Chailali’s Curse Read online

  Chailali’s Curse

  By

  Anna Leigh Keaton

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Chailali’s Curse

  Copyright© 2007 Anna Leigh Keaton

  ISBN: 978-1-60088-179-4

  Cover Artist: Emma Petersen

  Editor: Melissa Darnell

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  Cobblestone Press, LLC

  www.cobblestone-press.com

  Prologue

  John ran his hand down Brandy’s side, feeling her shiver, knowing that his time had finally come to claim her as his own. He’d waited a lifetime for her, and now she was finally in his arms, naked, writhing with a need that equaled his own.

  Hot flesh against hot, sweaty flesh. His cock throbbed. His balls ached. Brandy moaned and begged, “Please, John. Fuck me.”

  His blood heated to a boil, and he covered her, spreading her legs with his and slipping between to prod at her hot, slick opening. “Say it again, Brandy. Tell me what you want.” He needed to hear it. Needed to know he was the only one. Tomorrow it might all end. The murderer on their trail would never relent until he killed or they killed him.

  “You,” she cried as she raised her hips and took him into her depths. “You, John. Only you.”

  Chailali perched on the window seat and listened to Michael Hanson’s computer program as it read back the words he’d just typed. The voice was mechanic and monotone, but Chailali couldn’t tear herself away from the magical, frightening, passionate story Michael weaved.

  In this one, like so many, the hero and heroine were on the run from a psychopathic killer. He wanted to kill the couple because he thought they’d seen something they really hadn’t.

  Michael’s stories always made her cry. The hero and heroine would fight and struggle and claw their way through the plot until finally, at the end, they’d have the showdown with the bad man. They always won the battle but, in the process, the heroine inevitably died.

  Every time.

  And Chailali would weep for Michael who couldn’t, even after ten years, let go of his own wife’s memory enough to move on. The accident, which had taken most of his eyesight and scarred his flesh, also took his beloved Caryn. Though his skin had healed, his heart never had.

  Chailali had sat here on this window seat for ten years, watching and listening to him become an award-winning author as he hid himself from the world, only meeting with his agent once every three months to pass on a new, completed manuscript.

  Michael took no joy in his work.

  Chailali, being an earthbound spirit without a corporeal body, could do nothing to help him. She only prayed he could sense her presence and took some comfort in it. She hoped he experienced a bit of peace knowing he wasn’t completely alone. Yet, only a few others she’d come across in her two-hundred-plus years stuck in limbo here in Moonlight Cove had.

  Chapter One

  “Come on, sis. You know this is what you need to do.”

  Christy Smythe stared at the three-story monstrosity set on a cliff overlooking the rocky shores of Moonlight Cove, Oregon. “I don’t know...”

  Beth sighed and shoved her door open. The wind grabbed it and banged it shut once more. Christy took it as a sign she shouldn’t go in.

  What a perfect setting for a horror movie. The cedar siding was old and faded to gray, perfectly matching the angry sky overhead. The porch looked as if it might fall off if they stepped onto it.

  “Okay, sis,” Beth said with a sigh. “I didn’t want to get this way, but you’ve forced my hand.”

  Christy turned toward her sister with a frown. “What are you talking about?”

  “You can’t come home with me.”

  Christy’s mouth dropped open on a gasp. “You’re kicking me out?”

  Beth nodded. “You’re thirty-five years old, and it’s time you...”

  Tears burned Christy’s eyes and made her nose itch.

  “I love you, Chris, but you’re not going to hide in our house any longer. Roger agrees with me on this.”

  Beth’s husband, Roger, had been so sweet when she went to live with them. He’d always been sweet. Treated her like a real little sister. “I can’t believe you’d do this,” she said, her voice little more than a strained whisper. “What if it doesn’t work out here? What if... What if he fires me or something? Then where am I supposed to go? The doctors—”

  “The doctors say the next step in your recovery is to get your butt back out in the real world. It’s been almost two years, Christy! It’s time to move on. Get over it.”

  Christy flinched. Her sister acted as if she didn’t try to move on. She did.

  Beth reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a pill bottle. “These are anxiety pills from Doctor Mackey.”

  She opened her mouth to argue about taking drugs, but Beth cut her off.

  “I know you don’t like the way they make you feel, but you have to do something. You cannot—will not—be welcome back into our house until you’ve straightened yourself out.” She pressed the pill bottle into Christy’s hand. “I love you, sis. You know that. But Roger and I agree that it’s time for some tough love.”

  The pain and betrayal cut Christy to the quick. She stared at her sister, feeling as though she didn’t know the woman anymore. “So you banish me to this little town and thrust me on some poor blind guy. Thanks, sis. Appreciate the help.” She turned and fumbled for the door handle of the car.

  “Chris—”

  She threw the door open. “It’s fine. Just fine.” Tears blurred her vision as she hauled her overnight bag from the back seat. “I get it.”

  Beth climbed out of the car and popped the trunk to remove Christy’s suitcase. The wind tugged at Christy’s hair, whipping it in her face then brushing it back. The clouds were low, steel gray, and the air smelled of rain. This place was nothing like L.A. All she could hear was the wind and the crashing sea beyond the cliff. No car horns. None of the ever-present buzz of the city.

