A Curse Awakened: A Weird Girls Novella (8 page)

Except Nieve …

“She doesn’t carry a scent,” I said aloud.

Taran’s head jerked in my direction. “What the hell does that mean? I thought you said every living thing has one.”

“They do.”

Emme slowed to a stop, breathing hard from the run. “Could it be that she’s in league
with Griselda?”

I attempted to dust off the dirt coating my arms. “If she was, she wouldn’t have led us to the altar.”

Taran glared. “Unless she thought it would kill us.”

“I don’t think so. My tigress gets pissy around people she perceives as a threat. She didn’t with Nieve. Come to think of it, she didn’t even react.”

Shayna tapped her bat against her palm. “Unless she didn’t realize she was there. If she couldn’t sniff her, maybe she couldn’t see her either.”

My beast stirred within me, riled by my sisters’ suspicions. I soothed her back into quiescence, surprised by how easily and well she responded to my efforts. “Look, I’m not sure what’s happening. But we need to find out—especially if Nieve can somehow prevent us from helping Danny. Come on, we need to hurry.”

Emme gripped my wrist before I could step onto the old stoop. “Wait. If you can’t smell her, how do you know which way to go?”

My head involuntarily wrenched up and I found myself gazing at the upper stories of the battered old apartment building. “I don’t know. But something is luring me this way. Let’s just hope we don’t have to kill it.”

We climbed three flights of steps and cut right, into a long hall of closed doors. I continued forward, passing each one until I reached the last door. Before I knocked, I knew we were in the right place. I could sense Nieve’s presence, although I couldn’t exactly tell how. I rapped my knuckles against the splintering brown door and stepped away from the threshold, just in case someone answered with a spray of bullets. Yeah, I’d seen my share of crime shows.

“Who’s there?” an old woman croaked in Spanish.

I motioned to Emme, knowing her voice would sound the least threatening. “Pardon me, ma’am. Is Nieve home?” she asked in the same language.

There was a brief pause. “You know my granddaughter?”

Emme glanced at us before answering. “Um, yes. From, um, school.”

The door creaked open and a woman dressed all in black answered the door. I wasn’t tall by any means, but I absolutely towered over her hunched form. Cataracts dulled her soft brown eyes. It was a wonder the poor woman could see at all. She motioned us forward. “Welcome, dear ones. I’m sure she’d like the company.”

Taran and I exchanged stares before I took my first step forward. Roaches scurried along the battered wood floor as we slowly crossed the small alcove. A tiny kitchen was crammed against the wall on the left, and what appeared to be a small bedroom lay directly ahead.

But I barely noticed anything past that, too stunned to move when I caught sight of Nieve.

She lay semi-reclining in an old metal hospital bed with her long braids draped over her bony shoulders, dressed in the same stained pink shirt we’d seen her in just minutes ago. The nasal cannula taped against her sunken cheeks whistled with the oxygen futilely trying to ease her short pained breaths, and thick white fluid from an IV dripped into a vein in her left arm.

Nieve didn’t acknowledge our presence. Then again, how could she? She was barely alive.

The old woman gave us her back and shuffled to her kitchen, oblivious to our stupefied expressions. She poured soup into a bowl and then returned with it and sat beside Nieve. With her free hand she placed a dish towel over Nieve’s chest, as best as her arthritic and swollen fingers would allow. “I’m not very good at feeding her,” she admitted, her wrinkles etched with sadness.

Emme closed in, taking in Nieve’s emaciated form with eyes that brimmed with impending tears. “I-I’m so sorry. We didn’t realize she was sick.” She placed her small hand over Nieve’s forehead and called forth her
touch.
Nieve’s grandmother glanced up, confused by the source of the light. She stood and went to the windows, tugging the drapes closed.

Emme withdrew her
touch
as the woman returned to the bed. She shook her head at us. Her power failed to have an effect on Nieve’s condition. That wasn’t a big surprise. Emme could only heal injuries, not illnesses. The sudden boost in her power didn’t seem to have changed that. “How long does Nieve have?” she asked the old woman.

Taran and Shayna gasped, surprised by Emme’s bluntness. But my little sister’s hospice training told her death wasn’t far from finding Nieve. Her grandmother didn’t answer, but her quivering lip was enough of a response. So were the tears that glazed her opaque stare.

