Curse of Tempest Gate (2 page)

She wasn’t either, but she would definitely
look into it. “Please go on with the story. I didn’t mean to
interrupt.”

“No worries. Hmm…where was I?” Her brows
drew together in concentration. “Ah yes. Mary didn’t intentionally
lead the men on, but she found herself in a pickle all the same.
She, being a kind woman, didn’t want to hurt either suitor and
decided not to choose either man, hoping to keep both men’s
friendship. You can imagine how that would fly.”

“I can imagine. These men didn’t seek Mary
out for friendship. They wanted a wife.”

Her head bobbed up and down in agreement.
“Samael kept pushing her to make a choice. Michael, on the other
hand, didn’t like seeing her upset. He wanted Mary for his own, but
he loved her enough that he respected her decision and didn’t push
the issue.”

“Michael sounds like a good guy.”

“So the stories say, but the relationship
between the three became strained. Samael couldn’t accept Mary’s
friendship with Michael and called the man out, intending to duel
with him to the death.”

Clarity leaned on the counter, too,
thoroughly engrossed in the story. “Was that legal?”

Hester shook her head. “No, but out here,
away from the authorities, who would stop them? Samael set up a
meeting inside the Tempest Gate Cemetery on the evening of
Halloween. It was his macabre sense of humor to think once he
killed Michael, he could roll him into the grave.”

“Nice man.” Her sarcasm wasn’t missed and
Hester nodded her head in agreement.

“The two men hadn’t intended for Mary to
find out what they were doing, but of course tongues do wag.”

“Of course.”

“Mary raced to the cemetery to stop her two
friends from making this horrible mistake. Seeing the two facing
each other with swords and—”

“Excuse me, did you say swords?” She’d
always assumed it was guns.

“Why yes. This was 1767. Didn’t I say as
much?”

“Uh…no, but go on. They were dueling with
swords.”

“Mary didn’t think of her safety. She ran
right into the foray, putting herself in danger. Samael didn’t see
her until it was too late. He swung the sword, intending to end
Michael’s life, but Mary jumped in the way and the sword pierced
her heart.”

Clarity knew Mary died tragically, but
hadn’t realized it had been by sword. “How terrible.”

“Oh, it was and rightly so. Now, Mary lived
with her elderly aunt, Sophie Peabody. She was a woman known to
practice the arts.”

“Do you mean witchcraft?” Now this part of
the story she knew from the tales her grandmother had told her.
We’re related to a witch.
Her grandmother would say and tell
the story of how the witch avenged her niece’s murder. As Clarity
researched the story, she began to question the validity of the
story, wondering what was truth, and what had been fabricated
through the years to make the story more interesting.

“Yes, witchcraft. As soon as Sophie learned
where Mary had gone, she went after her, hoping to stop her from
putting herself in harms way, but she’d arrived too late. Mary
already lay dead at the feet of her suitors. Sophie was so furious
at the two men and their foolish pride she cursed them both. Samael
in her mind was the devil and with his blind love, he murdered the
woman he had adored. She cursed him with a wave of her hand,
turning him into a stone effigy, a devil’s chair, so he may sit
there through eternity and mourn the woman he lost.”

“And Michael?”

“She cast her spell and turned him to stone
as the Archangel Michael. He was Mary’s avenging angel, but he
failed to save her and for that he would pay with his life. For, if
he had stepped away from the relationship completely, Mary would
still be alive.”

“But didn’t you say he respected Mary’s
wishes?”

“Yes, but he didn’t stop seeing her. If he
truly loved her, he would have allowed Samael to cool down after
his rejection, but Michael didn’t do that. Michael kept rubbing it
in Samael’s nose, how his affections were still welcome at the
Peabody’s home.”

Clarity couldn’t help but feel sorry for
Michael. Clearly, Samael was the one responsible for Mary’s death.
In her opinion, Michael also suffered at Samael’s hand by
witnessing the woman he loved slain in front of him. “Are the stone
chair effigy and the angel statue still there in the cemetery?” She
hoped they would be, but vandals had a way of destroying history
and she didn’t know what condition the cemetery may be in.