  “You’ll like it here,” Beth said as she headed up the steps to the wide, southern-style wraparound porch. “Roger and I had a wonderful vacation up here last summer. It’s so peaceful.”

  “Then you stay here,” Christy muttered as she hefted her duffle bag over her shoulder and trudged across the crushed seashell driveway to the house. It was cold and damp and... And damn it, she was terrified to be away from her sister. Why had she agreed to this trip? To this job? How was she going to survive without Beth and Roger? They’d been her rock, her support, for the past eighteen months, and now they were tossing her out in the cold—literally.

  Beth pressed the doorbell then opened the door and walked right in as if she owned the place. “Come on. If he’s working, he ignores everything.”

  Christy followed Beth into the house. It wasn’t what she’d expected. For an award-winning, bestselling author who made more with one sale of a book than she’d made in her entire life managing restaurants, the place was rather...

  “See what I mean,” Beth said as she set the suitcase down and shut the door behind her. “He needs some help around here. Then again, I guess it doesn’t matter what your house looks like if you can’t see it.”

  Thick layers of dust coated every surface except for the leather sofa. In the living room area off to one side of the entryway, boxes were stacked practically to the ceiling
against one wall.

  “His books,” Beth said as she grabbed Christy’s hand and pulled her deeper into the house. “He’s never unpacked them. But come on, you’ll love the kitchen.”

  Christy let her sister drag her down a short hall and through a doorway into what had once been a beautiful space. Under the dirt, grime and dust, the counters were marble and the floor Spanish tile. The fridge was stainless steel, and so were the other appliances.

  “Isn’t this awesome? Aren’t you going to have fun in here?”

  Fun. Cleaning this place would take a week.

  Beth dragged her to the far end where a small table sat piled with ancient papers. “Look out there.”

  Christy glanced up from a ten-year-old phone bill to look out the bay window. Her breath caught, and she stepped back in surprise. There was no ground below the window, just air. Three hundred feet below, the waves crashed against the rocks, the ocean as gray and dark as the clouds above.

  “Isn’t this amazing? Roger and I are looking for a vacation home in the area, but there’s not much available.”

  To the south, walls of rock blocked the tide, the cliffs climbing even higher than where the house stood. To the north, the land sloped down to a wide, weathered beach. Moonlight Cove. She’d only caught a glimpse of the town as they drove through. It was pretty in a very unremarkable way.

  “Where’s the guy?” Christy asked. She didn’t know what else to say. Yes, it was pretty. Yes, she supposed this would make a nice vacation spot. But she wasn’t on vacation. Her dear sister was dumping her here for an undetermined amount of time to play housekeeper and cook to a total stranger.

  Well, he was a stranger to her. Beth had been his agent for over five years, and she made a trip up here every three months to collect a manuscript from him because he was too...too something to put it in the mail like a normal person. A rich snob, she assumed, since he paid all Beth’s expenses for her time and effort. Hell, Beth got rich off the fifteen percent she got from every book from this guy. She could easily retire and handle only his manuscripts.

  Beth grabbed her hand again and tugged her out of the kitchen and back to the hall. “His office is down here. He’s probably working.”

  “Isn’t it rather unsafe that a blind guy leaves his door unlocked and then ignores when someone comes in?”

  Beth shrugged. “It’s little-town life, sis. Everyone knows everyone, and his only visitors are the mailman and the delivery guys who bring his groceries and stuff.”

  Beth stopped in front of an open door. Inside was nothing but a wide desk and an empty leather executive chair sitting in front of a window. On the desk were a computer, printer, and a stack of papers.

  “Hmm.” Beth pulled her farther down the hall. “Mike?” she called. “Hey, Mike. Where the heck are you?”

  The clang of metal on metal came from somewhere upstairs. Beth headed for the narrow staircase at the end of the hall, dragging Christy behind her. “He must be in the workout room. He lifts weights when he gets writer’s block.”

  They climbed up the first flight of creaky, wooden stairs and veered off down another long hallway. It was dark, with only the dim light from windows filtering into the hall from the open doorways of mostly empty rooms.

  “Mike?”

  Another clank of metal. “Beth? That you?”

  The man’s voice was deep and rich.

  “Hey,” Beth said, stopping in front of an open door at the end of the hall. “How you doin’?”

  Christy peered around her sister at the man seated on a weight bench. Her breath lodged in her throat, nearly choking her. His wide shoulders, bare stomach and chest looked like a Greek statue, while the left side of his face was something akin to a Frankenstein monster.

  Mike grabbed the towel from the vinyl bench and swiped it over his face and chest. “Hey, Beth. I didn’t expect you until later today.”

  “Mmm hmm. I see that. You’re looking mighty fine, Mr. Horton.”

  He chuckled. “As you can tell, the new book isn’t coming along too well.” He fumbled for his cane on the floor and used it to lever himself up. “Let’s head downstairs so I can get a shirt on.”

  Mike heard a faint gasp that didn’t sound like Beth. He tipped his head to the side and tried to make out the shape in the doorway but could only see one silhouette. “Someone with you?”

