A Curse of Forever

  A Curse of Forever

  Tessa McFionn

  Copyright © 2021 by Tessa McFionn

  Cover art by Dani Smith

  Editing by Kimberly Grenfell

  All rights reserved.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are fictitious or have been used fictitiously, and are not to be construed as real in any way. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  HAVE YOU MET THE GUARDIANS YET?

  Author’s Notes

  Never miss a new release or sale!

  About the Author

  Also by Tessa McFionn

  For those alone in the fortress of their own creation, never lose hope that your other half will slip in on a moonlit night and hold your heart as their own…

  * * *

  for love appears when it’s least expected.

  Acknowledgments

  A couple years back, I was asked to write a "small town romance." Me? Write something cozy and warm and fuzzy?

  * * *

  Needless to say, I was hesitant to say the least. My mind strayed into the land of Hallmark movies or Murder, She Wrote and it scared me a little. I know, I know. Me, scared.

  * * *

  But I said yes, and stepped outside my element. Moved out of the shadows and into the light, so to speak. In that moment, Nathaniel was born and it has been a fun ride telling his story. Now it’s time to share his tale with the world.

  * * *

  I’d like to give a huge shoutout to my beta readers; Elma, Ri, Mary-Anne, and Mary Max. Thank you for the late night reads and my constant nagging about "does this sound right?"

  * * *

  Thank you to my amazing editor, Kimberly, for never getting frustrated with my half-finished sentences when I changed directions in the middle of a thought. To my cover designer extraordinaire, Dani. Where would I be without your incredibly talented mind and your mad skills in deciphering my unartistic ramblings and creating works of art!

  * * *

  A giant thank you goes out to my family and friends who continue to support my dreams and never let me give up. To my loving husband, Sean, who makes sure I remember to eat when I’m eyeball deep in words.

  * * *

  And finally, to you, Mom. Thank you for believing in my words and stories even when I wasn’t so sure. I miss you every day and hope you and Dad are proud of me as you look on from the Other Side.

  Chapter 1

  Lanchester, Rhode Island

  October 1996

  * * *

  “Back when the Pilgrims first crossed the seas, long before the states even had names, witches called on dark magicks in the light of the full moon. And it was on one of these nights that our story begins. For it was then, when Nathaniel Myles Fairfax sealed his fate.”

  Alastair Thornton paused for theatrical effect, his bald head swinging round to pin Laurel Holgrave and her younger sister, Carolyn, with a piercing stare behind rectangular glasses.

  Laurel sighed loudly, rolling her eyes. She’d first heard her grandfather’s story when she was four. Now, as a mature eight-year-old, she knew better than to believe the local legends. But this was Carolyn’s first hearing of the tale, and by her four-year-old sister’s wide blue eyes, Laurel could tell she was lost in the make believe.

  “Grampa,” Laurel groaned. “Can’t you tell us a new story?”

  Alastair chuckled, patting Laurel on the knee. “Now, Laur. Let Carolyn hear the legend. Just because you’ve heard it before, don’t mean it can’t be told again.”

  Laurel huffed, exasperated, and dropped her chin onto her knuckles. The leaves were just beginning to slip into their golden fall attire. The air was crisp with the scent of ripe apples kissed by the salty ocean breeze and the oaky campfire warming her toes. Beyond the orange glow sat nothing but pitch black.

  Laurel had never been afraid of the shadows. Her grandfather always spun wild tales, but all of it was just pretend and made-up stuff. Witches and ghosts and magic? None of that really existed. She knew better than to believe in all that silliness. She had first heard the story when she was three and a half, and her mom had still insisted that Carolyn was old enough for her first camping trip. So, Laurel tugged tighter on her purple fleece jacket and prepared for yet another telling of the tale of the Black Bay Lighthouse ghost.

  “Back in 1693, Nathaniel Fairfax was a fisherman around these parts. Like many of the men who made New England their home, he was a decent, God-fearing Christian who went to church every Sunday.” Alastair paused, turning a gimlet stare to Laurel, who refrained from a second groaning eye roll. His disappointment was evident, and she wisely chose to keep an open mind and a closed mouth. Certain his point was made, he returned to his tale. “He was well respected by his community, his trawler always bringing in more than enough for him and the whole township. It was his hands that helped to raise the lighthouse just beyond this campsite, and as all decent folk did in that day, he looked for a goodly wife so he could father his sons and carry on his name.”

  “Ewww,” Laurel said. “Why would anyone want to do that?”

  A strange smile warmed her grandfather’s face. “Don’t discount the power and magic of love, Little Bean. People will do all sorts of things, if they love another person.”

  He took a long sip from his cooling cup of cider, and Laurel stared at him, wondering if he would continue. She thought she knew all of her grandfather’s tricks; the weird grin was new.

  Carolyn, oblivious as always, was more interested in the rest of the tale. Her baby sister’s blonde curls bounced as she leaned in closer. “Then what happened, Grampa?”

