Capricorn Cursed (14 page)

Natasha smiled; the bloody, salty taste was still in her mouth. It quelled the hunger for a moment. “I do. I love steak. The rarer, the better. I see you do too.”

Gus had also finished his rare steak as well as his loaded baked potato and broccoli florets. He leaned back, content as he sipped his red wine. He rubbed his swollen stomach. “That was quite a feast. Yet oddly enough, I'm still hungry,” he said quite seriously.

“I am too,” Natasha said. Her stomach rumbled in agreement.

Gus heard it and stared. “What sort of things do you hunger for?” He asked with a twinkle in his eye.

“Chocolate,” Natasha said. “Isn't that what all normal girls crave?”

Gus raised an eyebrow. “And you crave chocolate, like a normal girl?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Although there's nothing normal about you,” Gus said, taking Natasha's hand from across the table.

“I hope you mean that in a good way,” she said.

“You are beautiful as well as mysterious. I like that.”

“Thank you.”

Gus paid the bill, and they went over to a bakery kiosk and bought pieces of chocolate mousse cake. As they sat in the food court, Natasha happened to glance up at one of the televisions. A picture of Pete was on the newscast.

“Oh my.” Natasha sighed. “Poor Pete.”

Gus looked up at the monitor. “That guy. Poor chap. Mauled by a bear.”

“Is that what happened?”

“Must be. What else could do that?”

Natasha shuddered. “To think, it could have been me.”

“Why you?” Gus asked. His dark eyes were large with interest. Natasha thought she could see herself in them for a moment. They weren't romantic and kind like Craig's. They were moody and intense. Dark thoughts and darker secrets. Her heart raced faster, and a thrill surged through her heart.

“I was out that night too. Not far from where he was attacked.” She shuddered again. “Imagine.”

Gus shook his head as he popped a spoonful of mousse into his mouth. He savored it for a moment. “You'll never come to harm. I'll make sure of that.” He wiped his lips with his napkin.

“Ah yes, my knight in shining armor. They said he would arrive,” Natasha mocked, waving her hand like a queen.

“Who? Those witches?” Gus pointed in the direction of Lucy's house.

“My friends, you mean,” Natasha said haughtily.

“Yes, your friends. The witches. This town's full of them, that's for sure.”

“Can't have a witch town without them,” Natasha said.

Gus nodded. Natasha snickered and ate her mousse. “So they think I'm your knight?” he asked.

“Not really.” His face fell as she spoke. “I mean, I don't mean ‘not really,' I just mean that it's not specific. This stuff.”

“Well, maybe one day I will be your knight in shining armor,” he said as he stood up. “But first, we still have to do one more thing.”

“What's that?” Natasha asked.

“A séance, of course,” Gus said, his face animated once more.

He took Natasha back to her booth to properly lock up and retrieve her coat. She was glad it was late afternoon and it would be dark out already. Or at least gray enough to shield her delicate skin from the sun. There was no use in going through the ordeal of getting virgin blood if one was just going to wander around in the sunlight anyway. Mortals were lucky that the living cells in their bodies protected them slightly better from the sun's harmful rays. Still, Natasha had seen many a sun worshipper in her day age before her time.

She didn't wonder if Lucy had lain around in the sun in her youth as well. But then again, she had no clue as to Lucy's real age, although general gossip put her in her eighties. The family was so well documented that Natasha knew she could figure it out if she had to.

So, if Lucy was in her eighties, Natasha didn't want to think about how old she was. And yet here she was, aroused by the broad shoulders and dark, mysterious eyes of Gus.

“We'll go here,” Gus proclaimed as they stood in front of one of the hotels near the mall. The Village Knoll was old and still standing on its original foundation. In fact, much of the mall had been built around it, because it couldn't be demolished since it was a historical monument. Great men had stayed there over the years. Presidents, shipping merchants and religious leaders had all rested their heads in the Village Knoll's pine rooms.

