Page 8 of Curses & Keys (Curses & Gods #1)
PHAEDRA
C rickets chirp in the warm, humid North Carolina night air as I come to a stop on the gravel drive in front of the large farmhouse.
It’s had many facades over the years, but I like this one the most. Like a white sentinel standing guard over the surrounding land, it’s reminiscent of a time gone by.
Two stories tall, the austere wooden farmhouse is softened by the massive wraparound porch surrounding it.
Filled with rockers and swings that are just begging visitors to sit and stay a while, it’s the perfect place to catch a breeze on a spring day or cozy up on a crisp fall evening.
Tonight, everything is silent and still.
Finally able to slip off the helmet, I peel the jumpsuit from my head and shoulders, then comb my fingers through the sweat-drenched hair sticking to my head.
Without a cool breeze, there’s little relief, but at least the sweating slows.
There’s work to be done before I can wash off all the dirt and grime from the night.
I roll the bike to the back of the garage, where a hidden wall opens with my thumbprint, leading to a secret room.
Roughly ten by ten, it’s large enough for the bike and the tool cabinet in the corner.
In another life, this was the tack room in the barn, but those days are long gone.
I converted the barn to a garage once the modern world caught up with me but left this spot relatively untouched.
Brown slats cover the walls, an indication of its true age, but the modern vent in the corner keeps it free of dust and debris.
Given how frequently I use this bike in my nocturnal activities, I need it in good working condition and stored away from prying eyes.
I rub an appreciative hand over the seat, then drop a cover over it. While I love horses, I don’t miss using them as my main mode of transportation.
Walking over to the cabinet, I place the helmet and gloves inside, then close it. A quick twist of the latch on the side and the cabinet swings away from the wall, allowing me to step into the main area of the garage. It closes softly after me, leaving a seamless expanse of wall behind.
Five bays sit side-by-side, but only two vehicles are in the space right now. The black Mercedes-Benz GLE Coupe is my main vehicle, and the old, beat-up Range Rover gets me around the farm. While the garage feels a little over the top, it needed to be big in order to hide the basement below.
I walk over to the opposite end of the garage and slide another cabinet to the side.
A light pops on, illuminating the stairs I need to take to get to the bottom.
Once down the steps, I lean in close to let the security system scan my eye while I also give it a token of my blood.
With a hiss, the sealed steel door slowly opens, allowing me to step inside the vault.
Bright lights shine across every available surface.
Unlike newer vaults made with slabs, this one is made of solid steel-reinforced concrete with 20-inch-thick walls that are nearly impenetrable.
A large rectangular table sits in the center of the room with trinkets scattered across its surface.
Small and innocuous-looking, they’re actually some of the most lethal items in this vault.
Most of them are either cursed or spelled with dark magic, which I haven’t figured out how to nullify yet.
The rest of the interior is filled with museum-quality glass cabinets displaying objects from various periods in history.
Most of them don’t have a home because they were either excavated or stolen, so they stay here with me.
Except for the large vessel in the corner.
That one is mine. A secret from the gods themselves. One that could get me killed.
I slip the knapsack off and pull out the five items I took from the crate. Stolen from Nolan’s collection, the items are worth more than a pretty penny. Most of them will cost you your life.
I hold the first one up to the light. Any woman would love to wear this piece.
Delicate white gold branches link together to form a bracelet, and a delicate chain wraps around the wrist and across the back of the hand, forming a small loop, which is designed to slip on your finger.
Such a pretty trap. Once on, the Elven bracelet binds you to the gift giver.
Forever. I sigh and toss it into a pile of small trinkets.
A rough shard of pottery is the next piece.
I recognized it as soon as I saw it. Carefully carrying it over to the ugly brown vase in the corner, I hold the piece up against the edges until I find the place where it matches.
Crazy Glue seals it in place. Before it was shattered, the vase was roughly twenty inches tall, pink with gold inlay, and had an ornate lid on top.
