Hearts Cursed, page 3
By the time he’d finished the two sandwiches, she’d cleared half of what he’d freed from the mud and was trying to drag one of the bigger branches over to the trailer.
“Here, let me get that.” He reached for the branch.
She dropped it. “Oh, Trip. Your hands!”
He looked down. They were red-raw and blistered. No wonder they stung. But he’d been so focused on work, he hadn’t even taken the time to look at them. “They’re fine,” he said. And they would be. He healed quickly. But that wasn’t really the problem right now. He couldn’t let the blisters pop or his skin crack and bleed. It would be disastrous if it did.
He’d been careless. Stupid.
He stomped over to the ute and pulled his thick work gloves out of the glove box. He should have put them on this morning, but he’d been too focused on getting started and hadn’t thought beyond that. Thank the Gods Daphne had noticed now. He hated to think of what might have happened if she hadn’t.
His blood should never come into contact with soil. It was another thing he didn’t know the why of, just the certainty of the unfortunate consequences that would follow if it did.
It was the reason he never forgot his gloves. Even his preoccupation with getting to work shouldn’t have made him forget. It was too important. So why had he?
He didn’t know.
He really wasn’t himself today.
“Trip, what are you doing?” Daphne grabbed his arm as he pulled on the second glove. “You can’t be thinking to do more work!”
Trip stared at her as if she was the one being unreasonable. “Of course I am. This field needs to be cleared and then ploughed and the soil prepared so I can plant the seedlings by the end of the week.”
“You can’t do all that in a few days! Especially with those hands. You need to come back and let me clean and put some salve on them. Then rest for a day or two. When Charlie gets back from Launceston with the replacement fake-snow making machine, he can take care of this.”
“No. I need to do this now.” He yanked his arm from her tenacious grip, ignoring the look of worried confusion on her face. “Just let me work.” He stomped to where he’d dropped the fork.
“But … what’s the hurry? If you don’t get it done until next week or the week after, it will still be fine. We’ll still have trees in four to five years, especially given how good you are at growing them.”
“No, it has to be done now.” He grabbed the fork and shoved it under a rock, groaning at the effort to lever the bloody thing out of the sucking mud.
“Trip! Stop.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“You don’t understand.”
“No, I don’t. Why don’t you tell me?”
He opened his mouth to explain, but all he could do was make a croaking sound. Because he couldn’t explain. He just knew it had to get done. He was running out of time. “I just … I just need to get back to work.”
“Trip!”
“Isn’t it time to go pick up Gideon? Don’t you need to take him to basketball practice?”
She glared at him. He glared at her.
Finally, she threw her hands up in the air. “I give up. Fine. Let those blisters pop. Get sepsis. See if I care.” She stomped off across the field towards the far gate – it was the closest one to the stockman’s cottage, which was nestled in the hill just beyond the neighbouring field of Christmas trees. As she got to the gate, she turned and shouted, “Just don’t come running to me when you wake in the night with a fever and need help.”
“I won’t,” he shouted back, knowing that, of course, in the event of that unlikely scenario, she would come running faster than a speeding bullet. Superman had nothing on her when it came to helping others.
The woman truly was a gem.
She opened the gate, then slammed it behind her, the clanging sound of metal against metal making birds fly up out of the nearby gumtrees in a flurry of squawking and flapping wings.
Daphne didn’t even look up at them as she disappeared amongst the Christmas pines that were for next year’s buyers.
Trip grimaced. Crap. He’d really upset her. He’d have to do something nice later. He’d think over what while he worked.
Shoving his hands more firmly into the protective barrier of the gloves, he got back to it.
Chapter
Three
Twenty minutes after hopping out of bed, the steaming hot shower having beaten the trembling from Ilia’s muscles and the cold from her bones, she stood in front of the mirror, dressed, teeth cleaned, and stared at her mop of wet, waist-length dawn-gold hair, darkened into an almost normal light brown by the water. It would spring into a riot of unruly curls the minute it started to dry, so she tied it into a messy knot and headed downstairs.
