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“What is all this?” he asked.
The blonde looked up. “We think the spell cast upon you four hundred years ago requires direct blood from the family to remove it. Sorin and I are trying something we have never done before.”
“How comforting,” he replied sarcastically. Trusting witches never did me any good. Gears began to turn in his head. Does that mean Red is a Luca? He walked behind the witches to study the tapestry that clung to the wall. He gripped the dusty fabric as he examined it, parts of it moth-eaten and crumbling in his grip. Her words spun over and over as he pulled the tapestry from the wall with a hard yank.
The action revealed a massive family tree painted across the wood. It was a beautiful piece of art painted by a skillful hand. He grabbed a candle from the ground, ignoring Sorin’s protest, and brought it to the tree to read the words inscribed near each branch. At the bottom was Rose Luca, and directly above her were Victor Luca and Maria Popova. Above that was the name Heather, with all four of her siblings labeled deceased, including their mother.
They all died on the same day, he realized.
Though he wanted to look at the top of the tree, fearing what he would find but desperate to know, he looked at every name. His eyes found a name that had been scratched out, burned, and blackened—all that was legible was ‘Toren.’ A few branches over another name had been crossed out, though sloppily, it was clear enough to read ‘Mihai.’ Nearly all of them were labeled as deceased; many did not have children. There was barely anyone left living from this family. He looked up and up, tracing each name with his fingers until he reached the top of the tree.
At the top sat Azalea Luca.
What he saw just below Azalea’s name left him in shock; he stumbled back, stepping on someone’s foot. His name came barreling back to him, slamming into his consciousness.
A yelp brought him back to his senses and surroundings, and he looked to see that he had bumped into Red, who looked so much like…
“What…” he stammered, his head shaking side to side slightly. He gripped his head with one hand, the other leaning against the wall for support. He no longer trusted his legs to keep him upright. “What did you say about the family blood?”
“We need blood from the Luca family to stop your curse—soon, we will have three generations of their blood here, and then we can proceed to attempt this removal,” Alina explained, glancing at Sorin to confirm what she was saying. “Once Red’s father arrives, we will add his blood to the circle. Then Red will offer some of her blood willingly, just as you once gave your life willingly.”
“You know this for certain?” he asked.
Alina nodded. “I’ve studied the lore, myths, and legends. To break a curse requires willingness. And to fully reverse this curse, Red must sacrifice her father.”
“The daughter has to sacrifice the father, turning the curse in on itself,” Sorin explained.
“So, she…” He turned to look at Red.
“Is a descendant of the witch that cursed you, yes.”
He looked back at the family tree, the name staring at him. He shook all over, cold sweat dripping down his muscular back. It all came rushing back to him—Ana’s sickness, the witch, the curse being transferred to him, the blood on his hands.
No, it didn’t make sense…
The ghost of his past tapped his arm. Her eyes bore into him as she asked, “Are you alright?”
Nausea churned in his stomach; he was certainly not alright, but he forced a nod.
Red offered him a smile. “My father is going to be here any minute. We need your help.”
“I never thought I would be helping a Luca,” he muttered under his breath.
“Not all of us are like her,” she told him. “I had a great aunt who was driven out of the town, though there is some debate over whether she was evil; it depends on who you ask. There are other members of the family who have been cast out over the years. I suppose some of us get less Luca blood than the others.”
He looked at her, studying the face that looked so much like Ana’s. Withholding a cringe at an evil thought that wormed through his brain, he had to look away from Red—Rose Luca—in order to keep his thoughts contained. He glanced once more at the family tree, then back at Red.
“Not all of us are our parents, grandparents, or ancestors,” Red added.
“You’re right,” he admitted as four centuries of loathing began to fade.
“He’s here,” Tatiana said. She had been peeking through the curtains, quickly replacing them as she withdrew. The young women gravitated toward the center of the room, surrounding him. Circling as though they were protecting him.
Red whispered, “I won’t ask you to do anything…but if things do not go as planned…”
“I will help you,” he told Red. “The death of a power-hungry Luca will not stain my conscience.”
Heavy footsteps came up the groaning, crooked stairs. A gentle knock followed, and when no reply came from within, the door creaked open. Dawn broke, the gentle morning rays coming through the door when it opened. The moment Victor—Red’s father—stepped into the house, it was clear from the disgusted look on his face that he sensed something was wrong.
