Gypsy Origins (Page 5)

“So you’d get cut out?” I ask quietly.

“Even if Emily didn’t want me gone, Isiah would lose use for me. I’m okay with feeling like the runner up, because it’s so much better than being stepped on at the bottom. However…I’m not leaving Arion because I’ll then be his favorite if Isiah is gone, and I won’t be stuck somewhere I won’t belong.”

She sugars and milks her tea, before sliding the tray toward me.

“But you’re not here to talk about my woman troubles. You’re here to discuss your own,” she says as she finishes stirring her tea and levels me with a look. “I take it your new wolf girls told you about Idun?”

I bristle.

“Idun is stiff competition—no dead or undead pun intended,” she adds with an amused grin. “Makes all my trouble seem mild in comparison.”

I think she’s gloating.

“Is there any possible way Arion is under the impression that I am her?” I ask, causing her drink to pause at her lips, as her eyebrows crawl up her forehead in clear surprise.

She lowers her glass, clearing her throat, and then she gives me a tight smile.

I think her cup clanks against the glass plate when it slips, but she recovers too quickly for me to be sure.

“Why would you ask that?” she asks a little cautiously.

“Because Damien said something to that effect. Due to the sex and all,” I go on, keeping things believable but still vague.

“Arion said Damien’s curse must have waned. It is a really old curse set by just one woman. She gave up more than she bargained for to put that nasty hex on him.”

“You don’t ever seem to forget Damien,” I note.

She bats a hand. “I make it a point to remember him. He’s still an alpha. Usually the most dangerous are the ones you think nothing of.”

I bristle again, though it’s clear she has no idea what’s going on with me, despite her usual all-knowing ways.

“I want to remove the Portocale curse from them. That’s actually the reason I stopped in,” I tell her, causing her eyebrows to hit her hairline this time.

She stands abruptly and goes to the door. She opens it and looks around, before she finally shuts it again.

She turns on this buzzing thing next to the door, and moves to the window and turns on another. It’s mildly annoying, but I watch as she takes her seat again, sipping her tea as she studies me.

“For obvious reasons, that’s not something discussed without care. Portocale gypsies are not even thought about, heard of, or even known about by the general public. Only those closest to the alphas know of their value. Maybe your wolf friends should have informed you of how sensitive some matters are when they moved you in with their alpha.”

“I’m not moved in. Leiza packed me a bag, and I’m staying during Emit’s cycle.”

She exhales an annoyed breath, while putting her cup down. “Arion’s is far worse. He usually goes last, unless a Portocale dies at midnight. Then he’s first.”

“Why?” I ask her as I lean forward.

She gives me a pitying smile. “Because he was the most brutal in the second sacrifice. He drank Portocale blood straight from the hearts of the dead, and savagely tore through the village with no mercy. That’s when he was just a human man,” she states like it’s common knowledge, but then her words die off when she sees my horrified expression.

“Oh shit. You don’t even know what’s going on right now. Still? Do you?” she asks as she jumps to her feet, her chair flipping with the abruptness of the action. “Don’t say anything about this. I assumed you knew why there was a curse if you wanted to remove it.”

She dumps her tea into the sink, and she quickly leaves the room like she doesn’t want to risk saying anything else.

I sit back, calmly sipping my tea, processing quietly in a kitchen that really doesn’t scream vampire.

This…isn’t what I expected to come from this meeting.

Pulling out my phone, I gauge the distance between Shadow Hills and my mother’s storage unit.

I can be there in under two hours.

I need to see her story quilt, even though I swore I’d never look.

Chapter 4

VIOLET

Emit hasn’t changed much since yesterday, but he at least feels slightly cooler to the touch.

The lashes on his body won’t heal no matter how much healing potion I use, because this is just a physical manifestation of the mental torment he’s suffering through.

The gaping wounds just bleed, as he whines or groans or screams, depending on what sort of agony he’s facing in his mind at any given time.

After sponging away the fresh blood, I go wash my hands and resume trying to piece together what story my mother was telling with this really huge, intricate, complicated weave of patches and patterns.

The center patch is a bright orange one, as though her story began on a brighter note. But all the stitching past it just gets harsher, and all the patterns grow darker, making that one orange patch seem out of place on the rest of the quilt.

But then toward the edges, there are new orange squares that have been sewn into the darker pieces, telling a more complex story before the outer ring turns blue. It’s still unfinished. Then again, most life-story quilts are left unfinished.

“Your mother’s quilt?” one of the triplets ask me, though I can never tell which one I’m talking to.

I barely react, getting sick of how abruptly they’ll pop in and be super creepy.

Folding the quilt, I glance over and glare at the three of them, still on my knees, while they just stare down at me.

“I told you I hate it when you pop in like that.”

“Pardon us. Should we knock?” the one in front of me asks in a tired tone.

“I have salt in my bra,” I warn her.

“And in your vagina, according to Anna. You remember her, right? Your friend who was likely killed by your mother when she decided to try to keep ghosts away from you.”

“Hypothetically,” I point out, lifting the quilt and going to the trunk. “It’s just a theory. Stop making it an accusation.”

“It’s starting to affect us. We can’t do much more investigating, and our freshly dead boy has gone missing,” the ghost next to me says.

I open the trunk in the corner of Emit’s room and start tucking the quilt away.

“Anna stayed with me knowing it was killing her. If anything, I’m angry at her for not telling me this,” I go on.

“No, you’re misdirecting your anger because you’re more loyal to your mother,” one states like she can know me better than I do.

“We get it. We loved our mummy too,” one triplet says, and then her eyes turn cold. “Until she smothered us all in our sleep to keep from having to spend so much money feeding us, after our father ran off with the town whore.”

I blink a few times, hoping that’s a lie.

“I can’t deal with this right now. Too much other shit is going on,” I tell them as I tuck the quilt in the corner.

I pause when I see a stack of paintings behind the trunk. There are torn pages that have cracked and withered over time. I’m careful to lift one as they continue talking.

“Anna let us watch her and made us promise to find out what had been done to you, because she was worried you’d lose this—”

“I know. But sometimes things are more complicated than what can be simplified. Stay away if you’re scared of it, because I don’t know how to make it stop,” I say distractedly.

“She’s a bit of an ass now that she’s had sex. Anna was wrong,” one says before they all disappear.

“I’m…sorry,” I say to the vacant air, my shoulders dropping, as my gaze returns to the aged paper in my hand.

The painting is of course a wolf, but it’s a beautiful light gray one that has rings of white mixed into the fur.

A raspy voice startles me from behind. “I raised that pup.”

I jerk my head around, seeing Emit grimace, as he makes a pained sound and tries to sit up.

Gently, I put the cracked painting down and hurry to his side. He glances down at all the many crisscrossed lashings he’s received, his skin so marred that I don’t know how it’ll ever heal.

He gives it an unconcerned look, and lifts the glass of water from the table next to him that an omega fills fresh every hour.

“Is it over?” I ask hopefully.

“For now. I get one of the lesser sentences, fortunately,” he tells me as he sips the water, wincing like it burns to drink.

“I’d make it stop if someone would just tell me the quickest way to do it,” I say as I draw my legs up.

His eyes land on mine and hold for a second, like he’s searching for the truth in those words. He nods as he looks away.

“It’s not a simple or easy task to peel back a curse that has been heavily enforced for so long, growing stronger instead of weaker. It’s not your place to remove it, much as I wish you could.”

“Then what was the point of all your stalking?”

He glances around like he’s searching for something. “Have you tended to me?” he asks like he’s confused.

“The omegas have done most of the work,” I tell him quickly, leaving out the small invasion of privacy I’ve had to do a few times…since they refused.