Gus took her by the hand and led her into the ostentatious lobby. A giant crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, and there were two sets of staircases leading to the second level on either side of the front doors. The runners had a pattern of green and gold diamonds while the main carpet was a deep forest green. Between the chandeliers, the garish carpeting and the stained-glass windows, Natasha was getting a headache. So much refraction and light.

She was ready to follow him up the stairs, when he stopped and stared around the lobby. “Okay,” he muttered to himself.

Natasha was even more surprised when he sat down in one of the lobby's overstuffed chairs by some potted plants. She noted the plants quivered as she approached the chair next to his.

“This is the perfect place,” he said proudly.

“The lobby of a hotel?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.

“Why not?”

Natasha held her tongue and sat down. The plants near to her yellowed and curled, their leaves trying to escape as they shriveled up. Natasha pretended not to notice the plants' sudden demise and hoped that Gus wouldn't, either.

Natasha took a deep breath and looked around. The lobby was opulent, but too many spirits were here. As they caught wind of the medium in the room, they flittered in from all around, like curious children discovering Santa was in the building. She saw the ripple above Gus's head shimmer, and she knew it wouldn't be long before whoever it was would reveal him or herself.

“I suppose it's as good of a place as any,” she said.

The lobby was busy as people bustled back and forth. Bellhops hauled suitcases up the winding staircases, and maids ran around with piles of fresh, white linens. Tourists wandered in, disoriented and dazed, dragging their wheeled suitcases behind them.

Natasha thought that for January, the hotel was doing very well indeed. It felt more like a train station than a place to sleep.

Gus took out a handkerchief and wiped his forehead. His hair was still messy from his hat, and his face glowed.

“It's getting hot in here,” he said, dark eyes peering at everyone who walked by them.

“Is it? I find it a bit drafty myself.” Natasha pulled her coat around herself tighter.

“See? It's so damn hot they're killing the plants,” Gus said as he pointed to the withered plant beside Natasha.

“I thought plants liked heat.”

“Well, that one isn't too happy,” Gus said as he pulled his sweater over his head. There were large sweat stains under his arms and across his back. Natasha smelled him, strong and nervous. Was she making him anxious?

He unbuttoned the first few buttons on his shirt, and Natasha remembered the precious moments they'd had alone at Lucy's house before they'd been interrupted. As she stared at him, she knew she wanted to feel his hands on her body, his lips on hers, him inside of her, caressing her from the inside out.

Gus watched the people who kept coming and going through the heavy glass doors. “Are we too close to the main doors? Is that going to mess with your karma?”

Natasha glared at him and shook her head.

“Sorry,” he said. “I don't know when to shut up sometimes.” His legs jiggled nervously, and he cracked his knuckles.

Natasha looked over at the lobby staircase. More restless spirits were on parade. She thought she would lose her mind. Where were they all coming from? They couldn't possibly all be from this hotel.

It didn't matter. Ghosts came and went, and just that idea was enough to make some people go mad.

Natasha just accepted what she saw, as she always did, and turned to Gus. He was very pale, and sweat beaded his forehead.

“What's wrong with you? It's not that hot,” she said.

Gus shook his head. “No. It's me. I've been fighting a fever. I think it's come back.” He dabbed his forehead again. “I must need more cowbell,” he weakly joked.

“Yeah, right.” Natasha laughed halfheartedly. The man was going to make her nuts. Or maybe it was the ghosts. Or maybe it was the dead plant that was now nothing but crumbled dust in the pot. She noted some of the farther-away plants were growing brown and withered.

Gus leaned forward, putting his face into his hands. He was flushed, and his five-o'clock shadow was more pronounced. Natasha noted how large and strong his fingers were; his knuckles were huge. She imagined those hands touching her in her most secret spots.

As Gus curled into himself, Natasha studied his broad shoulders. His shirt, though unbuttoned, seemed too tight on him, the seams straining as if they would burst open at any moment.

“Oh, I don't know if I can even do this séance now,” Gus said through his fingers. “I can't believe how bad I feel. Maybe I should just go home.”

“Are you going to be sick? Do you have food poisoning?” Natasha stood up and went over to him, cradling his head against her. He tried to push her away.