  “My sister. She’s agreed to be your new housekeeper and cook. Say hello to Mike Horton, Christy.”

  The smile left Mike, and he clenched his jaw. Damn his meddling agent. He told her he didn’t need her to find him another housekeeper. The four he’d been through over the last two years were enough to prove it wouldn’t work out. He was perfectly able to take care of himself. Frankly, he didn’t want anyone hanging around him and his house.

  “Now, Mike...”

  “No offence to your sister, but I don’t need a housekeeper.”

  A soft chuckle he knew wasn’t Beth’s came from the doorway. Beth had a hardy, robust laugh, not a soft, feminine...anything.

  “She’s an award-winning chef, and she can clean like no one’s business. And yes, you do need a housekeeper.” He heard footsteps approaching him, and he steeled himself, focusing on the shadow moving toward him. A finger poked him in the stomach, making him jump. “I think you could use a few good meals. Christy’s cooking can make a grown man weep—I know, I’ve witnessed it.”

  Beth’s husky chuckle made him shake his head. He dropped his voice, wondering where the mysterious sister stood. Still in the doorway? “I don’t like people in my house, and you know that.”

  Beth sighed and put her hand on his arm. “She’s not people. She’s my sister. You don’t complain about me being here.”

  That’s because Beth was like family. His one real connection to the outside world. He’d known her for years, but she hadn’t known him before the accident. He wasn’t an oddity to her. He was a client and a friend. “Beth...”

  “Come here, Christy,” Beth said, and he felt her shift next to him, pick up his hand, then placed it in another hand. “Mike, meet my little sister, Christy Smythe.”

  Christy’s hand was warm and smooth. Much smaller than Beth’s. “Why do I get the impression I have no choice in this?” he asked the dark shape in front of him. All he could make out was that she was at least a head shorter than him, which put her several inches shorter than her sister. A whiff of something rich and musky tantalized his nostrils. Not a perfume, but maybe a spiced shampoo? Body talc? Whatever it was, it nearly made his mouth water. He wanted to lean into her and get a better taste of the scent.

  “No,” Christy said, her voice soft and sweet. “Beth’s made it pretty clear I don’t have a choice in this.”

  Mike frowned. That sounded ominous. She didn’t want to work for him?

  “I figure she can have the room I usually stay in on the third floor. It’s big and has a comfortable bed.”

  Christy’s hand slipped from his, and it felt like a loss. He wrapped his fingers tighter around the handle of his cane and leaned on it. “That room’s fine. Are you staying for supper?”

  “Nope,” Beth said. “I’ve got to get back to the Coos Bay airport. I have an eight a.m. meeting tomorrow.” She nudged him toward the door. “So give me my book, and I’ll be on my way.”

  Mike tried to make out where Christy had moved to, but he couldn’t see her shadow. The light from outside was too dim today. She moved silently, and that disturbed him. He didn’t like people sneaking around him. He didn’t want her in his house. Small, soft women who smelled good were not a welcome distraction. Women in general weren’t welcome. Only Beth. She was his agent and his friend. She’d also been happily married for over a dozen years, which made her safe. He wasn’t allowed to entertain any illicit thoughts about her.

  Chailali watched the three walk out of the exercise room, her mind awhirl with possibilities. She’d seen the spark between the quiet little woman and Mike when they touched hands. Christy’s eye
s had widened, and Mike had leaned into the woman just slightly and inhaled. She knew that was one of the ways he got to know a person, but...

  Hmm. I wonder... Mike had been alone too long. He never left the house, and the very few guests he had only came to deliver food and mail and take care of paperwork. None but Beth came and talked to him. But it looked as if Beth’s sister would be staying a while.

  A smile curved Chailali’s lips as she followed the trio out of the room and down the hall. This could be a very good thing for Mike. He needed companionship. No one should be as alone as him.

  Except me. Loneliness had been all she’d experienced for the past two hundred years. But that was of her own making.

  * * * * *

  Christy glared at her sister as they sat on opposite ends of the leather sofa. Mike had stopped off in his bedroom to put on some clothes. Apparently he wasn’t used to greeting guests in nothing but sweatpants and sweat. Admittedly, the man had a body to die for, but his face...

  The right side was chiseled and...beautiful was the only word she could think of. But the left... Scars criss-crossed from his forehead to neck. He had no left eye, or at least she didn’t think he did, since his eyelid was permanently closed.

  Whatever. Physical disabilities didn’t bother her. She’d get used to it once the initial shock wore off. Then again, the look on the good side of his face had been unmistakable, and combined with his words... He didn’t want her in his house, so she might not need to get used to anything.

  “Would you stop looking at me like that,” Beth said in a harsh whisper. “You act as if I just kicked your puppy.”

  Christy didn’t answer. None was needed. Beth knew damn well what she was thinking. She wasn’t kicking her puppy; she was abandoning her here with a man who didn’t want her around.

  “He’s a nice guy. Just cook his meals, clean his house, and you’ll probably never see him. Even when Roger and I visited, he spent most of his time at the computer. He’s a loner and doesn’t talk overly much.”