Adversity (Cursed #2.5) Read online

  The door swung open, and Ger strolled in, grinning at me. “You look like shit.”

  “Thanks,” I said weakly.

  “Is it Ana or Mia?” she asked in a curious tone of voice.

  “What?” It took me a few seconds to understand she thought I had an eating disorder. “Oh. Neither. I’m coming down with a bug or something. I’ve had a headache all morning.”

  “Well, your clothes are hanging off you.”

  I stood and stared at myself in the mirror. I was looking pretty thin. My cheeks had hollowed out, and my collarbone was a little… dramatic.

  “I swear,” I said, “I eat.”

  Ger checked out her lip gloss in the mirror and apparently decided it needed topping up. “I believe you. I was just wondering. The headache thing, though. My aunt gets migraines. She throws up every single time. Says the pain’s worse than childbirth. And you looked like you were in serious pain earlier. Plus the lights in the lab are pretty killer. That’s why I thought I should check if you were okay when you disappeared in the hallway.”

  “Yeah.” I shrugged and tried to smile, my reflection scaring me now that I really paid attention. “It’s probably a migraine.”

  “Wanna get to class? Or go to the office to see if you can wrangle a painkiller?”

  “Tried that the other day. No go. No pills for the kiddies.” I smiled, which felt weird, as if the skin on my face was pulled too tight.

  “Yeah, they suck.” She made a face before turning to look at me, slipping her lip gloss back into her shirt pocket. “Hey, sorry about your grandmother, by the way. I heard she died abroad. That really sucks.” Her voice softened.

  My breath hitched in my throat. “Thanks. I should probably go to the office anyway. Just in case. Hope you don’t get in trouble for being late to class.”

  She grinned, her face lighting up. “I’ll take you. Say I couldn’t leave you vomiting in the hallways. Come on.”

  She linked arms with me and pulled me after her, pointing out students in the photographs that adorned the walls so she could tell me bits of information about them. By the time we reached the office at the other side of the school, the headache had eased, the nausea had completely dissipated, and I was feeling a lot better.

  ***

  Kali

  A kick in her back from her father’s booted foot woke her. Wishing she could swear at him, she held her tongue until he told her what he wanted.

  “Go and prove yourself,” was all he said.

  “We’ve barely settled in here. I don’t even know where to go,” she protested.

  “I’ll take her,” Drina said, approaching her father warily. She might be married, but he could still be heavy with his hands if no one watched. Without a word, he walked away, and Kali sent hateful glares at his back.

  Drina laid a hand on Kali’s arm. “Don’t provoke him.”

  “Why? Why shouldn’t I? He deserves it after everything he’s done.”

  “Because you’ll be the one who gets hurt. And who are we to say who deserves to be punished? You’re the one who has always told me that.”

  “I know. But the blackness of his heart blinds me from what’s right. He’s a constant shadow over me.”

  “Hush. We’ll walk in the sun today. No more talk of shadows. I’ll get the baby ready, and we’ll leave as soon as you’ve eaten.”

  Grateful for the company, the old companionship of sisterly love, and the chance to get to know her niece, Kali hurried to prepare for the day. The multiple layers of skirts made the heat harder to bear, but she took some cooling herbs to chew on. The talisman in her putsi would keep her spirits up.

  The sun had barely risen by the time they left camp. The journey to the nearest village was longer than she liked, but her people knew well that they were accepted by the gaje as long as they camped a reasonable distance away. Gypsy goods and services were valuable enough, but neither would be tolerated for too long.

  Jaelle, Drina’s toddler, snuggled against her aunt’s shoulder as if Kali wasn’t a stranger to her. Kali held the child tight, feeling a kinship that overwhelmed her. She had always been close to Drina growing up—no wonder she should be filled with love for her sister’s daughter.

  They had been apart for three years, and that was far too long. Perhaps staying with Drina’s new family was best.

  “Are there any decent young men, then?” she asked, fluttering her eyelashes.

  Drina squealed, immediately brightening. “My husband’s older brother lost his wife a year ago.”

  “I did say young.”

  Drina made a face. “Oh, don’t. Stay with me, Kali. I’m lonely without you. The other women won’t accept me. They don’t trust papa.”

  “Do you blame them?” Kali saw the hurt in Drina’s eyes. “But I’ll do whatever it takes to stay with you.”

  They held hands as the sun bore down making the air feel wretchedly close. They passed by wide fields of gold, where the wheat grew tall. Harvest time was approaching. The sun relentlessly reflected off the surface of the distant lake.

  Between half-closed lids Kali thought she spied dark spirits in the distance. Blinking a couple of times, she saw nothing where she knew she’d seen a shadow. She sensed her time was most certainly running out.

  “What’s wrong?” Drina asked. “You’re shaking.”

  Shifting Jaelle into a more comfortable position, Kali shook her head. “I see the shadows, Drina. They’re coming for me. I told you, he’s black inside, and he’s made me the same way. I can’t escape it.”

  “Kali, you make no sense! There’s no darkness in you. You’re the one. The white mother. You’ll protect us from the darkness. Your children will grow up to be white wolves and send the shadows away for good. Don’t torture yourself with your fantasies.”