Her pink bunny slippers slapped quietly on the carpet runner of the stairs. It always made her smile when she shoved her feet into them. She wondered if Tamuel had known it would when he gave them to her not long after they returned from Roma at Easter. Violetta had been appalled by the gift, telling him it was inappropriate given how and when Ilia had been brought back to life, but Ilia didn’t think so. It was kind of funny how grotesquely cute they were – virulently pink with ears so floppy they flipped around wildly when she walked.
She bent, giving the ears a little pat as she made it to the bottom of the stairs, then straightened and stopped dead.
“What the Hells!”
It looked like the house had vomited up Christmas decorations. There was a massive pine tree opposite the front door, its limbs reaching up to the vaulted ceiling and decorated with bows and baubles and lights. If this wasn’t enough to scream ‘Christmas is coming!’, wreaths had been hung and wound around every available surface, lights twinkling in their faux-pine depths. It was then she noticed a wreath with colourful baubles, bows and lights had been wound around the staircase banister. She’d been so busy staring at the bobbing bunny ears on her slippers that she somehow hadn’t noticed.
“Hells.”
Tamuel had said Jules was mad about Christmas, but she hadn’t thought it would be like this. Jules had been too ill and tired with morning sickness last year to do more than slap up a few decorations and a small Christmas tree. Although, she had forced Bas, Tamuel and Korinna to watch multitudes of candy-cane sweet Christmas movies with her. Given Ilia had been trapped in the gem, which at the time had been fixed inside Tamuel’s chest like it was in hers currently, she’d been privy to everything he saw. Unless she purposefully tuned out, she’d had no choice but to watch. Tamuel had said she should tune out if she didn’t like it, but given she only had the energy to do that for short periods of time, periods she kept for when he and Korinna had sexy times together – which was a lot! – she hadn’t had the energy to withdraw for so-sickly-it-made-her-want-to-vomit movies.
The only one she could stand had been Scrooged – that Bill Murray was kind of cute in a scruffy way and it was pretty funny when he was being slapped around by the tiny and violent Ghost of Christmas Present.
Not to mention, she could kind of see his point of view. Of course, that was before he’d turned into a sap at the end of the movie, got his second-chance love and learned his lesson, which he then proceeded to share via a lecture to the viewer, as if they hadn’t been able to figure the moral out for themselves.
Socrates had a bloody lot to answer for when he introduced moralistic thought to the world.
“Bah humbug!” she muttered to the cheerily blinking lights surrounding her before stomping down the hallway.
It too had Christmas cheer in abundance, as did every room she passed. Was there no place she could escape to except for her bedroom to get away from all this? Maybe the kitchen—
“Hells,” she muttered again as she stopped in the kitchen doorway.
It hadn’t been spared from the Christmas ‘cheer’ as she’d hoped. All around her, wreaths and twinkling lights hung and there was a veritable elves-reindeer-Santa palooza on the dresser and the window-sills by the breakfast nook. “And I’m expected to eat in here?” she muttered.
“Good morning. Say morning to Aunty Ilia, Dawn.”
She whipped around. Jules stood at the kitchen sink, baby Dawn in her arms, waving at her. Well, not so much of a baby anymore – she was almost eight months old.
Trying not to wince at the Christmas apron Jules wore, which bore a winking cartoon Rudolf with the words ‘Naughty and Nice’ under him, Ilia forced herself to enter.
“You’re up early.”
“Not really.” She always woke at sunrise, even now the days were getting longer and daylight came earlier and earlier.
“You’re the first to see all the Christmas decorations,” she said proudly. “What do you think?”
“Umm … None of this was here last night before I went to bed.”
“I know. I wanted it to be a surprise for everyone,” Jules said, satisfaction filling her voice. “I got up during the night and used my magic.”
