10. Chapter 10
Catherine Van Tassel
Victor’s voice echoes in the stone chamber as I take a few steps to reach the big stone sarcophagus.
My hands are shaking, but a solid, comforting warmth spreads as I peer up at his glowing, and now slightly bashful, pumpkin visage.
My being a Van Tassel doesn't change anything other than raise a few questions about my dad’s lineage, and whether anyone in the family has magic. Oh my god. My ancestor is a witch?
“We can unpack my family tree later,” I tell him, gripping the edge of the heavy stone and ignoring the grime and muck caked along its surface. “Help me lift it off.”
An unholy, earsplitting shriek of fury penetrates the thick stone walls of the mausoleum and the ground shudders, sending dust raining down on us. A bright green vapor begins to seep through the seams of the doors, fogging and spreading through the small space.
“She’s realized what we’re doing,” Victor snaps, as the word traitor howls on the wind from the poltergeist, leveled at me.
“Push on three,” he says and braces himself against the stone while the orange in his pumpkin flares to life, spreading a fiery glow around the mausoleum floor.
“Okay, one, two, three, and shove!”
Throwing all of my weight against the stone and digging the toes of my boots into the old floor, I push with Victor until the lid screeches and grind.
The sound of stone cracking across stone echoes harshly in my ears.
When the lid finally shifts and slides a few inches before crashing to the floor, a cloud of choking, centuries old dust billows, catching the orange light of his flame.
I lean over the edge, impatient for the dust to clear, my heart pounding in my throat as I look down into the open grave of my witch ancestor I didn't know I had.
Resting on a dusty bed of rotted silk is the deteriorated skeleton, its bone white ribcage draped in the decaying fragments of what used to be a lace-covered dress.
But it's what she's holding in her skeletal fingers that makes my breath catch in my throat. A leather-bound book sits in her clawed hands, its cover warped from use and the edges of the pages stained an icky yellow color.
The orange flame from Victor’s pumpkin flickers violently and casts shadows over the macabre sight.
“Don’t touch the book,” he warns, his tone dropping to a hard and panicked rasp. He reaches out, taking my hands in his thick, gloved ones to stop me before I can start to reach into the stone tomb. “We’ve no idea what her sorcery will do if you touch it.”
I stare down at the cursed pages of the book locked in her grasp, and though the black leather is cracked and weathered, there is an unmistakable and undeniable raw energy pulsing from it.
My stomach flips at the sight of the bleached-white skull laying next to the corpse.
“Is that…” I ask, my words a whisper as realization dawns that this is literally his head.
“Me,” he replies softly and my heart goes out to him when his jagged jack-o’-lantern eyes crinkle. “My true skull.”
Behind us, the sallow green vapor bleeding into the mausoleum through the iron doors intensifies into a screeching whirlwind as the poltergeist finally breaks through the threshold. Her emerald green gaze blazes with fury as she prepares to strike.
The wind picks up in a fury, snatching at the rotted silk from its coffin moorings and sending it whipping through the air.
The temperature in the tomb plummets so much I can see my breath, the moisture in the air freezing solid as I breathe, and when the witch’s attention locks onto me, her jaw unhinges as she roars with rage.
“There’s no time,” Victor yells over the howl of the supernatural wind, holding his skull in one hand as he points at himself. “You’re going to have to kiss me to break the curse.”
I blink, my brain stalling out for a split second as I look up at his round, orange pumpkin head, then down at the weathered skull and back up at the jagged and flickering flames in his eyes.
“What?” I scream back at him, the wind a tearing howl whipping around my head. I shove at my hair, pushing it from my face as the wind pulls whips so hard to where I can hardly see. “How will that break the curse?!”
“It's true love’s loophole!” he yells back, his voice embarrassed but full of desperation, as the green cloud of magic begins hurling loose bricks from the walls toward us. “The witch bound my soul to a monster after I kissed her sister, and a kiss will break her curse. I’m sure of it.”
Just as the witch shrieks, I lunge for him and grab the sides of his thick and rough rind, pulling his pumpkin head straight down to mine. My lips press hard against the rough skin of his pumpkin mouth, not daring to breathe as I wait for the explosion or some other strange magical force.
Instead, nothing happens.
I kiss him again, raining small kisses over his pumpkin head, but nothing is happening.
“It's not working!” I scream and pull back, my hands still gripping the sides of his thick gourd.
“You have to kiss my head, my real head!” he shouts. He reaches into the sarcophagus and wrenches his skull from the corpse before holding it out for me.
Wow, okay. We’re doing this.
My hands shake as my heartbeat pounds like a metronome in my ears and I grasp the cold, weathered old bone of his skull.
The second my lips graze against the cold cheek of his skull, a blinding white light bolts from its forehead.
It arcs out and the skull disappears from my hands, vanishing completely.
The poltergeist lets out a final and agonizing wail as the green vapor around us splinters into dozens of sparks, and inside the coffin, the skeletal remains of the witch and her spellbook disintegrate, dissolving into harmless, gray dust.
When the bright light fades, torches that line the stone walls flare to life, casting a warm, golden glow across the ruined tomb, driving away all the shadows and darkness.
“Catherine?”
The sound of his voice crawls over my senses and sends goose pimples dancing across my skin. It sounds completely different now. It's deep, rich, and commanding.
I look up from the stone coffin, my eyes going wide and my mouth dropping open at the sight before me.
Standing in the bright torchlight is a man.
