Cursed-epub (4 page)

“I know,
flor
. Now let's go wash your face and grab a bite to eat. Then you'll finish that bitch's costume. Try to sew the crotch so it will pinch her down below.” He put a finger to his lips. “Wait, that area has probably seen so much use it’s numb. Try making it pinch her hips instead.”

****

Carmella woke in the middle of the night with a racing heart and aching limbs. The horrible nightmare had left a foul taste in her mouth that seemed to curdle against her lips. It was the same dream that had been repeating itself for the last two weeks and leaving her fearful and covered in oily sweat when she awoke.

In it, she wandered down an alley at night, holding a man's hand. The face and clothes of the man changed with each dream, but the destination was always the same. She took them to the front door of a bar. The sign above it was white neon in the shape of two giant dice. The man would usually stand behind her, docile as a lamb. With no control of her body, she would watch her hand rap a strange rhythm on the door. Bracelets glittered on her wrists, and an unfamiliar tight and silky red dress clung to her curves.

The door would open, and there would be only darkness beyond. She would find herself frozen, unable to look away from the blackness that seemed to throb out into the alley. Sometimes the man behind her would scream; other times he would shout and try to pull her away.

Just before the darkness revealed…something terrible…she would wake up.

It didn't make any sense. She didn't own a pair of high heels like ones she wore in the dream. Heck, she wasn't even sure she could walk in six-inch heels, let alone saunter down an alley. In these nightmares she always wore the same slutty red dress, an outfit she was sure she’d never owned let alone wore. Usually she stuck to flowing sundresses on the rare occasion that she went out, not skintight crimson silk. There was no rhyme or reason why her subconscious was stuck on this dream, but she was really getting tired of constantly reliving the nightmare.

With a sigh, she rolled over and tried to go back to sleep. Whenever she had this dream, she was always exhausted the next day, no matter how many hours she slept. As her eyes closed, she curled into a tight ball beneath her quilt, afraid of what was hiding in the dark.

With a small growl, Carmella jerked the edges of the plastic bag open and white feathers of every shape and size flew into the air. For a moment, she sat in the patch of late morning sun, watching the soft cloud of white float to the ground. It was so tempting to just give up, to return to her apartment and never leave again. A memory of her mother's love brushed against her, and she found the strength to push back the despair. Muttering a colorful blend of curse words in two languages, Carmella knelt and began to gather the feathers into a pile on the floor of her small workspace.

Tian chose that moment to poke his head over the racks. “What in the world! Carmella, are you slaughtering chickens back here? I admire your wish to do harm to Dianta, but really, voodoo is not the way to go.”

Carmella gave Tian a nasty look from over the top of her glasses. “Instead of standing there watching me, why don't you come help? Or maybe I will start doing voodoo, and you'll be the first doll I make.”

Clucking his tongue, Tian removed a feather from her shoulder. “Your glare would be much more effective if you didn't look like a molting goose.”

Blowing stray pieces of hair off her forehead, Carmella slumped on the floor. “I'm sorry, Tian. I saw Dianta on TV this morning, and it put me in a bad mood for the rest of the day.”

What she didn't tell Tian was that when she’d awoken this morning, there was this feeling in her heart—in her soul—that today was going to be a wonderful day. The sun seemed brighter as it filtered through her thrift store curtains. Even the motes of dust floating in the beams of light seemed magical. Her oatmeal and raisins tasted better than she ever remembered, and the sounds coming from the street seemed more like music than noise. That feeling of blissful expectation ended quickly when she saw Dianta simpering and strutting her way through the morning news on Carmella’s old television.

Tian sighed. “I understand. Adam and I watched her during breakfast. Could you believe the lies coming out of that woman's mouth? Saying she found time to sew her costume between doing charity work at a local soup kitchen and rescuing stray cats.”

“I know. I kept waiting for her to add something about saving orphans from a burning building.”

“Or giving CPR to dying grandmothers. Please, can you imagine her trying to do anything with those three-inch fake nails of hers?”

Carmella hugged the bag of feathers to her chest, little puffs of down flying out from the open top. “It just makes me so mad. Why can't there be more people in this world with integrity? Why am I surrounded by such low-class filth?” Catching Tian's snarky look, she amended, “Present company excluded, of course.”