  Laurel picked up a stick to doodle in the dirt at her feet. Her cider had long since disappeared, and until her grandfather had reached the end of the story, no more would appear in her Styrofoam cup.

  Setting down his empty drink, Alastair also leaned in, the glow of the fire casting eerie shadows on his forehead. “It seemed that Nathaniel had fallen for Elizabeth Abigail Warner, a beautiful, dark-haired woman with eyes as blue as a robin’s egg, and he paraded around the town, wearing her on his arm with great pride. But he had been deceived; tricked by her practiced charms. When he passed the women of the community who whispered behind his back of Elizabeth and her dealings with the devil, he didn’t listen. He believed they were simply jealous since they had not caught his eye, and after a respectable courtship, he was ready to declare his love for Elizabeth and ask her to marry him.

  “Now, back in those days, keeping the fires alight in the lighthouse tower to warn passing ships of the rocky coast was the job of the whole town. Every night, another man would climb the winding staircase to the top and stand watch. It was on one of these nights, when Nathaniel Fairfax had paced along the catwalk and witnessed a most unholy scene.”

  The fire popped, and Carolyn squeaked, causing Laurel to nearly jump out of her skin. Embarrassed, Laurel tried to scoot closer to the tent, but the biting sting of her sister’s grip on her arm kept her in place. She was not going to get caught up in her grandfather’s silly tale. Ghost stories were for babies, and
she wasn’t a baby anymore. She glared at Carolyn’s profile, an action lost on her engrossed sister’s cheek.

  “What did he see?” Carolyn asked, her voice soft and breathy.

  “First,” said Alistair, “he heard noises coming from just outside the lighthouse.” Her grandfather rose slowly to his feet. “So, he stepped back inside the tower, and there, at its base, was his Elizabeth, in the arms of another.”

  Carolyn gasped and edged in.

  “But,” he continued, “it wasn’t just another man, for you see, all of the women in the town were correct: Elizabeth was a witch in league with none other than Satan himself, and poor Nathaniel had paid the ultimate price for his interruption of their embrace. Angered, Elizabeth cast a dark spell upon Nathaniel, cursing him for all eternity to stand watch over the world. Never could he leave the walls of the lighthouse.” As he’d spoken, he’d walked around the fire and, stopping after one full trip, he leaned in to finish with: “It’s said, that on nights just like this one, if you look at the gallery deck in the moon’s glow, you can still make out the shadow of Nathaniel Fairfax.”

  He thrust his finger at the white wooden tower as the focused tunnel of light swung in their direction. Off in the distance, a roll of thunder and a crack of lightning streaking across the dark sky broke the silence. Carolyn screamed in surprise, wrapping her arms tight around Laurel’s neck.

  “Grampa,” Laurel whined. “Now she’s not gonna fall asleep forever.” And she squirmed, attempting to slip from her little sister’s death grip.

  Alastair laughed, sat down, and scooped both girls onto his lap. “Oh, it’s all right, Little Bean.” He kissed her cheek, ruffled her hair with a grin, then peeled Carolyn off of her side to rock her. “It’s only a little thunder, honey. But that does mean a storm might be coming in soon. So, what say we get inside our tent before we get all wet, huh?” He kissed Carolyn on the cheek and her sister was now using her grandfather as a squeeze toy. Fine by her.

  Laurel crawled off of his lap, gathered up their snack trash, and tossed their dead s’more sticks into the fading embers. As she stared into the dancing flames, she wondered what would it be like to live in that lighthouse forever. No one telling you what to do, what time to go to bed. Probably could eat chocolate ice cream for breakfast if you wanted to.

  Her thought spun fantastical tales, both good and bad, until the failing fire eventually devoured the sticky skewers, and it was time for bed. Carolyn and her grandfather had disappeared into the big tent, while Laurel covered the last flickers with sand. Soon, the silence of the night kick-started her dormant imagination, and she poked the fire pit with a bit more gusto. Then, satisfied things were out, she turned her attention to the rest of their campsite.

  As she stacked their empty cups, Laurel felt her gaze being drawn over her shoulder, toward the solitary tower on the nearby cliffs where, within the circle of light from the swinging beam, it was easy to find shadows along the widow’s walk.

  But she didn’t believe in ghost stories. Only babies believe that stuff.

  “You get everything all cleared up, Little Bean?”

  Laurel squeaked and snapped her gaze toward the disembodied head floating in the middle of the tent’s zippered opening. “Yes, Grampa.” She didn’t want to admit he’d scared her, but she was pretty certain her undignified squeal had done that for her.

  “Well, hurry on in, kiddo. Don’t want some spirit to snatch you up.” He wiggled his thick eyebrows, making those gray caterpillars dance, and Laurel rolled her eyes, the joke having been heard a time too many. The old man chuckled and slid down the metal pull. “Well, I don’t want you dragging your wet feet inside my nice warm tent, how about that?”

