Goddess Curse

  Goddess Curse

  Gods and Paranormals Book One

  RaShelle Workman

  Polished Pen Press, llc

  Copyright @ 2019 Goddess Curse, Gods and Paranormals Book One by RaShelle Workman

  All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the creation of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Design by: Luminescence Covers

  Edited by: Jen Hendricks & Debbie Davis

  Website: www.rashelleworkman.org

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  SECTION ONE

  Foreword

  THE LOVERS

  1. TO CATCH A HUSBAND

  2. A LADY OF BREEDING

  3. TONGUE WAGGING

  4. A PROPOSAL

  5. BIRTHDAY PRESENT

  6. ODD LOCKET

  7. COUNTESS OF VEGA

  8. GRANDMOTHER’S JOURNALS

  9. THIRD QUARTER MOON

  10. GRANDMOTHER’S GRAVE

  SECTION TWO

  11. GLORIOUSLY HANDSOME

  12. DESPERATE FOR ESCAPE

  13. CHERRY BLOSSOMS

  14. HAVE A CUP OF TEA

  15. SIX MORE DAYS

  16. FIND THE TRUTH

  17. SMART PHONE TROUBLE

  18. AFFINITY WITH CATS

  19. FIFTH AVENUE

  20. FLYING CONTRAPTION

  21. DAUGHTER OF RA

  22. TEN HOUR FLIGHT

  23. READY FOR THIS

  24. ALSO AMAZING

  BLOOD AND SNOW

  About the Author

  Also by RaShelle Workman

  This story is dedicated to everyone who understands that love isn’t an emotion to be taken lightly. If it’s a forever love, it will cross nations and span time.

  Acknowledgments

  I have to thank my husband and children for helping me create the story of the Gods—Hathor, Bastet, and Apep.

  SECTION ONE

  “Time is life’s heartbeat, each second ticking us toward our end. There’s no stopping it. All we can do is hope to live each moment better than the one before.” ~ Lady Agatha

  THE LOVERS

  Before the world began, the gods were born. Apep, branded as the god of darkness and chaos constantly warred with Ra, god of the sun. Apep despised himself and his nature. One night he confessed his inexplicable pain to the beautiful Hathor, known as the goddess of love. She was also Ra’s favorite.

  Hathor, saddened by Apep’s pain, had compassion on him. She foraged an amulet using soil from her beloved Earth and infused it with the great love she held in her heart. Then she presented it to Apep and explained that wearing the amulet would keep his chaotic nature in check. Over time, Apep and Hathor fell in love and lived happily together for thousands of years.

  During that time Bastet, the daughter of Ra was born. Ra deliberately made her unable to love. He wanted a focused child and not one flitting around after the needs of her heart. As she grew, the other gods laughed at her, telling her she was deficient. She knew it was true. It hurt that she couldn’t love. She asked her father to give her love, but he refused.

  As the years passed, Bastet became jealous of those who could love, and she created mischief. Separating couples became her purpose. In spite of all her efforts she couldn’t divide Apep and Hathor. Their love for each other trumped every kink Bastet threw their way. Once, she even tried disguising herself as Hathor so Apep would take her. But Apep knew her plan and dismissed her from his room, telling her it was a good thing he wore the amulet, or he would kill her.

  Bastet had discovered his weakness at last. In a rage, she poisoned Apep and Hathor, causing them to fall into a deep sleep. Then she snuck into their bedchamber, stole the amulet from Apep’s neck, ripped it in half and flung the two pieces down to Earth.

  When Apep and Hathor woke, Apep’s chaotic nature emerged in full force. He was frenzied. Hathor tried to calm him, but without the amulet, his inherent dark and chaotic nature couldn’t be contained. Unable to control himself, Apep killed Hathor.

  When she discovered what Apep had done to Hathor, Bastet laughed with glee. She succeeded once again in separating two lovers.

  Devastated by what he’d done, Apep went to Ra and pled with the god to allow him to take Hathor’s body so he could bury her within her beloved Earth.

  Ra agreed on the condition that Apep promised to become Earth’s night. Apep swore he would. With Ra’s blessing, Apep took his beloved Hathor’s body and buried her. In the dirt above her body a meadow of heart-shaped clover grew. But soon the clover began to wither and Apep knew it was because the sun had shone for too long. So he fulfilled his promise to Ra and became the night.

  Ra, grateful for Apep’s sacrifice, allowed the darkness and light to fade into each other by creating the sunrise and the sunset, thus giving Apep the opportunity to see Hathor’s meadow of clover twice each day.

  The gesture infuriated Bastet. She demanded that Ra destroy Apep. Exploiting his daughter’s grief, Ra commanded Bastet to become the moon and stars of Earth. She agreed on the condition that he would give her the ability to love. Then Bastet exploded into billions of twinkling lights, creating the stars. The largest piece, Bastet’s dark heart, became the moon.