Ilia gasped. “You didn’t just … poof this into existence, did you?” Because if she had, that meant Jules had more than Goddess-given powers. It meant she had the power to create worlds. And destroy them.
Jules chuckled. “My bank account wishes I could! No – I bought it all. Haven’t you noticed all the packages arriving over the last few months?”
“Nope.” She’d been too busy trying to find a way to separate herself from Dawn and to help Korinna and the others find Triptolemus. “I’ve spent most days down in the library.”
Jules threw up her hands. “You see! This is exactly why I wanted to do this. We’ve all been so busy concentrating on finding the elusive Triptolemus, we’ve forgotten all about why we’re doing it in the first place.”
“I thought it was so he could tell us what big bad is coming for us and how to stop it. And to help undo the blood-curse on his and Korinna’s magic.”
“Well, that of course. But isn’t it also to preserve this?” She waved her hand around.
“What? A home?”
“No … well yes. And all it encompasses – family, friendship and love.”
Which is exactly why she hated it – it reminded her of everything she’d lost and was never to have.
Jules didn’t notice her bleak expression though, her attention on Dawn as she jiggled her up and down, making the baby giggle. “But I meant we also need to preserve fun. We need to celebrate the joyous things, otherwise, what’s the point of living?”
Ilia really didn’t have an answer to that – living for her had just been existing for so long, and still kind of felt like that, despite the new life she’d been given.
Jules tipped her head and shook it sadly. “You see! You need to be reminded about fun.”
Ilia glanced around her. This was fun?
Jules waved her hand expansively. “Et voila! Great start, isn’t it?”
Start? This was just a start?
“I have so many fun activities planned leading up to Christmas.” Activities? She hid her shudder as Jules spun around and said, “What do you think?”
“It’s …” She swallowed hard. “Very bright. Cheery.”
“Oh, I’m glad you think so. I wasn’t certain the tree in the foyer was big enough or that I’d hung enough lights.”
“No, there’s enough. Of everything.”
Jules beamed at her. “I love Christmas so much.”
“Really?” she drawled. “You wouldn’t be able to tell from this.”
Jules laughed and said, “I know it’s a lot … but go big or go home, right?”
“Umm … right. But … I thought witches were supposed to celebrate Yule.”
Jules made a pffing noise. “Given I didn’t have any power for most of my life, I missed out on all the things the rest of the Coven enjoyed this time of the year – especially heading OS to where it’s cold and snowing so they could properly do all the rites and rituals. So I took Christmas as my own.” She reached for a bowl as Dawn jigged in her arms, the baby almost knocking the rice cereal onto the floor.
Ilia rushed forward and grabbed it before it landed. “I bet your Coven wasn’t happy about that.”
Jules took the cereal from her then pulled a face. “Thanks – and no, they weren’t. They gave Violetta a really hard time for letting me get so invested in it, but she never let that stop me. She wanted me to have something that was mine, so she did all she could to celebrate with me.”
“That was … nice of her.”
Jules nodded. “More than nice. It showed me how much she loved me, which was the best present I could have every year. And now I have my magic, I can go to town like I’ve always wanted. I can’t wait for Dawn to see the choo-choo in the lounge room. And if you like the lights in here, wait until you see what I’ve done outside. I think it’s pretty special.”
“Must be,” Ilia said, thinking she’d have to wear very dark sunglasses if she was to venture outside any time in the next month. “Umm, does the Christmas cheer extend all the way down to the library?” Hells, she hoped not.
“No.” Jules grimaced. “I tried one year to put a Christmas tree down there but the ghosts kept stealing the decorations and hanging them off the chandeliers and turned the tree into Yule logs which they shoved into various corners, so I never tried again. Although, now I have my magic I might be able to set a spell that stops them. Do you think I should?”
“No!” Jules blinked at the almost-shouted word. Ilia smiled hastily, trying to cover. “I mean, you don’t want to upset the ghosts or your Coven do you? The library is a witching space, so maybe it’s best not to open that can of worms.”