“Thank you.” Tian helped her gather the feathers as she plucked them off her shirt. “The DJ that’s coming, DJ Kal I think his name is, Adam said he does all kinds of charity work. Mainly with free hospitals and clinics.”

“I wish we had something like that down here. Our hospital system is strained to the limit. That's why we had to pay so much to take my mother to a private clinic.”

Tian kissed the top of her head. “You're a good daughter. You have to believe there are other people with integrity and honor like yours out there.”

“Yeah, well, it would be nice if the gods would help them find me. I need…something to believe in again, and to believe in me. Why can't I find one decent guy in this city?” Carmella sighed.

“Because they are all either gay or married,” Tian said with a sunny smile.

Carmella stuck her tongue out at him. “I'm sorry to get so melodramatic with you. I didn't sleep well last night, and that makes me cranky.” She bit her lip and tried to forget the nightmares that dominated her dreams.

“Well, you don't have time to be cranky right now. We have to get to the main practice hall too. Miguel and Dianta are meeting with DJ Kal this morning, and they want to parade us around in front of him.” Tian stood, checking his dark blue pants for feathers.

“Crap, I forgot about that. Do you think they'll notice if I'm not there?”

“Yep, if it'll give them an excuse to yell at you. Just come with me, and we'll make nice to the DJ. If you can keep yourself from punching Dianta, I'll buy you lunch.” Tian stretched and grinned at her.

She set the bag down and brushed the feathers from her cargo pants. Despite the heat, she wore clothing that covered her from head to toe. Baggy black shirt, baggy brown pants, big fake glasses and her hair back in a bun all worked to disguise her femininity.

A brief brush of the happiness from the morning touched her soul, and she wished she had worn something nicer. Maybe one of the brightly colored tank tops that she used to wear to school. Men had always complimented her in them. That thought was squashed by the need to remain invisible to Miguel and his business associates. Especially Branco, with his silent feet and dark stare.

Tian gave her a precise bow that snapped her out of her morose thoughts. “Are you ready, my
flor
?”

Lowering her lashes, she bent into a graceful curtsey, her movements flowing and liquid. “Of course, my handsome escort. Shall we?”

He spun her in a whip-quick circle, her feet easily moving in a tight loop as she twirled in his arms. “I miss dancing with you, and I miss your laughter even more.” He placed a kiss on her forehead. “When you feel like being alive again, promise me we will go dancing.”

She sighed and strolled down the hallway with Tian. “I don't know what can resurrect me, Tian. My soul feels like it's locked in ice.”

“The sun will find you. Have faith.” Tian threw an arm over her shoulder and tugged her close.

Nodding, she didn't bother to reply. Instead, she sent another silent prayer.
Please, anyone, if you're listening…please help me be warm again.

The large domed auditorium, with its white walls and pale wood floor, echoed with hundreds of excited voices. The entire staff, and most of the students of the samba school, stood around and chatted. Anticipation filled the air as they waited for Miguel and the DJ to arrive.

Carmella stayed at the back of the room and tugged at her too-long shirt. She tried to avoid the people who had worked at the school when her father was alive. They made her remember how wonderful things used to be here, and she felt guilty for avoiding them now that Miguel owned the school. In her heart, she knew they were good people who cared about her, but they were just as helpless in this situation as she was. Everyone needed their job. With unemployment as high as it was in Rio, any honest work was sought after and fought over.

Fatima, a dance instructor and old friend, moved through the group to speak to her. “Aren't you excited, Carmella?”

Fatima wore a bright pink top embroidered with glittering blue sequins that practically glowed. Blinking against the intense color, Carmella pushed her glasses on top of her head. “Not really. I won't be in the parade this year. As long as Dianta looks fabulous, I've done my job.” She concentrated on rolling her sleeves up to try to control her emotions. They were so close to the surface today, and after months of feeling nothing, she found the sensation disconcerting. Life was bearable because she didn't feel, didn't hope for anything more than what she had.