  Kali sucked in deep, healing breaths. The panic attacks were coming more frequently, and though she hid them as best she could, something about the trails they travelled provoked her fears.

  Perhaps the length of the journey tired her into confusion, or the heat addled her brain, but she sensed malevolence in the air, as if many terrible things had happened on the dried dirt paths upon which they walked. She felt she could never escape what her father had done to bring her into the world.

  The atmosphere changed; she could sense Drina’s apprehension of her sudden shift in mood. Her own sister didn’t trust her, not really, of that Kali was certain, and she wished she could have gone to the village alone. But Drina was well known. She could round up the right people and entice the believers into passing over payment.

  Jaelle had huge, black eyes that overshadowed her heart-shaped face. Her dark curls, her lips that smiled more often than not, and her ingrained need to please, made her a gift of a different kind. She had the sort of face people liked to see, a face that people rewarded. Drina and Jaelle were of much greater value than Kali because they brought home more, but Jaelle was growing swiftly, losing that baby adorableness that the gaje seemed to go weak for.

  As she and her sister approached the village, Kali’s nervousness grew ever stronger. Something tried to push her away, to refuse her passage, but she ignored it. Her instincts warned her to avoid the village, but she needed her sister. She also needed to be useful enough to win a place at her camp. She would push past imagined dark omens in order to please her sister.

  “Wait.” Drina pinched her daughter’s cheeks, flooding the sallow skin with red. “It’s time, baby. Time to smile for the people.”

  “This is so wrong.”

  “But necessary,” Drina said firmly before pinching Kali’s cheeks as well. “It’s a strange village, sister. The people are overly familiar one day and cruel the next. Be aware, and watch your tongue. Keep yourself out of trouble, and give them what they want.”

  She gazed into Kali’s eyes. “Stay with me.” The words held weight, and the meaning held depth. Kali knew she couldn’t refuse her sister.

  They strolled in, side by side. A few w
atched their entrance with interest, but many cold stares fell upon Kali, chilling her.

  “Most of the homes are on the outskirts and beyond the village. There are some grain farms and orchards, but most of the men work on farms belonging to another. Being mostly poor, they hate anyone who owns anything. Many of the women gather in the centre of the village to buy and sell goods; others come to gossip only. They are the ones to watch.”

  Drina herself was charming, and she managed to find a couple of older ladies eager to hear their fortunes before the midday sun did its worst. The younger ones, girls closer to Kali’s age mostly, tended to be secretive about their desire and curiosity. Drina had learned a lot about the villagers in the months she had lived at the camp, and she knew enough to forewarn her younger sister. Kali didn’t often need her warnings, though, for she knew enough—too much, really—whether she wanted to or not.

  The Ukrainian summer was sticky and humid that year. Kali had been all over Europe, particularly Eastern Europe, for the last two years. She was tired of moving, though the nomadic lifestyle was in her blood. Her people were driven to wander, but an unspoken desire to settle down had been stirring within her of late. She wanted to get used to a place before she moved on to the next one. Life without her sisters had been lonely, and she’d hoped her father would finally leave her in a camp one of her sisters belonged to. As long as she got away from him, she didn’t care which one, but if she had the chance to pick a sister, she’d choose Drina without hesitation.

  Kali told fortunes while Drina sold pieces of cheap jewellery, and as outsiders, she and Kali had to set up their wares far from the village centre, where ruddy-faced women haggled over prices. Slowly, ever so slowly, however, the curious made their way over to Drina and Kali, and most of them made a show of cooing over Jaelle before they finally succumbed to their curiosity about their futures.

  The fortune telling went as usual. Some wanted cards; others requested palms. Kali disliked reading palms, because the act was too personal, too many dizzying images flashed at once. With the tarot cards, she could take her time and make up a pretty story to shroud the truth. Her dream was to scry into a crystal ball. She wanted her own home to gaze in. The women would come to her for a change, and that would be her money-maker. People always asked about the crystal balls, but there was no beauty in scrying on the side of a dusty track.

  Her own people took little interest in the future, but the gaje women went wild for it. They begged for more tidbits, over and over again, until eventually they were unable to make a decision without consulting her first. They would follow her to the camp to ask more questions, personal questions about themselves, which always disturbed Kali. Finally, the women would become obsessed with her and grow dependent on her words.

  The darkness in her blood called to them, enticed and tempted them, lured them in with false promises. She could feel the temptation in her fingertips ensnare the questioning women, making them want more, which gave Kali far too many premonitions to sort through.

  The premonitions themselves gave her headaches. Some were vague and easy to deal with, but occasionally, the glimpse of the person’s future—and past—was too much to handle and weakened her, drawing from her strength. She had no idea how to control the suffocating imagery, the intensity of emotions, the longing and desperation that crawled under her skin. She would do anything to reject her gift and pass on the burden to another.

  She saw plenty of wrongdoing, and though some of it was harmless, she felt forced to distance people from herself, for her own peace of mind. Her father’s blows were more than the infliction of physical pain; he intended her to see his past and the things he had done—the reasons she shouldn’t exist. He wanted her to suffer the guilt of his sins.