  Laurel cast a final glance at the dying fire, then at the beacon tower, before she nodded. A distant shape flickered on the high walkway as waves crashed furiously against the shore, and lightning streaked across the black sky. She picked up her pace, practically diving into the tent.

  Safe within the confines of the nylon dome, Laurel kicked off her damp boots and crawled to her spot. Carolyn had sprawled out, taking up half of the cozy interior, forcing Laurel to scoot her sleeping bag closer to the thin wall. A few squirms later, she was as snug as she could be.

  Though curiosity still tapped at her brain, exhaustion was seriously winning the battle. Her grandfather shuffled to his sleeping bag and, leaning over, kissed her on the forehead.

  “Grampa?” she mumbled sleepily.

  “Yes?” he whispered, his whiskery chin tickling her cheek.

  “Why would anyone do something so stupid as all that?” She fought to keep her eyes open, her grandfather’s face blurring as she succumbed to slumber.

  “Do you mean fall in love, or curse someone?”

  “I dunno…. Both, I guess.” Everything had slurred together into one sloppy word, and a light chuckle just above her head followed her into dreamland.

  “Get some rest, Little Bean. Tomorrow’s another day to solve the mysteries of the world,” he said, a nightly mantra that soothed her as sleep pulled her under.

  * * *

  The heavy smell of burning wood crept into her dreams a moment before a firm shake dragged her awake.

  “Laurel? Come on, Little Bean. Get up! We need to get you out.”

  She cracked open her eyes, coughing in the thickening smoke, and waved her hand in front of her face, peering up at her grandfather as she crawled outside. Sirens wailed in the cold night and red lights pulsed in the black plumes as they climbed up the lighthouse’s facade. Firefighters decked out in their yellow suits called out orders and sprayed thick jets of water onto the smoldering base.

  Frantic, Laurel glanced around, searching for her little sister. “Carolyn?” she choked out, and she cupped her hands around her mouth, cleared her throat, and called out again. Peering through the haze, she spied the familiar blonde curls in the back seat of a police car and she made to rush toward the vehicle. A gentle tug on her arm halted her progress.

  “She’s gonna be okay, Little Bean,” said her grandfather. “Let’s just wait here until—”

  “Laurel!”

  She jerked her gaze over her shoulder as her mother and … Mark stormed onto the scene. Things must have been bad if her mom had brought her newest boyfriend. Laurel frowned. Honestly, she’d rather stay with her grandfather than deal with another pretend father. Laurel glared at the pair as her mom tottered over in her high heels, tugging down the rough hem of her short denim skirt.

  Why can’t I have normal parents like other people?

  Her mom’s long, bright-red nails wrapped around her wrist and yanked her away from the shelter of her grandfather’s embrace, and Laurel huffed in annoyance.

  “Dammit, Dad. How many times have I told you not to tell those damned ghost stories?” Her mother stumbled, gaze roaming the area for her other daughter.

  Alastair frowned. “Now, hold on, Janice. I’ve been telling Little Bean those stories for years and—”

  “She’s not Carolyn. Laurel is the strong one. You know how fragile Carrie is.”

  Laurel turned her attention away from their typical fight to stare at her sister, who looked so small in the back of the huge police car. But even at this distance, she could see Carolyn’s big blue eyes. Funny, she never realized her sister’s eyes were so round.

  Slipping free of her mother’s loose grip, Laurel crept over to the parked black-and-white. With the fire contained, her sister now stared off into nothing, the steel gray blanket nearly swallowing her from head to toe, and Laurel slunk closer, avoiding the policemen and firemen still wandering around. As soon as the officer watching Carolyn had stepped away, she covered the final distance to kneel before her little sister.

  “Carrie? What happened?”

  She really wanted to ask her “why” instead, but her mother had warned her against any confrontations; if she ever asked her sister a direct question, Carolyn would get angry and attack, or she would cry so pitifully. Laurel
, on the other hand, prided herself on her resilience, her ability to face any challenge. There were times, though, when she wished someone would let her off the hook every now and then.

  No one ever lets me get away with things. Why is she so special?

  Laurel kept her thoughts to herself, waiting for some reply from her sister. “What did you do?”

  Carolyn’s mouth moved, and Laurel leaned closer to hear her whispered words.

  “Must stop the bad man. Must stop the bad man. Must…”

  Over and over, she repeated this, and Laurel sat back on her heels, confused. Carolyn lifted her skinny arm to point one trembling finger toward the top of the lighthouse, and Laurel peered over her shoulder at the swiveling bright beam alone in the lingering smoke. She squinted farther into the night and even thought she glimpsed a solitary shadow. But after a blink, it had vanished.

  “I know you can’t arrest my daughter. She’s only a child, for God’s sake.” Her mother had stormed over to confront the officers, and Laurel used the opportunity to dash back behind her grandfather.

  “It’s okay, Grampa.” She patted his wrinkled hand, then held it tight. Her shelter was short-lived, though, her mother covering the distance with determined strides.

  “How could you, Dad?” She yanked Laurel away from him. “This is the last straw.”