Looking crestfallen, Fatima bit her lip. “I'm so sorry. Me and my big mouth.” Giving the crowd a furtive glance, Fatima lowered her voice and stepped closer. “It's a crime that you're not dancing with us. All the instructors agree that you should be the Drum Queen. I think Dianta is just jealous of you. That's why she forbade Miguel from hiring you as a samba instructor and made you her seamstress instead.”

Carmella felt her jaw drop as her breath came out in a harsh gasp. Anger grew to fury, and her head throbbed with a sudden sharp ache. She grabbed Fatima's hand and dragged her back against the wall. “Dianta forbade it? I thought Miguel made that decision!”

Fatima tugged her hand away and glanced around the room. “I thought you knew. Dianta considers you her main competition here and would never stand for you outshining her. Don't think for a moment she forgot you won most of the dance crowns when you were teenagers.” The sparkles on Fatima's shirt glittered as she leaned in even closer. “She would be happy if you never came back, but Miguel wants you around so he can still use the Ramirez name.” She lowered her voice further until it was barely more than a movement of her lips, “Her little lapdogs are watching us. I'm so sorry, but I must go.”

Pretending to rub her chin on her shoulder, Carmella noted two of Dianta's favorite students, and fellow cokeheads, watching them. “Thank you so much for letting me borrow that DJ Kal CD, Fatima. I don't have any of his music. I would feel so silly if anyone asked me about him and I didn't know a single song.”

Fatima gave her a grateful look. “No problem, Carmella. It's in the CD player in my studio. Feel free to grab it anytime you want.”

Carmella nodded and stared at the far wall of the room while clenching her fists. The nerve of Dianta. How dare she forbid her from teaching out of petty jealousy? This wasn't high school. She needed the extra money teaching would provide to survive. The throbbing in her head increased, and she placed her hands over her eyes in an effort to stave off a full-blown migraine.

Trying to calm herself, she didn't even notice the double doors of the room opening. It wasn't until Miguel's loud voice rang through the rafters that she looked up.

Miguel led a husky man with a shaggy mop of brown hair into the room and gestured to the crowd with a proud smile. Dianta snuggled next to him and whispered something in his ear. It took all of Carmella’s willpower not to go over there and tug Dianta's weave right off her head.

She made her way through the crowd to stand next to Tian. The anger had cleared her mind, giving her a sense of clarity and focus that she hadn't even realized was missing. “That's the world-famous DJ?”

“No, that's his crew manager. There he is, Sean Kalmus, a.k.a. DJ Kal.”

She caught sight of him, and her breath stuck in her throat. He was magnificent. Tall, he wore an off-white shirt that clung to his broad shoulders and powerful chest. Long legs, thick with muscle, filled out his jeans, and he had the graceful fingers of an artist. She couldn't see his face from this angle, only the blaze of his red-brown hair and the line of his strong jaw.

“He doesn't walk like a musician,” Tian murmured in her ear. “He walks like a fighter.”

All Carmella could do was nod. Time seemed to slow down, and the crowd around her faded to insignificance. She could see every nuance of his movements, and the timbre of his distant voice made her want to sigh. Her body went from hot to cold and back to hot again as she waited for Sean to turn around. She had to see his eyes. Once she saw his eyes she would know him and would be able to taste his spirit.

Dianta pranced around them, her teased blonde hair blocking his face from view. Impatiently, Carmella pushed her way to the front of the crowd. There were grumbles and complaints as she elbowed through, but none of that mattered. She had to see him.

Miguel's speech about the glory of the school washed over her like meaningless babble. She considered breaking rank and walking to him herself just before he finally turned. At the first sight of his amazing blue eyes, her world shifted on its axis.

The pounding of her heart drowned out the voices around her. Gods, he was handsome. His face was all masculine angles, wonderful blends of shadows and light. And his eyes, his eyes were overwhelming, a dark gray-blue that reminded her of the sea during a storm. Hard eyes, dominating eyes, but filled with kindness and compassion behind all his strength.

Energy filled her, reawakening the blissful feeling from this morning of impending joy. She scarcely dared to breathe, her gaze locked on his face. As Miguel talked, Sean scanned the large crowd of dancers and musicians, lowering his head to speak to the shaggy-haired man every now and then.