Cursed [Book 1] ✔

Chapter 6.2: The de Soto Sword

Dinner went differently than I expected.

Rafe and my mother got along incredibly well. They discussed wedding plans at length, with me hardly getting a word in, but I made sure to voice an opinion when they started on dresses. Throughout the night, wine and conversation was never lacking. Wine for me was lacking though, damn it.

Noticing my grumpy state (finally), Rafe asked what I'd been up to at the library, and I shared the truth, more or less. Before my new life in Graydon, I had been an anthropology major at Boston State University. Therefore, it was easy to lie about why I was delving into the city's history: academic boredom, duh! Various comments and laughter erupted over my research findings. It was not until I casually mentioned Juan Ortiz that my mother uncharacteristically quieted, excusing herself to serve dessert.

I was confused, because the other disturbing generalities of my research hadn't fazed her, yet, the mention of an insignificant detail had. Rafe, the empathetic creature he was, nodded at me, and I followed her to the kitchen.

I found her washing the Chinese takeout from the dishes as though the stains would never come out. I recognized her need to clean in order to clear her head, and I took up my familiar place beside her at the sink.

"You have a new dishwasher, you know." I plucked the next clean dish from her hands.

"I know. This is relaxing sometimes, therapeutic," she said, slumping and not really washing much anymore.

"Why do you need to relax? Did you have a...rough day?"

The question was tricky, as I could imagine the months after losing (another) child turned everyday into a 'rough' day.

She turned to face me. "Why are you asking? Don't you know already?"

Her question was a splash of ice water. My power was an unspoken entity in the room, the ever-present elephant. For her to bring it up, and in a sharp tone, was disconcerting.

It took me a moment to recover. "I...no..."

My mother sighed. "Honey, I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything by that. I'm just thrown by what you said during dinner."

I skimmed over the conversation, searching for an offensive bit, but came up empty. "Which part?"

"The Juan Ortiz part. Your father always claimed his ancestors were related to a Spanish explorer. A man named Juan Ortiz."

If my mother never mentioned my powers, she mentioned my father even less. I was still digesting that as the rest of what she had said slowly sunk in.

"That doesn't make any sense. Wouldn't our last name be Ortiz?"

A nod pre-empted my mother's explanation. "Ordinarily, yes, but when your father left me while I was pregnant with," pause, "Rosalind, I took back my maiden name, Ameore.

I raised my brows, waiting for my mother to show all her cards.

"And I changed all of your last names to Ameore as well," she said, not looking at me.

"Huh. You must have really been angry at him." My statement was followed by a smile, and then a giggle. After a moment, my mother joined me.

When she recovered, she went on, "Yes, I was angry. Love and hate can drive a person to highs and lows they wouldn't ordinarily consider themselves capable of."

"Well, I sort of understand why you did what you did. Still, this thing with Juan Ortiz...it's strange that I would run across his name when I wasn't even looking for it."

"Yes," my mother agreed, "quite the coincidence."

"Or fate," I offered, not meaning it.

"You do know something, don't you? A—vision?" She said the word 'vision' carefully, as if it were a foreign word she was afraid of pronouncing incorrectly.

I shook my head. "No, not really. I'm not sure what Juan Ortiz has to do with...other things." I was hesitant to say 'haunting' aloud. "But I'm sure I'll find out."

"Rafe's family is Morcoso. You could ask him if anyone knows of the Uzita legends."

My mother believed she was helping, but really she was unwittingly aiding my paranormal investigation. Also, as there were no surviving members of the Uzita after the 1500s, her suggestion was sound.

"Good idea, but whuddoo I say? They're going to think I'm insane."

"True, but appearing insane and gaining knowledge is better than being sane and staying ignorant."

My mother presented her opinion so bluntly that I could do nothing but agree. And then I thought about it.

"Already opened your fortune cookie, huh, Mom?"

"Um...no...."

* * * * *

After careful deliberation, I brought Rafe up to speed about my power to see into the future and my recent visions. A voice in my head warned me against sharing my fears about the pregnancy, though. When I was through telling him most of the truth, I held my breath, waiting for his response to be something comparable to, but not necessarily, Holy shit, you're nuts.

Rather than condemn me, Rafe accepted everything calmly.

What he ended up saying to me was, "I always knew you were special. When we were little, you made sure to warn me whenever I was about to get an 'F' on a test. I'd laugh you off, but you were right every time. Who's to say you're not right about all this craziness?"

His automatic acceptance of me made me see him in a new light. I had always known that he was special, and that he cared for me, but there was the distinct possibility he could be in love with me. Guilt settled in my heart for omitting certain concerns about the state of our unborn child, but I wasn't prepared to take back the lie just yet.

He decided we would go to the Morcoso Reservation to speak with their shaman, Minghan. Even though Rafe thought it would be best to wait until morning, I wanted answers as soon as possible. My insistence won out over his stubborn nature. We climbed into his car, one quietly triumphant and the other mumbling things I would have been better off not hearing anyhow.

An odd sense of foreboding fluttered inside me as we drove on roads lined with massive pine trees dripping with Spanish moss. Things were in motion; the date was set, and there was nothing I could do to change things, the past had shown me that much. My futile efforts to stop any of what was to come were useless. Another part of me was filled with excitement of the unknown, excitement over the possibility of what I might learn.

If the shaman could help me, the outcome could be less horrible than I expected. He might even laugh at my so-called visions and tell me not to want for anything in this life. Every minute that drew us closer to the reservation, I clung to the hope that everything would be okay.

What a stupid, stupid girl I was.