Hester nervously licked her lips. “They both
still stand. If anyone sits upon the chair, Samael tries to keep
them there.”

“I read about this. There were a few people
who claimed the devil’s chair held them hostage.”

“Hmm, yes. Stupid kids, thinking it’s good
fun on Halloween to sit in the chair. Samael’s spirit or whatever
he is now, tries to seep into their heads, wanting to know their
dark secrets, feeding off the ominous deeds as if those thoughts
made him stronger.”

Clarity humored the receptionist. She was
intrigued with the paranormal, but it didn’t mean she believed
every tale told to her. The story made for good entertainment and
that was what she needed for the ultimate spin to the article.
“What made them think the spirit fed off their thoughts?”

“They could feel the invasion like hot
pokers in their brains.”

She cringed at the mental image this brought
forth.

Hester picked up a paper and pen and
scribbled on it, making a list of some sort. Then she handed the
slip of paper to her.

“These are names. Who are they?” Clarity met
her gaze confused why she’d given them to her.

“Those are the people who sat in the chair
in the last few decades and didn’t walk away unscathed. You can
confirm what I say is true. Since their experience in the cemetery,
their lives have not been the same. Two were institutionalized. One
had nightmares for the rest of his life and the other refused to
talk about it—ever. She just clammed up and never spoke again.”

Clarity’s brows drew together in a frown.
This was news to her, but the locals tended to have the best
information. “Thanks.” She slipped the paper into her pants pocket.
“So Samael tries to suck the life out of people and the angel
statue…or Michael, what does he do?”

Hester sighed. “No one knows for sure what
his purpose is. Some claim he comes alive and chases them and
others claim he’s trying to save them from the evil lurking on the
grounds. I tend to believe the latter.”

“Why’s that?”

“It’s my theory that Michael was the better
man, the man Mary truly loved. She stepped in front of him to save
him.”

Clarity pursed her lips together. “Then Mary
should have said so. Maybe then Samael wouldn’t have called Michael
out. He would have known he lost.”

“Yes, it would seem it should be that
simple. As we both know, life isn’t always so.”

“Um, yes.” Clarity tapped the key card on
the counter top and stood up straight. “Thank you for sharing the
legend. It does put a different spin on what I’ve read about it.”
She leaned down and picked up her suitcase and camera cases.

Hester came around the counter to face her,
worried lines creasing her brow. “If you plan on taking a stroll in
the cemetery, remember to leave before the sun sets. Today’s
Halloween.” As if that explained her warning.

She wasn’t careless and hadn’t planned on
roaming the cemetery in the dead of night. The place was nestled in
a wooded area with no lights. She had no desire to be lost out
there in the dark. She gave the receptionist a smile, grateful for
her concern. “I’m not after ghosts, but if I was, I’d have no
interest in them chasing me around the cemetery.”

Satisfied with her answer, Hester gave her a
nod and returned to her position behind the counter.

Clarity headed for the stairs. It was
carpeted with a paisley design of red and gold. Since there was no
one to help her to her room, she made due, juggling her cameras and
camcorder on one shoulder and gripped the suitcase with her free
hand.

Her room stood halfway down the corridor
with only seven doors on each side. Her key card slid down easily.
The little red light turned to green and she pushed the door open.
The room was decorated in blue and brown. The wallpaper had thin
stripes with the same colors to match. There was one queen size
bed, centered on the far wall with a blue bedspread adorning it. On
the opposite side of the room, there stood a nightstand and a
dresser with a large mirror hanging on the wall behind it. The
bathroom was to the right as she entered the room and a small
closet was on the other side of the entryway.

She threw her things down on the bed and
glanced at her watch. “Two o’clock.” She had a couple of hours
before the sun would set to take some daytime pictures of the
graveyard. She opened her suitcase, pulled out her windbreaker, and
slipped it on over her sweater. She already had her walking boots
on and her well-worn jeans would be fine for her afternoon
hike.

