The Curse - Book 1 (Completed)

Chapter 11: The Secret

​"I hope you've learned your lesson, Scarlett," Leeroy says, invoking a brown, rusty bag with his palm. He places the whip in it.

​Sophia is lying on the ground, crumbled. Her back is cut open in wounds, and covered in sticky, dark red blood.

​"I don't hear you," he says louder, demanding an answer.

​"Yes, sir," Sophie says determinedly, "I did." She lets a quiet sigh of relief, realizing the torture is done, and she lifts herself to her feet, her eyes blankly gazing into the medieval painting on the wall. Its frame is gilded and fat, with orbicular bulges. It looks like it belongs to the Louvre, not a Salem family home. The mansion of pain and punishment.
​
He follows her glance in disinterest, simultaneously putting his belt back on. "Hmm... I do hope this painting gives you inspiration," he lifts his eyebrow. "I will not forgive you for this easily, Scarlett," he takes a step forward and grabs her chin. He pierces her with his eyes for a couple of seconds, then hisses clearly, "I am very...very disappointed in you."

​ Then he abruptly lets her go, and leaves upstairs. "Clean the floor before you leave," he yells nonchalantly, without turning back.

​"Yes, sir," she replies in a plain voice, still staring at the painting. It has two people in it. A child, and somebody who resembles a father. They are in the woods. The father is kneeling on red soil, clutching the child in one hand, and a sword, half sunk in the ground, in another. It is not clear if the man is trying to pull it out and fight, or if he thrust it in, refusing to go to war. One thing is clear, nonetheless. He is protecting the child. Whoever that child is to him. Just as Leeroy has always protected her.

She takes a deep breath and turns to rinse the blood off the white marble floor.

#

​Christopher hears laughter as he and his sister enter the house. He knows his mom is with a client. She is probably performing a palm-reading. How is it possible that never, not for a second, a thought of his mother being a real pythoness ran through his mind? He wonders if his sister ever dwelled on it.

​He has to let the thought go as Victoria whimpers inside.

​"You look like crap," he whispers, concerned.

​"You always forget we're twins," she gestures at her body and grins dryly, "Mirror, my brother. Mirror."
​
He slips a smile and shakes his head. Victoria never takes a situation too seriously to be unable to joke about it.

​"I'll talk to her, you keep your mouth shut," she whispers.

​He frowns. "Who made you the brains?"

​"If I'm the muscle, where does that leave you?" she twists her lips instead of shrugging and walks into the living area before he can stop her. "Hey, mom, we're home!"

​Yasmine turns with a wide smile on her face, and as it loses all humor, it stays frozen on her face. She drops the cards out of her hands and her client yells, "Death! You've just dropped a death card!"

​Yasmine ignores him. She slowly raises up, her face pale. "Sweet corn...what happened to you two?"

​Victoria and Christopher exchange looks. Corn? Chris mouths.

​Victoria suppresses a smile, "We should've realized a long time ago..."

​"Are you two joking about my vocabulary?" Yasmine is dead serious. "What on earth happened to you? I demand explanations," she crosses her hands.

​The client, a man in his 60s finally lifts his head up to stare at them. His eyebrows furrow and he fixes his glasses to see better. The crease on his forehead deepens. "Dear God!" he whispers.

​Yasmine rolls her eyes. "Please, Matthew... Don't use that word here..." she turns back to her children.

Victoria's jeans are cut on both knees and smeared in blood. Her hair is astray and dirty, her shirt ripped below her ribs.

​She moves her eyes to Christopher. He straightens up and tries to cover an open wound on his palm by placing it in his jeans pocket. It hurts when the material grazes it. He flinches and she notices he has a cut lip, a possibly broken nose, and is missing a sneaker. She shakes her head in disbelief.

​As she approaches them, both of them flinch. She grabs Chris' chin, and flattens her mouth into a thin line. "This lip hasn't even healed properly before you cut it open again!"

​Chris looks down, ashamed. This is all his fault. He never should've dragged Victoria in all this. His mother suspects nothing. She must think they got in a regular fight. Should they tell her the truth? Would it freak her out or could she offer them explanations?
​Victoria swallows hard as her mother inspects her thoroughly. "How many times did I tell you you weren't born with a carrot between your legs?" she gives her an admonishing look. "Did you fight to protect your brother?"

​Christopher presses his lips to stifle a giggle, but a sound of contained laughter escapes his throat. Victoria jerks her head toward him and angrily pins him in the ribs.

​He gasps in pain.

​"Who's the girl now?" she nods satisfactory. Until she sees her mother's expression.

​"You two think this is funny?"

​Chris straightens up and shakes his head seriously. "By no means, Mom. We really have to have a word with you."

​Yasmine sharpens her gaze. She looks as if something's just crossed her mind, and the thought startles her. She swallows hard, "Of course. I'll get rid of the client," she says.

​Chris and Victoria exchange surprised looks. It is not like Yasmine to talk like that.

​"Hey, I can hear you," the old man says, "We're not done yet, Yasmine. You've just dropped a death card on the table. I can't go home knowing that. I won't be able to fall asleep."

​Yasmine purses her lips. "If you don't leave this instant, I guarantee you your tonight's insomnia will be your last."

​The man carefully lifts his chin up. "As if you'll give me a cure for insomnia?" he hesitantly asks.

​"Yes! A cure called death!" she shouts, irritated. "Get out!"​

​The man bolts upright, shocked. "Yasmine..." he bends down to collect his umbrella of the floor, serving him the purpose of a cane, "there is no need for that," he says rushing to the door backwards, "I'll be on my way."

​He stops as he hits the wall with his back, and searches for the knob with his palm, not leaving Yasmine's eyes. "Please don't hex me," he squirms as pulls the door open.

​"Out!" she yells pushing him out with her left arm. She shuts the door closed before he is at safe distance and shoots toward her children.

They are bleeding from virtually every part of their body that could bleed.

"You've met them, haven't you?" she asks, her eyes filling up with tears of horror.