  The visions had started early for Kali; far too early for her young mind to process properly, she had discovered the innermost thoughts and desires of those old enough to be corrupted. She had come to the conclusion that most people were like her father, who was after the most gain from the least work. Some, though, managed to surprise her. Drina’s purity sometimes caught Kali’s breath.

  The swiftly growing line of giggling women moved quickly as Kali got down to work. Sweat trickled down her back as she sat on a stool without shelter from the sun while Drina drifted back and forth with Jaelle in her arms, sometimes cajoling villagers into making a purchase. Kali sat far away from the disapproving older men of the village, but close enough for the groups of women to dawdle without looking as though they were part of the line. The first day the women would be shy, almost embarrassed by their interest, but by the time Kali was ready to leave, their cackles would erupt as they joked together about their fortunes. Kali knew the laughter covered true desperation, for each woman longed to be told how her heart’s desire would be handed to her on a golden plate.

  Kali was a hard worker, but telling fortunes physically drained her, and she was glad when the queue dwindled down to the last few. Drina, her wares long gone, had wandered off to feed herself and Jaelle.

  Kali eavesdropped on a couple of women while she pretended to study the cards. Respond too quickly, and the process lost its magic, at least in the eyes of her customers. She had learned that the hard way. If the answers came immediately to Kali, or not at all, the women wouldn’t know. They wanted the show and their money’s worth.

  The women were giggling about the last one in the queue, a sour-looking woman in her thirties. She was plain, and her eyes held bitterness, for all to see.

  “She would lay with anyone, and still no sign,” one whispered, her joy in another’s misfortune twisting her face into a picture of pure ugliness.

  “That poor boy,” another replied, too loudly. “Henpecked by an old, wrinkled whore. I hope her fortune keeps her warm at night.”

  The lone woman’s shoulders tensed, and Kali pitied her. When the name-caller took her turn, Kali delighted in giving her bad news.

  “There is darkness of your own making on the horizon. However you treat others will be returned to you tenfold,” she said softly, watching the woman’s hands tighten into claws. “One bad word from you will lead to one terrible year for you. But, of course, you would never—”

  “Of course not,” the woman replied huffily, but she left in a hurry and completely avoided the lone woman.

  The embittered woman sat down, her eyes staring keenly at Kali. “Will I get the truth?”

  “If that’s what you wish,” Kali replied, liking the woman’s frank question.

  “Can you tell me my future?”

  “Perhaps.”

  The woman placed a coin on the makeshift table. “Tell me what you see.” She held out her palm, and Kali took it reluctantly, flinching as the first wave of emotion hit her. So much pain and bitterness. She tasted a rancid coating of resentment on the tip of her tongue, and the thudding began behind her eyes.

  Smothering a gasp, Kali nodded slowly. “You’re unhappy.”

  A cold laugh. “Anyone could tell me that.”

  “Loveless,” Kali said softly. “You don’t love your husband.”

  “He loves me less,” she said. “Forced into marrying an old, barren woman when he should be running around after all of the young fruit who cry out for a man.” She wrinkled her nose. “But I already know my present. What’s in my future? Is there… is there a child for me? Or is it too late?”

  Kali closed her eyes and breathed deeply. A child. Dark-haired and dark-eyed. Not this woman’s blood, but a love between them all the same. Her eyes flew open in confusion. The child resembled Jaelle. How…?

  “Do you want the truth or a lie?” she asked, deadly serious.

  The woman leaned over. “I can handle the truth. It’s the false hope that will kill me.”

  “You won’t bear a child. But you will have a child to love.”

  “What riddle is this? What does it mean?”

  “It means I see you as a mother, but you’ve a barren womb.”

  “Perhaps m
y actions change things. Perhaps you can help me. You can make fertility potions, can’t you? My cousin, she lives four villages away, said a gypsy witch gave her a special drink, and she was pregnant by the next season. Was it you?”

  Kali shook her head, suddenly catching the aroma of a stew in the air. Her stomach rumbled and her head pounded. She needed to leave, to eat, and to wash away all of the expectations of the villagers. “It wasn’t me. All I can tell you is that many women are lucky under the waning moon. Lay with your husband then.”

  Kali might be gone by the time the woman discovered her infertility couldn’t be cured by the tides of the moon. Either way, Kali wanted the needy woman to leave before she drowned in her own pity. Some of them took the future so seriously, as if they couldn’t enjoy today without knowing for certain what tomorrow would bring. Their blindness to the truth disturbed her greatly. They couldn’t see that their obsession with their future didn’t bring them an ounce of happiness. Kali often wondered why she had been born with the gift, when she never wanted to see even an hour ahead.

  Drina led the way home, rubbing her belly and humming to herself, while Kali carried Jaelle, feeling the full weight of the sleeping child on her shoulder. Why had she seen the woman with a child like Jaelle? Was the woman going to steal Drina’s baby? She could warn her sister, but Drina would not listen to signs of the future. She was more than happy in the here and now and could forget even her husband’s fists as soon as they stopped striking her.

  “Why are you so quiet?” Drina inquired.

  “One of the women… I saw her with a child. A child resembling Jaelle.”