I don’t know what Doyle was expecting, but he looked surprised when I started laughing.
“Okay,” I said. “I get it. Freak out the new girl. Consider me unsettled. Good work. Can we go?”
“I’m totally serious, Ivy,” Doyle said. “Ask your uncle about the Bloodgood curse.” He gestured out the window. “Ask why we’re the only two families on this godforsaken rock.”
“Because of a curse,” I said. I thought the stress of the week had gotten to me, because I couldn’t stop giggling. “Listen, my mom and I made a living off selling spooky crap to locals, and as spooky crap goes, this is amateur hour. Gold star, you tried, but I’m gonna go home now.” I walked to his front door and opened it. It felt good to be back in the real world, where you laughed at the people who believed in dumb stuff and, if you were Mom and I, took their money. The ten minutes or so I’d spent in Spookyville were more than enough for me.
“I’m not joking,” Doyle said, following me.
I laughed again. “You’re cute, but man are you weird, Doyle. I can find my own way home. See you at the next coven meeting, okay? And please, please consider befriending some normal people before you go completely off the rails. Get on Snapchat or something, at least.”
He slammed the door, putting his body between me and the outside. “I’m not joking.”
“And neither am I, so move!” I said, shoving him aside and opening the door.
“I bet you’re only here because your mother died!”
I stopped at that, swiveling my head to glare at him. He clearly didn’t recognize a warning when he saw it, because he barreled on.
“She died violently, right? Well, so has everyone else in your line, as far back as either of our families can remember. You’re cursed, Ivy. You should get out of here before it’s too late for you.”
“Two things,” I said. “First, don’t talk about my mother unless you want me to do a lot more than pop you in the jaw. Second, since it’s the twenty-first century and we stopped burning people at the stake a while ago, I don’t believe in curses.” He looked a little put out at that, but I ignored him and stormed down his driveway.
“Wait!” he yelled. “Let me drive you back! It’s not safe out there!”
“Safer than it is here!” I yelled back, and then didn’t look behind me again. Doyle didn’t chase me, and eventually, as I tromped down the muddy road, I came to the turn I recognized as leading up to the manor house.
I was out of breath by the time I climbed the hill, and barely made it back up the trellis to my room before I collapsed on the braided rug. I was going to have to get in better shape if I wanted to keep sneaking around. Although from now on, I was definitely staying on the Bloodgood side of the property line.
I was more jarred than I wanted to admit by what Doyle had said. Clearly he was either super far into the freak forest with this curse story or he was just trying to scare me, but it had worked on some level. Guessing my mother had died was a cheap cold-reading trick—one I’d learned when I was still mastering spelling my own name—but his insistence was what got to me. He looked like he really believed it.
I made myself get up and stop thinking about Doyle. If I bought into this, Darkhaven would make me wacky too, and I’d barely been here a day. I was starving from my hike-slash-weirdo encounter, and I went downstairs to see if Simon had anything in his fridge worth raiding. At least that’s where I was headed until I heard voices coming from behind a closed door off the main hall.
“And she didn’t have anything with her?”
“Nothing.” Mrs. MacLeod’s brogue was loud and clear. “Just some tatty clothes and a pack of her insufferable mother’s tarot cards.”
“Have a little respect,” Simon said. “Myra did just pass away.”
Mrs. MacLeod gave one of her grunts. I heard a clink of crystal against glass, and Simon coughed a bit. “Is that your first one today, Veronica?”
“And a hell of a day it’s been, Simon. Like I said, the only thing she has of Myra’s are those stupid cards. I went through her bag; I went through everything she came with. I didn’t miss something, if that’s your implication.”
Now that was interesting. Definitely wouldn’t be leaving anything in my room I didn’t want Mrs. McSnoopy knowing about. If I’d had a more normal existence, I probably would have been pissed about the invasion of privacy, but not trusting people was second nature to Mom, and so it became that way for me. I’d have been more surprised if Veronica hadn’t searched my things.
“She’s Myra’s child,” Simon said. “It has to be with her. Myra dying made her part of it. Even if she doesn’t know yet.”
“And who’s to say the father doesn’t have it, for safekeeping?” Mrs. MacLeod sounded way too happy with herself. “Myra went and got herself a bastard, from who knows what kind of low-class hoodlum who’d likely do anything to get his hands on what Myra was set to inherit. Who’s to say he’s not sitting on the mainland waiting for his adorable little felon to call him over and slit our throats?”
“Remember who you’re talking to, Veronica.” Simon’s voice suddenly had a sharp edge I was surprised he was capable of. “Ivy is a Bloodgood. Doesn’t matter who her father is. She’s my blood. Don’t call her a bastard again.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Mrs. MacLeod muttered. “That she is a Bloodgood, through and through. You remember as well as I do what Myra was like when she—”
“I said enough!”