Jules sighed. “You’re probably right.” She glanced around and smiled. “Maybe I’ll just put a few more decorations in here to brighten it up a little more.”
A little more? If it got any brighter, she’d have to start wearing sunglasses in here too. But instead of showing her dismay, she turned to the coffee machine and said, “Now you have your powers, shouldn’t you give this away and embrace Yule as the rest of your Coven do?” She glanced up to see Jules staring at her.
“Are you crazy? And miss all this?” She gestured at the house around her.
“Of course, what was I thinking?”
“How could I deprive Dawn? I want her to have the best of both worlds. Besides, it’s just so joyful.”
“Yes.” The kind of joyful that shoved itself down your throat and choked you. But she couldn’t say that to Jules or give away just how much she didn’t like it – Jules had been so wonderful to her since Oestra, helping her in many ways to acclimatise to this new life and being so good about the fact Ilia was linked like she was to Dawn. She’d also been a great learning partner, given both of them now had magics they’d never had use of before.
All the Stevens had been amazing in fact. She’d sooner eat one of the Christmas wreaths than hurt any of them with how she truly felt about anything.
Just then Dawn leaned out of her mother’s arms towards Ilia, making grabbing motions with her hands. Jules laughed. “Can you hold her while I finish getting her rice cereal mush ready? She’s extra impatient for it this morning – mummy’s breast milk just wouldn’t do, would it, Sweetums?” she said to the baby, rubbing noses with her, making Dawn chuckle. Then the baby leaned away and put her hands out towards Ilia once more. Jules laughed. “So impatient.”
“As Her Majesty dictates,” Ilia said smiling. She took the baby, holding her close, breathing in the delicious scent of her – powder and breastmilk and something greener, fresher and incredibly warm; a smell that she could only describe as of the dawn. Which made sense given the Goddess’ star she was born under and the reason for the name she’d been given.
“Why so hungry this morning?” she asked as she jiggled the baby, walking away from Jules to where Dawn’s highchair sat by the table.
Dawn lifted her chubby hands and cupped Ilia’s face, looking up at her out of her big, indigo eyes with the gold of dawn’s light flickering in their depths. Then she shook her head, expression serious in a way that only a baby with her magical heritage could.
“So this impatience isn’t about hunger?”
She glanced at her mother – busily pouring boiled water into her dried cereal. She made a little sound of longing.
“So you are hungry?”
A nod. Then those remarkable eyes met hers again and she shook her head quickly.
“Ah, but it’s not all about hunger?”
Dawn tipped her head, little mouth screwed sideways as if considering the question, then tapped her head.
“You had a dream?”
A shake. Then she touched Ilia’s brow and cocked her head in question.
“My dream?” An enthusiastic nod. “You want to know about my dream? But I can’t remember.” Even as she said it, images flickered to life in her mind. Not of her sons as she’d thought the dream must be about, but the man who featured in her dreams more and more often.
In her mind she saw him now as clear as day, the man waking in a snow-frosted pine forest, confusion and pain on his handsome face; walking aimlessly, heavy bags slung over his shoulder as he tried to find shelter and answers; falling into a depression when no answers were forthcoming, his efforts to remember only bringing incredible pain that drove him to unconsciousness time and time again.
Time passed, dark and bleak, with him wandering, lost, alone, bereft – oh, how she knew those feelings! Time shifted again before the memory of them could grab too tight a hold, then the image stopped, to show him being given shelter by an impoverished farmer and his family; it showed the moment when he’d touched the few seeds the farmer had left to him, dried husks that would never have grown, but at his touch, sprang into seedlings and multiplied. And with their growth, a new passion inside him was born.
After helping the farmer and others sow the seedlings into one bumper crop after another, the man had to strike out on his own when the community realised he was not aging and that his talent with growing things had more to do with magic than a green thumb. Despite the help he’d given them, they’d come after him with pitchforks.
