Spell Bound (Darkly Enchanted) (18 page)

Christ, this was a nightmare waiting to happen. One he wasn’t prepared for. One he needed to get prepared for right now. “Your mother never mentioned a curse? Did she ever talk about Italy? About the time she spent there? How long ago it was?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“She never mentioned Serena or Andrea? Tullia or Madrona or Furia?”

Again, she shook her head but a tiny flicker of her expression told him she knew the names.

“Don’t lie to me,” he said. “You know the names, don’t you?”

Her chin lifted slightly. “Yes, I know the names of the Priestesses. I have to. It was part of my training.”

Holy freaking hell. Celeste had trained her to take her place as a Priestess of Menrva and, after her death, the nail, hidden in the shape of a key, had passed to Shea. He’d seen it hanging around her neck when he’d undressed her. He just hadn’t wanted to believe.

“And Celeste never said anything about a curse?”

“No.” Then she frowned. “But I always knew there was something she wasn’t telling me. Something to do with the voices, something I didn’t realize until I’d left. But I couldn’t go back, not then.”

“What do you mean, when you left?”

Swallowing, she dropped her gaze and let it rest on her hands in her lap. “Until I was twelve, I didn’t realize there was a world outside the boundaries of my home in Wisconsin. There was only my mom and my dad and me.”

Damn. Kyle had hidden them good. But that wasn’t anything they needed to discuss right now. “Do you know how old your mother was?”

Now she returned his gaze steadily. “I’m assuming not forty-three like she told me.”

“Try five-hundred-and-forty-seven.”

He thought for a second she was going to faint. Her mouth parted and she started to draw in fast, shallow breaths. When her eyes glazed over, he reached for her and pressed her head down between her knees. She didn’t fight him.

“Slow, deep breaths, Shea.” Leaving his hand on her nape, he rubbed, trying to comfort. “Come on, don’t pass out on me now.”

Because there’s more.

If it had been anyone else, he would’ve continued to hammer away, try to trip her up. But he had to respect a woman who smiled when she took one on the chin.

And that did not bode well for his future.

“Not…going…to pass…out.”

It took her a minute, but she finally caught her breath. When she sat up, the look she gave him burned. “What aren’t you telling me?”

He leaned back into his chair, squashing a smile. “What makes you think there’s more?”

She waved a slim hand in the air, her skin still pale. “Oh, please. There’s always more. There’s probably more you don’t know.”

Smart ass. He liked that about her. “You sure you’re ready to hear the rest?”

She swallowed and blinked. She looked ready to say no.

Then she nodded.

“In 1495,” Gabriel began, recalling the tale every
grigorio
memorized as a child, “Fabrizio Paganelli cursed the thirteen Priestesses of Menrva, living as simple
streghe
in a Tuscan village, to outlive their loved ones and to never produce another
strega
. He blamed them for the death of his youngest son. And because he was a powerful
Malandante
, the curse worked.”

From the shocked look on her face, he could tell Shea knew what that meant. The
Mal
, like
streghe
, were born with the ability to work magic. But the
Mal
used that power in dark ways. An ancient secret society of Etruscan descent, the
Mal
orchestrated much of the chaos in the world, benefiting from death and destruction.

“The women didn’t know that right away,” he continued. “At first, they dismissed Paganelli’s ravings. He was distraught with grief, and no one in the village believed the
streghe
had killed his son. But years passed and the women didn’t age.

“Eventually, the town turned on the
streghe
, burned their seer at the stake and murdered their families. They attempted to kill the remaining
streghe
by slitting their throats.” The thought made blood lust boil in his veins. “But their bodies healed and they left the village, scattering across Europe, hiding wherever they could, eventually making their way to America.

“At the time, the
streghe
didn’t know Paganelli’s curse had also trapped his three remaining sons in never-ending life. Paganelli’s son, Dario, made it his mission to kill every one of the women. That’s why he wants Leo. To use his powers to hunt the
streghe
.”

Gabriel took a deep breath, trying to rein in the fierce anger he felt whenever he thought about Dario. “Any of this ring a bell?”

She nodded, her expression shell-shocked. “Mom told me that Dario is trying to find and kill the Priestesses, that he wants Leo to use against them. But she never… Mom never…” She took a deep breath and lowered her gaze to the floor. “This is the first time I’ve heard anything about a curse.”