  When the sky was complete, Bastet asked her father to give her love. But Ra refused her, and Bastet realized her father’s treachery. Heartbroken, she began to snuff out the stars and turned her heart from Earth.

  Ra understood at last the depth of his daughter’s jealousy, but it didn’t change his feelings for murdered Hathor, his favorite.

  In an effort to save the planet Hathor was buried in and still appease Bastet, Ra made another deal. If she could bring Hathor and Apep’s broken amulet pieces back together, then Ra would destroy the night, return Bastet to her regular form, and give her the ability to love. But there was a catch. The amulet’s power would only work when the moon was full or new.

  Bastet eagerly agreed and searched for the amulet pieces for a million years. Finally she found one but had no way to retrieve it. She begged her father for help, but he’d grown weary of the situation and refused. Bastet, unwilling to give up, began influencing humans with her mischief once again.

  But there was something Bastet didn’t count on. Not everyone could see or touch the amulet, only those whose hearts were open to true love. The power within would bind with the human and whisk them to their true love wherever that person might be in place and time.

  That didn’t stop Bastet or her mischief. She still searches…

  Because when the two pieces of the amulet are brought together, she’ll no longer be the moon and the stars. She’ll no longer sway the tides or keep the Earth spinning on its axis.

  In essence, the destruction of the world is imminent.

  1

  TO CATCH A HUSBAND

  London, England 1815

  Amidst the crushing parties of Almack’s, the afternoon carriage rides, and the changing necklines and hemlines of the ton, one thing remained the same. During the early months of the year hopeful girls and their calculating mothers prepared for the Season in London with singular purpose. That of catching a husband.

  At the moment though Lucy was only concerned with catching the mouse that kept shredding pages from her romantic adventure books and using them to make a nest in the back of her wardrobe.

  She got down on hands and knees, holding in one hand a pillowcase she fashioned into a trap. The gray mouse was pressed against the back wall, his little whiskers twitching nervously.

  “Harriet, get off that chair you scaredy-cat. T
he poor mouse is more afraid of you than you are of it. I need you to bring over that platter of food.” Lucy pointed to the tray sitting on her bed. Her appetite wasn’t what it used to be. And who could blame her? A husband had already been caught for her. Tonight, at the ball to celebrate her eighteenth birthday, her father would announce her engagement to Dashel Rothchild.

  “Harriet,” she hollered, more insistent.

  Her lady’s maid carefully climbed off the chair and tiptoed over to the bed where she picked up the tray filled with biscuits, preserves and cheese. “Here you are, Miss.” She set it on the wood floor next to Lucy before jumping back on the chair.

  “Thank you,” Lucy said with an exasperated laugh. Harriet was a dear girl, but she lacked Lucy’s fortitude. “Look what I have for you, mouse.” She broke off a piece of cheese and tossed it softly toward the mouse in the wardrobe.

  Its nose and whiskers moved quickly as it assessed the treat Lucy had thrown it.

  “Come on, troublemaker, lest you make me late to my own engagement.” Under her breath, she added, “Not that I mind.”

  The mouse took a hesitant step forward, picked up the cheese in its tiny pink paws and began eating.

  “See, that wasn’t so hard.” She kept her voice soft and soothing, like when she talked to a new horse. “Here’s a bit more.” She tore off another chunk and threw it in. The mouse stuffed the remainder of the first piece in its mouth and moved to the newest piece. He sniffed before picking it up and eating.

  Lucy clapped quietly, proud that her plan seemed to be working. “You are handling the situation marvelously, mouse. Just a little closer and I’ll put you in this pillowcase. But fear not,” she continued, tearing another piece of cheese and throwing it in. “I won’t hurt you; I’m only going to send you outside.” She watched the mouse eat. Glancing at Harriet, who looked ready to faint, she went on, “He’s kind of cute. You’ve no need to be frightened.”

  “You donna’ understand, Miss. They like to climb in my hair.”

  Lucy thought about that. “I’m sorry, Harriet. If a mouse climbed in my hair that would frighten me as well.”

  “That’s alright. Shall I run down and fetch Patrick? He could have the mouse caught n’ killed in no time.”

  Lucy placed the final piece of cheese on the edge of the wardrobe. “That’s precisely the reason you mustn’t summon Patrick. I do not wish the mouse dead, only out of my wardrobe.”

  Lucy ever so slowly lifted the pillowcase to the edge. If the mouse became frightened it would run. She needed to be quick. As the mouse ambled near the edge, it sniffed the air. Perhaps checking for danger.

  “You’re safe, little mouse. Just pick up the cheese.”

  The mouse studied her with its glassy black eyes. After several long moments, he decided the cheese was worth possibly capture. The mouse picked up the nibble and ate.

  At once, Lucy threw the pillowcase, but the mouse was too quick and dashed under it, onto the floor and then ran under Lucy’s bed.

  “Blast,” Lucy shouted, standing.

  Harriet squealed, hugging the hem of her dress to her chest. “Are you going after it?” Harriet asked.