I didn’t even have to eavesdrop for that one. Simon was yelling. “I know what could happen with her being here. I can handle it. And if you’ll remember, Veronica, you’re in this up to your neck.”
Mrs. MacLeod gave a laugh that sounded like gravel crunching. “Just because you’ve got yourself a sword to hold over me doesn’t mean I’m wrong, Simon.”
“For the love of everything, Veronica, I’m not turning her out. That would be the opposite of what I want.” A chair pushed back, and I retreated down the hall. I could just hear Mrs. MacLeod reply.
“That’s not what I was talking about.”
I was sitting in a front parlor overlooking the sea, eating a ham sandwich, when Mrs. MacLeod came in carrying an armload of firewood. “How much of that did you hear?” she said, dumping it into the grate.
I didn’t bother trying to look innocent. She wasn’t anyone who could punish me. “Enough,” I said. “How did you know I was there?”
“I came to this house when Simon and Myra were barely ten. I’m well aware that the less you want children to overhear, the harder they’ll try. None of your sneaking about goes unnoticed,” Mrs. MacLeod snapped.
I raised a hand. “I heard a lot, but don’t worry. I get why you don’t want me here. And for the record, I have no idea who my father is, and if I did, I’d be living with him a long way away from this island, not conspiring to murder the two of you. You’re so not worth the effort.”
Mrs. MacLeod shook her head, shoving crumpled newspapers in between the logs. “Dear God, girl, what did Myra do to you to make you this hard at sixteen?”
I shrugged. “Sounds like you knew her pretty well.”
“Nobody ever knew Myra. Not really. She was locked up tighter than a tomb even as a girl.” She sighed, sitting back on her heels. “Regardless of how you and I started, I have no desire to be rid of you. You’ve got no one but Simon now. I would never try to sever that bond.”
“Please don’t act like you care about what happened to me,” I said. “I can tell when you’re faking it.”
“Ah, but I do care,” Mrs. MacLeod said. “I care that Simon cares about you, because I don’t want to see him hurt. So I care that you understand exactly what being a Bloodgood means, Ivy. I care that you realize your blood carries a weight.”
I don’t know why I decided to tell her. Maybe I wanted her to show her true self, to get pissed and yell and threaten me. I could deal with her being mean—this about-face into awkward compassion was just uncomfortable.
Maybe I just wanted to tell someone else about Doyle’s story and get confirmation that he was out to lunch and the whole bit about people in my family dying violent deaths was just his trying to creep me out. “I met a guy today,” I said. “He told me the family was cursed.”
Rather than yell, Mrs. MacLeod touched a match to the paper, watching as fingers of flame worked their way over the wood, leaving sooty bruises in their wake. She breathed in, out, a rattling sigh that mimicked the wind outside. “I did tell you not to go near those Ramseys, did I not?”
“Since you’re here alive and talking to me, I somehow think you’re not my mom,” I said.
Mrs. MacLeod pursed her lips. “Lord, even Myra never gave me that sort of mouth,” she said. “It was Doyle you met, wasn’t it? The youngest one, with a touch of the devil in him?”
“A little more than a touch,” I said. “And, you know, nuts. You’d think he could come up with something scarier than ‘You’re cursed, ooo.’” I waggled my fingers, casting spooky shadows in the firelight.
Mrs. MacLeod smiled at me, and it was so creepy I prayed she’d go back to the usual hatchet face. She took the other chair opposite me in front of the fire, picking up the poker and jabbing at the logs, eliciting a rush of flame and smoke.
“The first man on Darkhaven was your ancestor Connor Bloodgood.” She used the poker to point at a portrait above the mantel. The guy in it resembled a male version of my mother, dressed up in clothes I usually associated with the Pilgrims. He also looked like he might cut you for looking at him sideways, so that was consistent with the profound emotional instability that seemed to be my family’s one defining trait.
“What a charmer,” I said.
“Aye, charm and looks to spare, but that wasn’t enough for him.” Mrs. MacLeod stared at the flames. They caught her face and made it hollow, until I couldn’t see her eyes, just black holes. “Connor sold half his land to a pair of brothers, Declan Ramsey and his younger brother, Sean. Irishmen with more money than sense. Declan was salt of the earth, but his brother was another story, a thief and a silver-tongued rogue. Sean had a pretty wife, Aislinn, and he left her a widow inside a year. Washed up on those rocks right below your window, dead as a doornail.”
I hoped I looked encouraging, because this was actually halfway interesting. Mrs. MacLeod settled back with a sigh, and I leaned forward. “That’s it? The brother died and the wife just hung around with her brother-in-law?”