Once the magic was released, the vase lost its luster, turning the color it is today.
For the past three thousand years, I’ve searched for the pieces, but I’m only about three-fourths of the way to the top. Sometimes I wonder if I’ll find them all. But I refuse to give up. I can’t. I owe it to my sister.
The gods gave the vase to my father to hide in the caverns beneath our palace.
Unfortunately, from the moment I saw it, I was drawn to it.
It was mesmerizing. Shadows moved inside.
I had to know what was in it. Stupid, stupid girl.
Sometimes I wish I could go back and shake some sense into that spoiled princess.
Because of it, I lost the one person I loved more than any other.
Guilt fills me, tearing at the seams of my heart, and I press a hand against my chest to hold it all in.
Every time I find a piece of the vase, all the emotions come rushing back, but the guilt is the worst. It’s a vicious monster, ripping me up inside.
All I can do is stuff the memories down deep until the pain stops.
After one last stroke across its surface, I lock it all up and return to the table.
The next piece is a thick gold arm cuff with a tile design on its surface.
In an intricate pattern of white, bright teal, and orange, a mountain sits against the backdrop of a sunset.
This pattern was exclusive to Pompeii before the eruption of Mount Vesuvius, and the curse placed on it reflects its heritage.
Whoever puts this on their arm instantly turns to ash.
Such a shame, but the piece should be salvageable.
Once I remove the curse, the cuff can be shipped to the National Archaeological Museum in Naples to be showcased amongst the rest of the Pompeii collection.
I set it aside to work on it when I return.
Next, I pick up a hammered gold ring with a dome on the top.
Popping open the latch, I tap my finger on the tip of the golden sundial hidden inside.
This clever little beauty steals time. How much?
I’m not sure. But even a minute is too much. I toss it on the pile.
The last piece is a pendant. Britain. circa 1540.
There might have been a chain or a strand of pearls attached at some point, but it’s long gone.
I turn the pendant from side to side. It’s a stunning piece.
Two hammered gold squares linked together, one on top of the other.
Each square has a jewel set into its center, one an aquamarine and the other a topaz.
Below the squares hangs a third stone, a large teardrop sapphire.
Around the flat edges of each square is an inscription.
I pull over the magnifying glass and read the words.
Ubi Amor Ibi Dolor. Where there’s love, there’s pain .
This is a woman’s pendant, typically worn close to the hollow of the neck.
I can’t quite tell what the curse does yet, but its aura is dark, tinged with red.
Nasty little piece. For now, it goes into the pile I’ve designated as urgent.
Exhausted from the long night, I glance at the monitors near the door and see nothing but empty fields and dirt roads.
All by myself. The years weigh on me tonight.
Maybe I’ll stay here for a few hours. I hang up the knapsack and secure the vault.
Once upstairs, I lock the garage and head to the house.
My hand caresses the smooth railing as I walk up the wide front steps, peace settling over me with each step.
Sometimes I wish I still lived here, but the world is too small for comfort.
I used to pass the house down from myself to myself each generation, or from one alias of mine to the next, but it’s now owned by a corporation.
Hidden behind multiple shell companies, of course.
I own the parent company, but a subsidiary, P&P Inc.
, owns this house. While I visit often, it’s too dangerous to live here full time.
If others tracked me here, they could find the cursed treasures I hide from the rest of the world.
Still, I can’t help but inhale deeply when I enter, filling my soul with the smells.
In three thousand years, it’s the only place I’ve called home.
Prior to this house, I lived in many places, all of them nice, but there are only two places I’ve considered home.
The palace I grew up in and this one. And I’ve owned this one for the longest… over three hundred years.
Exhaling, I savor the peaceful feeling, knowing it’s temporary. Change is coming. Humans attacking supernaturals isn’t new, but I’ve never seen one physically win a fight with a vampire. Whoever they are… they’re well-funded, intelligent, and resourceful—a dangerous combination.