I didn’t argue or attempt to offer hope. I knew Emme was right. While I’d failed to pick up Nieve’s scent before, I could smell her now. Her scent of drying autumn leaves was unmistakable. So was the aroma of life leaving her body. Nieve’s lungs would soon take their last agonized breath. And there wasn’t a damn thing any of us could do about it.

“Why?” Shayna clutched her bat tight, trying not to cry. “Why is she like this?”

Nieve’s grandmother poured a bit of soup from a spoon into Nieve’s mouth. Most of the broth dribbled down Nieve’s slack jaw and onto her neck. The woman wiped Nieve’s skin with the towel, her crackling voice hoarse with regret. “Because bad things happen to good girls who stand against the dark ones.”

We gave Nieve’s grandmother every last dime in our pockets and silently whispered our thanks to the cousin we’d found too late in life. We didn’t speak again until we returned to our car. As much as we wanted to stay, we couldn’t help her. But we could still help Danny.

The people gathered near our sedan quickly scattered. Dirty, blood-smeared women, I supposed, had that effect on them.

I yanked open the rear car door and hurried inside. “Shayna, text Danny and let him know we’re on our way.”

She whipped out her phone from her pocket and buckled herself in before sending the text. Taran peeled away from the curve and toward the back roads leading to Route 22. “Okay, this whole thing wasn’t batshit crazy or anything.”

“No, not at all,” I muttered.

Taran stopped at the light. “What I don’t get is if Nieve’s half dead, then what the hell were we talking to?”

I shrugged and slumped in the backseat, suddenly unbearably tired despite the anxiety racing through my bloodstream. “Near as I can figure, I think it’s a fragment of what remains of her.”

Shayna turned around from the passenger seat to face me. “Do you think we can help her? I mean, she helped us and she wasn’t even, like, totally real.”

Emme played with her palms. “I don’t think anything can help her, Shayna. From what I can tell, she has a week at most. I’m surprised she’s held on this long.”

I leaned my head back, trying to get comfortable. My unease at finding Nieve in her ailing state and my anxiety over the fight we still faced with the vamps made it impossible. “She seemed so thin when we saw her. But I never would have guessed her condition was related to illness—or whatever has caused her slow death.”

“You mean
who
ever.” Taran peered at me through the rearview mirror. “You know Griselda or her hell spawn did this to her. Nieve admitted as much when we spoke to her—so did her grandmother.”

“I think you’re right. If she had more time, maybe we could …”

My voice trailed off at the sight of the misery edging its way along Emme’s gentle features. “She doesn’t have the time we would need, Celia.”

Yeah. And neither did Mr. Matagrano.

All was quiet except for the hum of the tires against the road and the rock ballad playing on low volume through the speakers. “You know what I think?” Shayna said after a while. “I think Nieve’s been waiting for us to come along.” She smiled softly at Taran’s quizzical stare. “It’s not such a crazy thought, T, when you consider how she came to us.”

Taran focused on the road. “Maybe. Maybe not. But like Emme said, there’s nothing we can do for her now. God willing, the poor thing will find her peace soon. In the meantime, the goddamn night isn’t over yet.”

“It’s sure not.” I leaned my head against the glass, trying to figure out a way to find Danny’s dad. The locating spell wouldn’t work without Mr. Matagrano’s fresh blood. And the poor man probably had none to spare with Giovanna …

My eyes closed without permission. I hadn’t expected to doze, much less dream. But I did.

I walked through a white haze as a soft breeze swept my long hair against my bare breasts and shoulders. Despite my toned muscles and flat stomach, I hated being naked. Nakedness represented vulnerability.

And I refused to be vulnerable.

But there, wherever there was, wasn’t a place to fear. The sense of peace and safety that drifted with each soft caress of the breeze lulled my fears and assured me that I was protected. I thought I was alone until the hulking form of a tall male stepped through the thickening haze.

My eyes widened, but they didn’t help me see. This man wasn’t really a man, he was more like a shadow, if shadows could manifest into a physical form. He chuckled and spoke in a deep-timbred voice intermixed with soft, gruff growls. “So, you found a way to let me in, little tigress.”

“Huh?”

I stepped away as he advanced, but my actions didn’t dissuade him. He smiled. Or I thought he did. Crap, what exactly was happening here?

“Don’t you know me, Celia?” he asked.