He stands a little over six feet tall, with broad shoulders, a black mess of hair that curls on the ends, and striking deep-blue eyes that look shocked as he rubs his bare hands across his face.
The pumpkin is gone and the curse is broken.
He looks up at me, his jaw drops as if he’s never seen me before, a watery but grateful expression spreading across his features. “You did it. You freed me.”
“I’m sorry,” a soft voice calls out, stealing my attention.
The spectral form of the witch floats before us, hovering a few feet in the air where the poltergeist loomed moments ago.
Except she's not a frightening monster now.
With her green fire gone, she looks like a sweet and frail old grandmother, hovering faintly above the old stone floor.
She looks down at her see-through body and lets out a long and weary sigh.
The malicious anger seems to have drained from her completely, leaving the witch looking small and tired.
“I'm so very sorry for what I did,” she whispers, her translucent form fading into a soft and golden mist. “I’d forgotten what young love looks like.”
“Breaking my curse must’ve been enough to take away her powers,” Victor murmurs, his voice echoing in the quiet tomb.
She gives me a small smile, an almost doting expression, and I suppose, oddly, it’s because I’m her blood as she dissolves, finally finding peace.
Arms wrap around me and I'm lifted off my feet in the next second as Victor lunges to hug me, his warm and very human arms wrapping securely around my waist as he squeezes me tight to his chest.
“My gods, Catherine, you're so beautiful,” he says, the timbre of his voice is so much smoother now.
The bass of it is like a sweet caress to my senses that sends a shiver of pure delight coasting down my spine.
It was hard to feel any attraction like this before. I knew I liked him, even as a pumpkin I was attracted to his kindness, but now that we’ve broken his spell, I’m more than mildly attracted to him.
My gosh, he’s so very handsome.
Victor reaches up, his large hands visibly trembling as the warmth of his palm spreads across my cheek.
His fingers slide into my tangled hair and the touch sends a wave of yearning straight to my core.
It's the first time I’ve felt the texture of his skin without a dose of fear behind it.
Now free of gloves and the bulky head of the pumpkin, he looks at me with an expression of pure adoration and vulnerability.
It fairly takes the oxygen from my lungs.
“I can finally see you,” he whispers, a breathtaking smile pulling at his lips. “Looking with the pumpkin’s eyes, everything was always a bit out of focus, but not now. Upon my word, you’re gorgeous.”
“You’re real,” I laugh softly, my smile so wide my cheeks hurt with how it stretches my face.
I run my fingers through the small patch of chest hair at the open V of his shirt, marveling at how handsome he is while staring into his deep-blue eyes, now full of life..
“You freed me,” he repeats.
He leans down, his lips bending to mine but suddenly stops, a strange expression filtering across his features.
He pats at the deep pocket of his britches, his brow furrowing.
He pulls his hand out, giving me an awkward smile before unfurling his fingers from around my black glasses.
He somehow kept them safe this whole time.
“I believe these belong to you,” he murmurs, his pretty blue eyes wrinkling at the corners as he hands them to me.
I let out a small laugh and slip them over my nose, grateful when the world comes back into perfect, crisp focus, bringing the breathtakingly handsome face of the man who just saved my life into crisp focus.
“Thank you,” I whisper, my heart hammering in my chest at how he hasn't stopped touching me. His hands caress my shoulders and down my forearms.
“Now, where were we?” he asks, his focus falling to my lips as he bends his dark head.
He leans down and his lips meet mine in a slow kiss that sets fire to the low heat unfurling in my middle. Unexpectedly, the kiss grows possessive as his relentless mouth rains across mine before his tongue slides inside and turns the embrace into a carnal inferno.
A moment later, I'm gasping and making moaning noises in the back of my throat when he finally pulls away. He catches me to him, my heart trying to break right out of my ribs as the urge to tell him not to stop overwhelms me.
“Please forgive me. I got carried away in the moment, and this is no place,” he clears his throat. “This is no place for you,” he says sternly.
He holds a hand out and I take it, worrying my bottom lip with my teeth in embarrassment as we exit the tomb.
We step out of the mausoleum, hand in hand, leaving the dust and broken curse behind us. We find the cemetery completely silent now, the air clean and crisp under the still, starry night sky.
Victor lets go of my hand. “Brom!” he calls out, and the shout carries across the quiet graveyard.
A high, shrill whinny echoes across the grounds and the shadows shift near the edge of the creepy woods.
Brom trots forward, his black coat gleaming, as he gets closer, he lets out a soft snort.
Twin flames of bright orange come pelting from his nostrils and light up the dark ground in front of him.
Victor laughs, the sound so rich and full it makes my heart swell in my chest. He steps forward to pet Brom, unbothered by the way the horse still breathes fire and flame.
“There’s a good lad, Brom. It's still me, yeah? And it looks like you kept some of your abilities too, eh boy? Well, we’ll not be looking that gift horse in the mouth. ”
Brom nudges his shoulder and pushes at him affectionately, almost knocking him over sending Victor laughing again.
He turns back to me and extends a hand to help me up onto the saddle before swinging up behind me.
His warm and solid chest presses firmly against my back as his arms cage around me to take the reins.
It feels entirely different now from our frantic ride here, and there's no fear now.
Only sweet and breathless anticipation for more.
“Would you like to visit my home for a cup of cider, Catherine?” he whispers into my hair.
“I'd love to.” I smile to myself, leaning back against him as he kisses my head.