Capricorn Cursed Read Free

wooden pieces until they gleamed like the moon on the beach at low tide.
    She put on her favorite white cotton nightgown with the ruffled sleeves and slipped into bed. Lost among the pillows and comforters, she reached out to tie the canopy flaps shut. With a black-silk-and-lace mask over her eyes, she smiled as she tried to sleep, willing herself toward thoughts of Gus once more.
    In minutes, she came to her.
    â€œNot tonight,” Natasha whispered. “I’m tired.”
    The spirit was persistent, teasing her face with ethereal, floating fingers. Natasha batted at her with her hand.
    â€œNo. I don’t want to know.”
    Natasha rolled over, turning her back to the ghost, but it was to no avail. The ghost teased her mask from her face, forcing Natasha to look at her.
    The ghostly presence shimmered in the darkness, a full mouth and wide, expectant eyes flitted in and out of Natasha’s focus. Another form shifted into shape next to the ghost and then another one. Soon, lost souls crying to Natasha for attention filled the canopy tent.
    â€œGo away,” she said firmly to them as she sat up. “I don’t want to see you right now.” Slowly, the images faded, and Natasha flopped back onto her pillows.
    Curse this so-called gift! Why is there always a price?
    Her dreams were no better, which was not surprising. The stronger her gift of speaking to the dead grew, the more she was unable to control it. Between unexpected messages from beyond and her constant thirst, she was going mad.
    By the time she awoke, she was dizzy and weak. She opened up the great velvet drapes and greeted the night. It was chilly in the room; she could almost see her breath. She knew it had nothing to do with the snowstorm outside. It was the ghosts, lurking in wait for her to answer their questions and relay messages to their loved ones.
    Her fingers itched as she prepared the coffeemaker. Once it was percolating, she went into the living room. There was a bit of a glow from the moon as the whiteness of the pounding snow swirled outside her windows.
    Natasha loved her loft. It sprawled across the entire floor of an old factory from the ‘20’s. Some company had once thought Hermana might be a good trade town. If there had been more workers able to focus on toiling in a factory, it would have been.
    With Boston and other towns not that far away, the Hermana textiles factory didn’t fare well. It may also have had something to do with the local citizens not being terribly excited about a big, black-smoke-belching factory smack-dab in the middle of their little scenic town.
    It could also have been the witches.
    There had been a series of unfortunate events, which included missed shipments and faulty machinery. There had even been that horrible day when the nasty, old foreman fell into some spinning thing and was sliced and diced beyond recognition.
    No matter, the factory was abandoned within years of being built. It was eventually converted into large, beautiful lofts for artists and other eccentrics.
    Although her living room and dining room area were combined, there was lots of room for any number of guests that a single lady might expect to have over. There was her bedroom, which was lovely, but her other room was her total pride and joy — the room where her angry soul found peace. In it, she could lose herself for hours from the sheer exhaustion of living; she could be single and alone, with no family and no destination.
    The room called to her — sometimes invading her dreams, sometimes niggling at her when she was out with friends. She had spent countless hours saging the room, ridding it of the angry workers and the wailing foreman who were drawn to her.
    It was the only room where she was able to somewhat hide from the spirits, but even then, it was seldom for long.
    She turned the large goat’s head handle and pushed the door open.
    She flicked one of the many switches, and several huge