“No.”

I didn’t see him move, I just felt a strong arm gently circle my waist while a large hand passed through my hair to skim along my bare back. Soft lips swept along my jawline. “Are you sure you don’t know me?” he rumbled.

In my reality, I would have shoved him away, but not before I snapped off at least one of his wandering hands. But every stroke, every whisper of his warm breath, soothed and enticed me. My lids fluttered. “Oh, no … I’d remember you …”

His heartbeat pounded against my breasts, reassuring me with each rhythmic pulse. This was right—no,
he
was right.

Somewhere deep within my mind, I recognized this male as another preternatural. One that wasn’t a part of me, but one I had no desire to abandon. Perhaps he was the start of REM sleep—a developing dream or fantasy of what I really needed in a man. Or maybe, just maybe, he was real.

His lips passed over mine. “Do you know me now, Celia?”

Rock-hard muscles passed beneath my palms as my hands slid along the silky skin of his broad chest. “Hmm?” I managed.

He nuzzled my neck, laughing once more. “I asked if you knew me.”

“No,” I groaned. “But I really want to …”

“Celia,
Celia
!”

I startled awake, pissed as all hell my dream was interrupted.
“What?”

My sisters blinked back at me from their seats. Emme dropped her hand from my shoulder. It took me several seconds to realize we were parked in our driveway. “Are you okay, honey? You were making strange sounds and weren’t waking up.”

Strange sounds? Oh,
God.
Had I been that vocal during the best pretend make-out moment of my life? Based on my sisters’ shocked expressions, I had. “Um … I’m just hungry. It’s been a while since I’ve, you know, eaten.”

A wicked smile spread across Taran’s face. “That’s not what it sounded like to me.”

Shayna angled her chin. “Yeah, and why the heck were you touching yourself like that?”

I jerked my hands from my breasts “Uh …”

Taran busted out laughing as Danny hurried out of the house, practically falling in his haste to reach us. He banged on the window, even though we were staring straight at him. “Quennel called. He found my dad!”

* * *

We rushed to strip out of our blood-caked clothes and into old worn ones we could risk being re-bloodied in. To my surprise, Emme’s newfound
touch
had healed even my old scars. My butt was whole once more. Yippee. Too bad I likely only had more wounds to look forward to.

Shayna drove us in Danny’s truck. Now, we typically didn’t allow Shayna to drive anyone, in anything, anywhere. The tri-state area was packed with crazy road-rage drivers ready to smash into anyone who cut—or flipped—them off.

These same drivers were scared shitless of Shayna.

Case in point, she stomped on the accelerator almost the entire way to the Jersey Shore. “Brakes are for pussies” was Shayna’s unspoken motto. Her idea of slowing was releasing the gas pedal just enough to serpent around any cars ahead. No one passed Shayna, ever. And no cop could give her a ticket while Taran’s influence was around.

Since it was past midnight and Labor Day was now long gone, there were few cars on the parkway to compete with Shayna’s might. She laughed like the
Looney Tunes
witch chasing Bugs Bunny on her broom as she barreled through the night. No curve was too sharp, no speed too high. Shayna was a woman possessed by the ghosts of Indy racers past.

Damn those evil ghouls.

I gripped the armrest and kept my eyes glued shut. “What’s the plan, exactly?”

Danny screamed briefly as Shayna cut a sharp left, then an immediate right, then straightened the wheel. He’d made the mistake of opening his eyes when he tried to answer. His bad. I assured him she’d tell us when we reached Sandy Hook.

His voice trembled. “Quennel didn’t really say. He said to get to the fishing side of the beach. And that my father was there.”

“Giovanna must be either crazier or ballsier than we thought,” Taran muttered. “That’s not far from where the U.S. Coast Guard has their base. Why the hell would she risk drawing national attention to herself?”

“Probably because she has an army of vamps that can influence the minds of anyone who arrives.” I thought more about it. “And because she’s nuttier than a truckload of cashews.”

Danny attempted to slow his breathing when Shayna veered the truck hard enough to ram poor Emme’s head into my shoulder. “Giovanna supposedly has a place in Spring Lake,” he said.
“Quennel found an informant, uh, willing to divulge her location.”

Or not so willing. “If Quennel knows she’s in Spring Lake, he’s already there. Why hasn’t he texted you to tell us what’s happening?”