“I'm so hot.”

“I'll drive you. Where do you live?” Natasha said, trying to nudge his face up.

“No, it's okay. I don't need a ride. It's too far. Really.” Gus stood up, his legs wobbling a bit as he tried to put his sweater back on. It didn't fit at all; his hands barely made it through the armholes. In frustration, he threw the sweater back on the chair and grabbed his coat.

Gus shook his head sadly as he turned to face Natasha. His face was shadowy, flushed with sweat, though oddly changed. She couldn't quite put her finger on what was different about him, but something definitely was. His eyes seemed more sunken in.

“I'm sorry we didn't get to the séance. But here's money for your trouble.” Gus pulled a wad of bills from his pocket and peeled off a few. He swayed back and forth as if he were trying to keep balance on a ship. He shakily held the money out to Natasha.

She pushed his hand away. “Oh please, you don't have to do that. I don't have a pimp to answer to.”

“Then let me take you out again.” Gus coughed several times and then wiped his whole face with the handkerchief.

“It's a date. We'll do this again. But really, I don't mind taking you somewhere. Maybe you're having an allergic reaction to food or something.”

“I'm okay. Really.”

Before Natasha could say anything else, Gus hurried off through the lobby, pushing by people as he staggered toward the entrance. As he approached the doors, he grabbed one of the maids and pointed at the dead plant beside Natasha.

The maid looked over to where he was pointing and nodded as he pushed his way out to the street.

Natasha watched him stumble down the sidewalk. Then he was gone.

She stared blankly after him.

What on earth was that all about?

Just as puzzling, when she looked back toward the stairs, all the hovering spirits had disappeared. Every last one of them. It was as if the show was over and they had all gone home.

She turned back to where Gus had been sitting. His imprint in the chair was still there. The essence of his presence hadn't quite faded. His thick-sweat smell still permeated her nostrils.

The maid who had been talking to Gus approached Natasha's area but then stopped as she stared around the lobby. All the plants had transformed from green to brown. The ones nearest to Natasha were fragments of dust. The maid touched the brittle branches of one of the tall palm trees near the door. The tree fell over, dust spraying across the carpet.

“
Sacré bleu!
” the maid cursed. “Get a broom,” she yelled to the porter. “And a vacuum cleaner. There's a mess over here.”

As the porter radioed for a broom, and the maid looked up at all of the hanging plants. They were limp and brown as well.

“This town…no one can keep plants alive in this town…there's always something, someone. Just got them all looking good, then bam,” the maid muttered as she examined the pots. She fussed and fiddled, making her way over to Natasha, where the devastation was the worst.

“What has happened here? These were just watered.” The maid wasn't talking to anyone in particular, nor was she expecting any explanations. Natasha watched her peer into the pots, touching the dead plants and poking at the earth in great puzzlement.

Natasha wondered if she should order a few trees and have them sent over anonymously. After all, it was her fault the plants were now dead. Of course, that would be fine until Gus wanted to return to the lobby the next time he wanted a séance, and then the plant killing would begin again. The idea amused her for a moment until her thoughts returned to ponder Gus's weirdness.

Poor guy was sick. But he wasn't
sick
sick. She knew that because she could smell sickness. A cold, the flu, cancer and AIDS all had a certain kind of aroma about them. An illness that was terminal smelled different than a passing bug. Mental illness smelled different then sadness. Food poisoning was easy to spot, as was a tension headache or pregnancy nausea.

Whatever Gus's problem was, it had nothing to do with a cold or food poisoning. Something dark was inside him, and it was trying to come out. Or maybe it had come out. The sweat pouring from him, the strange way his face looked as he left and even the way his clothes didn't seem to fit right all pointed to something.

Maybe that was why he wanted the séance.

She stared at where he had sat, pushing all thoughts out of her mind, hoping to “see” what it was she needed to “see.”

The shimmering that had been above Gus at the flea market coasted over his chair. It flared out for a moment to reveal a face and then poofed away just as suddenly.