can see it in your beautiful, dark eyes.”

“It's not that. It's…what you are.”

“I am what you are.”

“I…know. Why are you here? Who sent you?”

Marianna sighed. She flounced onto the bed and looked up at Natasha. “If you must know, it was your Aunt Lydia. She's worried that you're going to age too fast. She's busy with some work, so she sent me to show you.”

Natasha stared at the creature on the bed. She stood up and walked slowly toward her. “How do you know Aunt Lydia?”

“Does it really matter? We go way back.”

“No, I don't suppose it does. So show me.” Natasha sat beside her.

“In due time. We have to wait for tomorrow, when the stars are in perfect alignment. Then I'll show you what to do.”

Marianne touched Natasha's cheek with her soft, long fingers. “In the meantime, you are very beautiful.”

Marianne leaned forward to kiss her. Her mouth breathed forth a foul odor reminiscent of moldy leaves, damp moss, and stale beer rotting in the bottom of a mug for a week. Natasha tried to ignore the smell as she pursed her lips. As Marianne drew closer, Natasha turned away once more.

“We will wait for tomorrow. I want to know this secret,” Natasha said as she stood and went over to her dresser. She sprayed a small dash of cologne onto a handkerchief and held it to her nose. She breathed in the fresh rose-water scent, and the nausea passed.

“Tomorrow, then.”

Natasha left Marianne to the bed and sprawled across her chaise lounge. She didn't sleep a wink all night, and she didn't think Marianne did either.

The next evening, after they awoke and nibbled on bread and cheese, they left the loft. The rain had stopped at some point during the day, and the muggy New England heat created patches of fog along the cobblestone roads.

There were many half-finished houses along the roads as building was ongoing. Many of the roads were, in fact, still cow paths and horse trails, winding through the growing city.

The streets were busy with people returning home from work or heading out for a night at one of the pubs. Hermana back then was a town comprised of many types of outcasts. The sisters who had founded it decades earlier were believed to be witches, but with the new witch town came tricksters and magicians of all kinds. Natasha had come because of her curse and her love of music. She had taken to playing many types of instruments over the years and had heard Hermana allowed women to play in public.

Natasha had become known for her mournful violin tones. Whether she was standing on the street corner or in a garden, many people had given her money to serenade them. She had played at weddings and at other celebrations. Her musical reputation had followed her from Boston. Her other reputation was still a secret only known to a few, such as Marianne.

Marianne led her from the main cobblestone streets toward the large, white, wooden schoolhouse. Most of the local children attended the multi-roomed school, but in the evenings, older people gathered there to discuss books or teach each other math and other concepts. The idea of the school housing different activities for different ages was rather cutting-edge for the time.

Natasha had heard that sometimes-select people during late night sessions even discussed the subjects that had begun the hysteria.

“Why are we here?” Natasha asked as Marianne led her around the building to the back gardens.

“There are two girls who come here almost every night. We need to entice them back to your place.”

“To feed?”

“Better.” Marianne's eyes lit up, but her lips remain closed.

Natasha didn't question her again.

The women wandered through the gardens and then sat on a stone bench that was nearly hidden under a tall lilac bush. They sat quietly and listened to the crickets chirping and the odd chatter from people walking down the distant street.

As Marianne predicted, two young ladies quietly entered the backyard. Their long dresses swished in the stillness of the night as giggles escaped their lips. They scurried through the garden, knowing the way easily in the darkness, and settled on one of the other benches that was farther down the garden from Natasha and Marianne. Natasha noted with astonishment that the ladies hadn't seen them sitting under the lilac bush.

The young ladies' voices echoed around the garden as they discussed the young men who made their hearts sing. Their voices grew louder as the darkness made them brave. Their musings reminded Natasha of what it was like to be young and innocent.

Once upon a time, she had been young and innocent. She was certain of it. Marianne found Natasha's hand in the darkness and squeezed it.

The girls discussed how they could get the boys to notice them, their naive questions about more intimate matters bringing a smile to Natasha's lips. She deduced that the dark-haired girl was Misty and the fairer girl was Samantha.

As the girls prattled on, Marianne stood up, pulling Natasha with her. She approached the girls, who were startled at her presence.

“It's rather late for proper young ladies to be out,” Marianne said sternly. The girls instantly stood, bowing their heads in submission.

“We're sorry. We lost track of time,” said Misty.

“You can see that it is dark. Don't you know bad things can happen to you in the darkness?” Marianne asked.

“We know. We're sorry. We'll be going home now,” Misty said. She took Samantha's hand, and they turned to go.

“Wait,” Marianne said. “I didn't mean to scare you. Why don't we take you somewhere safe? I live not far from here.”

Natasha stared at Marianne. Her body was stiff and her eyes were penetrating as she fixed her gaze on Misty's. Natasha wondered what Marianne had in mind.

“Show us,” Misty said.

Marianne led the girls silently back to Natasha's home. Natasha didn't say a word as they made their way back down the dark, damp streets.

Once they were in the loft, Marianne smiled. It was more like a cold grimace and didn't quite reach her eyes.

“Why don't you ladies relax and tell us about yourselves?” she said. “In fact, I'll leave Natasha here with you while I go prepare something to drink.”

Natasha stared blankly at the girls seated on her chaise lounge as they stared worriedly back at her.

“Don't worry,” Natasha said. “Marianne is a nice woman.”

“You have such an interesting accent,” Misty said. “Where are you from?”

“Many places. It doesn't matter anymore,” Natasha said. “For now, I'm from here.”

Marianne returned with four goblets of a dark liquid. She handed one to each of the women. As she sat, she lifted her own glass.

“To new friends.” Marianne grinned. The girls lifted their glasses. “Now drink. Enjoy. Tell us about yourselves,” she coaxed.

Misty sipped her drink and made a face. “Oh, this is bitter.”

“It takes a sophisticated palate to really enjoy it,” Marianne teased.

Samantha tasted hers and tried not to make a face. “It's rather nice, really,” she said as she tried more. She shuddered but continued to drink nonetheless.

Natasha sampled her drink with curiosity, and to her delight discovered it was her favorite berry juice.

She looked over at Marianne and raised an eyebrow. Marianne pretended not to notice as she continued to talk to the girls.

“So, are you ladies engaged?”

They both giggled, faces flushed as they instinctively took more sips of the bitter brew. “I wish,” Misty said. “But my fellow doesn't even know I'm alive.”

“Neither does mine,” Samantha lamented.

“Oh, that's too bad.” Marianne crossed the room and peered out the window at the moon. It was high in the sky with puffs of gray fog hugging it. “I imagine neither of you have ever been engaged before.”

The idea of it brought peals of laughter from the girls. “Mercy, no,” Misty said. “I've never even kissed a boy.”