With her digital camera in hand, she headed
down the stairs again. As she neared the bottom she slowed her
pace, noticing an old man standing there, staring up at her. His
eyes were dark and his mouth sunk in as if he forgot to put in his
dentures this morning.

“Miss Shaw?” he asked, looking directly at
her.

Her right brow shot up and goose bumps rose
on her forearm. She didn’t understand the reaction. The man seemed
harmless enough. There wasn’t any reason for her to fear him and
yet, a ping of caution erupted in her chest. “Yes?” She reached the
bottom step, glancing toward the reception area. She noticed the
sign stating the receptionist would be back in an hour.
Great.
They were alone in a virtually empty hotel.

“I’m Mr. Donner,” he introduced himself. “We
spoke on the phone a few months ago about the cemetery,” he
added.

Immediately relief flooded her senses. “Yes,
of course. It’s nice to finally meet you.” Funny, she pictured a
much younger man at the time. His voice had the same resonance to
it, but there was a slight shake in the volume of his words. As if
speech was difficult for any length of time.

“I’m glad you were able to make the
arrangements to visit.”

She was too. This was her first assignment.
She just started working at Unbelievable Finds. The home office was
situated in Seattle. She knew the owners, Aubrey Jules and Loretta
Sinclair, from college. Since the magazine was doing so well, they
asked her to join the team.

On one of Aubrey Jules’ assignments about a
fairy magic box
and
soul mates
, she ran into an old
boyfriend. They rekindled their romance and now it looked like
Aubrey was going to relocate to California to be with him. Aubrey
would cover the west coast and she was hired to cover the east. The
Internet made it easy to pass the information along to Loretta who
was a genius when it came to editing. She also designed the cover
art for the magazine, which turned out to be a selling point in
their favor. She went with the eerie, which screamed:
pick me up
and find out what’s inside
.

“I was heading out to the cemetery right
now,” she told Mr. Donner.

His frown proved troublesome. “The sun will
set in a few hours and tonight’s Halloween, the anniversary of the
duel.”

Yeah, she hadn’t forgotten what day it was,
but for some reason she had a hunch she was missing something
important. It was a good thing Mr. Donner decided to fill her in on
the pagan beliefs of Samhain.

“The veil between the otherworld is thin on
Halloween and you don’t know what will cross over. The Tempest Gate
Cemetery is no longer on consecrated ground. If you’re not
prepared, it’s not safe to be on the grounds after dark.”

She had to keep reminding herself there were
people who truly believed in ghost stories and haunted places. They
expected her to share their beliefs since she worked for a
paranormal magazine. When she took this gig, she hadn’t thought
acting was a requirement. She had to keep a straight face and not
crack a smile while she pretended the boogieman was real and
monsters lived in closets. “I’ll be fine, but I appreciate your
concern.”

He shook his head. “I thought I’d have more
time,” he mumbled under his breath before his tired gaze met hers.
“You look like the Peabodys.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“Are you a witch, too?”

She cleared her throat, thinking the
conversation had taken a wrong turn somehow. “No. Remember, I told
you that I worked for the paranormal magazine.”

“I recall, but you’re a blood relative of
the Peabodys’. You have the power to lift the curse.”

She opened her mouth then shut it again and
tried not to smile. “Listen, my interests here are purely curiosity
about my family’s history and the chance to write an intriguing
story for the magazine. I haven’t a clue how to break a curse.” She
lifted her hands palms up in a shrug. “Really. I promise you I’m
not a witch.”

Mr. Donner seemed hard press to let this go.
“You’re of her blood—the witch’s. The glamour is there. You must
know how to break the curse.”

“Okay,” she said slowly, trying to think of
a nice way to end this conversation. Funny, over the phone, she
hadn’t pictured Mr. Donner as a man who was a little touched in the
head. Curses and witches—his serious expression proved he truly
believed in them. She took a deep breath. “I’ll keep what you said
in mind, but I should really head out now. You know, before the sun
sets.”

He moved aside and she walked past him. Even
though she didn’t believe in ghosts, Mr. Donner’s parting words
chilled her all the same.

“You must leave before the fog rolls in. If
you don’t, it will be too late.”

Chapter Two