Gabriel shook his head. Why the hell had Celeste not told her?

Then again, how do you start that conversation?

Surprise! You’re the key to breaking a five-hundred-year-old curse. Welcome to the world. Now all you have to figure out is how to do it.

After a few moments of silence, she looked up. “What did they do? After they found out they’d been cursed.”

“They begged the Goddesses, Uni and Menrva, to release them. No go. Then, before the villagers burned her, Dafne foresaw the birth of a daughter to one of the original thirteen to end the curse.”

Shea blinked and swallowed, the only outward sign to give away her fear. He wanted to reach for her hand but stopped before he touched her, remembering what had happened the last time. The voices and how they had aggravated her migraine. He didn’t want her to repeat that.

So he waited for her to make some signal that she was ready.

Shea’s eyelids fluttered then she drew in a deep breath. “Do you know how she’s supposed to do that exactly?”

Gabriel shook his head. “Neither do the women.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Dafne didn’t tell them?”

He shook his head.

And waited. He expected more questions. Hell, he expected anger, fear, maybe tears.

Instead, she sat there, staring at her hands. Finally, after what had to be at least two minutes, she drew in another breath, but didn’t lift her gaze. “Do you think Dario knows…about me?”

She sounded exhausted. Defeated. Lost. The urge to grab her out of her chair and set her on his lap, put his arms around her and hold her, made his muscles twitch.

Instead, his fingers curled into the arms of his chair, anchoring him in place. “We didn’t know about you. We’re not sure Paganelli even knows about the prophecy. He was away at school when the townspeople burned Daphne and tried to kill the others.

“I figure your mother discovered fairly early in her pregnancy that she was having a girl and she and Kyle disappeared before anyone could find out. Your father was a damn good
grigorio
, descended from Dafne’s line. He’s probably the one who realized your mother was carrying a girl. From everything I’ve heard, Kyle was damn good with the sight.”

Gabriel was right, Shea thought. Her dad had been the best. A well of sadness hit her chest and tears burned in her eyes. An image of her dad popped into her mind, his brown curly hair always in need of a trim, his quick smile and steady dark eyes. Blessed Goddess, she missed him.

She took a deep breath, pushing down sadness. “He was. He always managed to be wherever I needed him, right before I fell out of a tree or tripped over rock.” She took another breath, trying to steady herself against an encroaching dizziness. “Is your mother one of the thirteen?”

He nodded. “But I can’t tell you which.”

“Why not?”

“Safety precaution.”

She figured that seemed logical. “What about your father?”

“Davis Borelli.”

“Is he still—”

“He died several years ago.”

“What aren’t you telling me?”

He smiled again and her eyes widened. Damn, the man was gorgeous when he did that. Luckily, he didn’t do it often because it made her want to lean in and taste him. “Nothing you need to know right now. Look, Shea, I know this has been a lot to take in. But now you’ve got to think. Did your mother ever say anything about the curse? Something you might not have thought was important at the time, something that might make sense now but didn’t then.”

Muscles twitching with nervous energy, Shea stood and began to pace. “My mother taught me how to draw the circle and work spells. She taught me what I needed to do as a Priestess. To protect the nail at all times.”

Her hand grabbed and held onto the key again. Without conscious thought on her part, the key drew on the
arus
in her blood and transformed into the nail. One of Menrva’s twelve Nails of the Ages.

From the time she’d been old enough to understand, her mother had drilled her on the ancient spells and rituals the priestesses would need when they were called on by Menrva to resume their duties.

Every day they’d studied a new spell or reviewed an old one. She’d grown to hate it. The spells made her head hurt, so much so she constantly screwed them up. And her mom had looked so sad.

Over time, she’d come to dread the day her mom would hand over the nail to her. She didn’t want it. She couldn’t do the spells, she couldn’t protect it. She was defective.

Not once had her mom mentioned anything about a curse. Her five-hundred-year-old mother. Something else she couldn’t wrap her mind around.

Still, she’d known there was something her mom wasn’t telling her. She’d sensed it, like a current between them.

That old pain, the one she’d gotten whenever she and her mom argued, was back, lodged in her chest like a dagger she couldn’t pull out.

Mom, why didn’t you say anything?

But the feeling of betrayal by her dad was worse.