Maggie Shayne: Weddings from Hell

She heard him calling to her from some other room in the house, and she walked toward the closed door. "I'm in here," she called, and she closed her hand on the doorknob, twisted, but it didn't give. "I think the door's locked."

He was right on the other side, gripping the knob, twisting. "Odd," he said. "Do you see a way to unlock it?"

"No, just a keyhole. I guess you need a key. That's all right, though, I'll just go back out the way I came in. Meet you on the deck."

She turned and started for the French doors.

They slammed closed so hard she jumped and screeched. Then she dove at the doors, gripping the knobs, rattling and shaking and tugging on them.

Even as she did, the drapes yanked themselves closed, one set after the other. Spinning around, her back to the doors, Kira stared around the room. "There's no point in this," she whispered, as her chest heaved with the force of her rapid breathing. "You can't frighten me—all right, you can, but what good is it going to do? What do you want from me, and how the hell do you expect to get it if you can't even manage to let me know what it is!"

Behind her, the French doors opened, and she almost fell outside as they did, but Ian's arms came around her from behind. He held her, burying his face in her hair. "What happened, lass? What was the noise? You cried out, and doors slammed, and—"

"Look, Ian. Look at that portrait."

From the open doors, the sunlight spilled over the face of the painting. Ian looked, and then couldn't seem to look away. "Aye, it's uncanny, is it not?"

"Then you've seen it before? You knew?"

"I knew. I'd intended to tell you about it before you saw it. In fact, the portrait was in the attic. I put it there myself. I've no idea how it got back down here."

"Someone wanted to make sure I saw it." She turned into his arms, let him hold her as she whispered, "Is that the thing Aunt Esmeralda thought I should know about?"

"That, and her theory. Her ridiculous, outrageous theory that you and I—"

"That you and I?" she prompted when he fell silent.

"That we're," he nodded at the portrait, "them. Reincarnated. Doomed to relive our past."

Shivering, Kira looked around the room. "This is where it happened, isn't it? Where she found him in bed with the maid? Where she killed him?"

"Aye," Ian said. "With that very weapon. I packed away the shotgun in the attic by my own hand. I donna know what's about here, Kira. I donna ken how these items came to be replaced in this room. But you're right, this is where it happened. She shot him, and then she cast the spell, from the tiny room at the top, the room where 'twas said she cast her spells, and then she threw herself from the widow's walk, down the cliffs to the rocky beach below."

"Then I only have one question, Ian."

He faced her squarely.

"Why the hell did you bring me here?"

"Because I donna believe it. Not any of it, Kira. 'Tis a family legend, a superstition that's gained power purely because so many generations have believed in it. That belief is the only power it has."

"You sound awfully sure about that."

He nodded, searching her face. "You said you didna believe in it either, lass."

She nodded, acknowledging her own words. "I'm not so sure anymore. I mean, this place feels so familiar to me. And the ghosts—I've seen them and their antics firsthand." She let her eyes roam throughout the room, and they got stuck on the portrait that looked so much like one of her and Ian, in period costumes. All except for the unbearable sadness in their eyes. "What if it's all true, Ian?"

He moved close to her, clasping her shoulders and drawing her eyes back to his face. "Coming here is the only way to prove that it isn't. An' that's why I brought ya. I feel something for you, Kira, something powerful. I think I might love ya. But we can't know what's between us while this shadow's hanging over our heads, can we now?"

"No. But…what if what we feel for each other is just further evidence that all of this is true? What if…it's leftover from some past life?"

"What if it's not?" he asked. "What if we responded to each other so readily because we're meant to be together? Soul mates?"

She lowered her gaze. "One doesn't necessarily negate the other."

She shivered a little, and he ran his hands up and down her outer arms, then pulled her into his. "At the very worst, lassie, at the very, very worst, suppose it is true. Then it's up to us to set it right. Here and now. We can put the fate of your family back on track for the countless generations to come."

His whispered words about generations to come made her think of the children she wanted to have one day. A vision of a little girl hovered in her mind. Big blue eyes and dimples and silken curls. She could risk passing along the family curse to that child, putting her through all the angst that Kira herself was suffering right now. Or she could risk everything to ensure that would never happen.

Lifting her gaze to Ian's she met his eyes and nodded once. "All right. I'll stay."

"You'll be safe, I promise."

Kira sat alone in the large living room, staring up at the portrait, and the shotgun. Ian had offered to return them to the attic, but she'd told him to leave them. She wasn't sure why, it had just sort of slipped out and once it had, it felt right.

He was in the kitchen now, preparing dinner. She'd wanted to spend more time in this room, though logic seemed to suggest she should want just the opposite. Maybe to block the doors, and not enter it again for the duration of her stay. But instead she wanted to remain.

Once Ian left her alone, reluctant as he was to do so, Kira bent to the hearth, removed the ornate screen, and began to build a fire. There was a stack of old newspapers nearby, and a tiny pile of kindling beside the circular log holder.

She crumpled papers, positioned kindling carefully over them, and used one of the long matches from the matchholder, striking it on the red brick and watching as it flared to life. Touching the match to the papers, she sat, mesmerized as the fire took hold. Then she tossed the matchstick into the fire, and replaced the screen.

As the fire spread, adding warmth to the chill of the room, Kira sank into a comfortable chair and watched the flames, gradually shifting her focus to the portrait up above. "I want you to stop messing with me, okay? Ian and I need this time together."

The eyes of her ancestor seemed to glare at her.

"I think I love him," she went on. "And I think he loves me, too."

She paused, listening, as ridiculous as that was, for some response. Of course there was none.

"If we can make this work, maybe the curse will finally be broken."

The fire snapped so loudly she jumped out of her chair, and beneath the sound she could have sworn she heard the word "Never!"

Kira swallowed hard, rubbing her arms and looking around the room. "You placed that curse on your family out of hurt and anger and unbearable pain, Miranda. But it was a mistake. You need to recognize that. You made a horrible mistake and your descendents have been suffering for it ever since. But I'm going to be the one to set it right. Since you're not able, or maybe just not willing to do it yourself, I'm going to do it. Ian and I. True love will break this curse of yours. I know it will."

In her mind she heard a heartbroken whisper. There's no such thing as true love.

She wondered, later, if Miranda had granted her request to be left alone with Ian. Because she didn't feel the troubling, unsettled presence lurking, and there were no further incidents of flickering lights or slamming doors or snapping flames that sounded like voices.