Mrs. MacLeod waved her hand. “It’s just the history of the island. Nothing so exciting as a film or even a ghost story. All the interesting bits are just hateful gossip the mainlanders spread over the years.”
I tucked my feet under me. “I can get on board with hateful gossip. I know literally nothing about my family. When I had to fill in those genealogy trees in elementary school I’d use the alias names of superheroes.” If you stick to the second-tier Justice League, it works pretty well. Barry Allen and Hal Jordan had each been my fake dad more than once.
Mrs. MacLeod sighed. “I’m only telling you so you’ll understand what it means to be a part of this island. Not giving credence to silly stories.” She pointed a stubby finger at me. “And don’t repeat this to your uncle. The terrible things people over in town say about the family upset him.”
I made the lip-zipping motion and she finally continued.
“Some say Sean Ramsey fell from the cliff in a storm. And some say Connor Bloodgood pushed him. Connor loved Aislinn, you see. She was a fair woman in a rough land, and that’s a prize better than gold.”
If Doyle was anything to go by, his great-great-whatever had been a looker, for sure. My dour-faced great-great-whatever with the crazy eyes hanging above the mantel was a serious downgrade. Poor Aislinn.
“Aislinn knew the old ways, the magic of the daoine sídhe,” said Mrs. MacLeod. “That’s the fairy folk back in the old country. White magic, likely just herbs and ways to ease childbirth and such. You could be called a witch for any damn thing back then.” She pursed her lips, and I nodded encouragingly.
“It totally sucked being a woman in the olden times, got it.”
“She was a good woman,” Mrs. MacLeod said, “and she came to love Connor with all the force of her power. But Connor wanted more than Aislinn. He wanted the riches Sean Ramsey brought with him to the island, the money and the fine things the Ramseys got through their business on the mainland. Connor wanted more than that, always more.”
“What a tool,” I said, and Mrs. MacLeod flicked the poker toward me. “Sorry,” I said. “I’m listening.”
“Some say Connor Bloodgood made a pact with the devil,” Mrs. MacLeod said. “Some say that the dark power was merely Aislinn whispering in his ear. But as he used Sean’s nest egg to blackmail, kill, and steal his way into an earthly fortune, Aislinn’s eye strayed. A mistreated woman’s will, eventually. I don’t blame her one bit.” Mrs. MacLeod bit her lip, and I noticed the hand holding the poker was shaking, ever so slightly. “She came back to her former brother-in-law, Declan, and together they made plans to rob Connor of all the gold and riches he’d plundered from Sean’s estate, to restore the Ramsey fortune. But when they arrived, the coffers were empty. Connor had hidden his wealth somewhere on the island, somewhere only one of his bloodline could find it. Aislinn was with his child, you see. She could go back to life as his wife, rich beyond belief, trapped in a loveless marriage with a violent man. Or she could give up her child to be with Declan, and bear the disgrace of being an adulterer. Connor’s rage forced her to make a terrible choice.”
I didn’t want to say anything now. All I could hear was the snap of the fire and the wind wailing outside.
Mrs. MacLeod shook her head. “In the end, she chose neither. She followed Sean Ramsey over those cliffs. Connor arrived in time to cut the baby out of her, but it was too late for his wife. With her dying breath, Aislinn cursed Connor. He wanted to possess both her and his wealth, so she cursed him to have one or the other but never at the same time. Every generation of Bloodgoods will either slay another or die by their own hand. Always wealthy, but always spilling blood to stay so. Always close to the one they love, but always forced apart by death. The Ramseys were destitute by comparison after Connor stole Sean’s estate, but they never left this island, and the Bloodgoods never really let them be. Generations of bad blood, of killings and suicides and backhanded thieving, all because of one silly man and his selfishness over one poor woman who never asked for any of it. The Ramseys’ fortune died out, but the Bloodgoods’ only grew, to the point where it’s rumored that Connor filled an entire cave with riches, starting with what he hid from Aislinn. That part’s bunk, obviously. Even if it existed, no amount of money could buy back the few moments of happiness that miserable man ever experienced.” She sighed and looked at me. I realized my heart was pounding, and tried to act like the story hadn’t bothered me. “And now you and Simon are the only Bloodgoods left. It’s said when the line is broken, the curse will be ended, and your family can find peace at last.”
My mouth was dry, and I licked my lips, my voice coming out a whisper. “So it only ends when we’re all dead? You’re saying you believe all of this?”
Mrs. MacLeod stood up, smoothing her hands over her denim shirt. “I’m not a Bloodgood, Ivy. I don’t have to believe anything. But rest assured the Ramseys do. Even if you don’t believe, your family and theirs have been feuding for so long that there’s more than a few in their clan who would like nothing more than to see you dead.”