  Lucy peered under her bed where she could see the shine of the mouse’s eyes. “Little trickster, you’re safe for now.” She stood, catching a glimpse of her reflection in the full-length mirror standing next to her wardrobe. She had on her chemise, stay, petticoat, and silk stockings. “I suppose I should find something to wear. Dashel isn’t going to get engaged by himself.”

  “You’re right, Miss. To catch yerself a husband yer hav’n to have the proper trap.” She grinned at her cleverness.

  Lucy smiled. Harriet was two years younger than herself, but she seemed more astute in the ways of the world. “You know good and well he is already caught, but he is not my match.” She picked through the brand new gowns in her wardrobe. Her mother was adamant she have the best of everything and several of each style for whatever the occasion. Lucy had morning gowns, visiting gowns, walking gowns, promenade dresses, carriage dresses, two riding habits, four dinner dresses, and twenty ball gowns as well as three incredibly fancy dresses to be used when she was presented to the Queen. Her mother didn’t want Lucy seen in the same gown twice. Lucy knew the small fortune her mother spent had nothing to do with love of her daughter and everything to do with how she would be portrayed in society. Her mother was always very conscious about appearances. Very little was ever focused on the soul.

  There was a time when Lucy’s greatest wish was to marry, like her mother. She spent hours lying in the clover meadow behind her house in Sothersby, staring up at the overcast sky, and imagining her perfect husband. He would be tall. Irresistibly handsome. His hair would be well kept, his lips full, but not thick. She would imagine the dashing way he wore his breeches, jacket, and cravat. When the time was right, she and her fiancé would marry in front of three hundred of their dearest friends. Afterward, they would vacation along the Thames for six months, and then move into their London home. Theirs would be the hub of all the best social gatherings. Occasionally they made appearances at the most fashionable parties—she in a beautiful gown and he in his finest dress coat. She smiled demurely behind her fan as she listened to gossip about her and her husband. People would say things like: “I hear he brings her flowers every day,” and, “It’s scandalous the way her husband looks at her.” He would be kind, well educated, driven, and self-assured.

  Lucy indulged in such daydreams when she’d been young, too young to understand the reason her mother, Lady Kathryn Channing often cried or why her father, the Earl of Sothersby drank port until his face turned red and his belly grew large. Today she was eighteen, and no longer a child. No longer naïve in the ways of the world.

  Lucy understood her parents didn’t love each other. Theirs was a marriage of convenience, based on barely contained tolerance. That apathy translated to their eldest daughter. She was a means to increase the family’s standing. And her parents, not given to wasting time, had already found her a suitable match. Tonight would be her birthday celebration, her coming out ball, and her engagement announcement.

  The problem as Lucy saw it, was she didn’t love her soon-to-be intended—at least not the way a woman should love her husband. As she pulled dress after gorgeous dress from her closet and then tossed them on her bed, she wished she could go back to that innocent time when she believed life had limitless potential and that one day her prince would come. He would sweep her off her feet and promise to love her forever and always.

  “Is there a particular dress you’re looking for, Miss?” Harriet asked. She wrung her hands, fretting over Lucy’s dithering.

  “I’m hoping I’ll know it when I see it, Harriet.” Having never been to a ball, one might believe Lucy would be brimming with enthusiasm at the prospect of attending. Not so. She was being led like a lamb to the slaughter and there wasn’t a blasted thing she could do about it. The invitations had been sent weeks ago and most everyone accepted, including the notorious Duke of Vladimir. Her party was sure to be a great success and the talk of the ton, but Lucy didn’t care.

  Lucy was a woman of intellect who enjoyed her studies immensely, especially the sciences. She could speak French, Italian, and Spanish. She was also adept at oil painting, loved to play the pianoforte, and excelled at reading and writing. She especially loved to read the provocative (according to her mother) new works of Jane Austen while wandering through her family’s rose gardens or sitting in their cemetery. Lucy knew spending time in a graveyard would seem morbid to most, but there was something comforting about being near her deceased ancestors. Large trees surrounded the area and in the summer some of the branches nearly touched the ground as though they were hugging the dead, keeping them safe.

  Three months ago, over a supper of roasted pork and boiled potatoes, her father broke the news that the family was nearly out of money. Lucy was to be their savior. It was her responsibility to marry Dashel Rothchild, the Earl o
f Westington. To keep up appearances they took up residence in London for the Season so Lucy could be properly presented into society.

  “My life is over,” Lucy moaned, dramatically flinging herself into a chair.

  “Whatever do you mean, Miss? Your life is magical.” Harriet picked up a gown, ignoring Lucy’s theatrics. “How about this lovely red one? It’ll bring out the creaminess of your skin,” she said holding it up to Lucy’s chin.

  Lucy crinkled her nose, making a face she was sure her mother would say was unbecoming of the future wife of an Earl.

  Harriet rehung the dress back in the wardrobe and pulled out a lilac one. “This one will really bring out your eyes,” she continued.

  Lucy turned away. “No.” She knew she was being difficult, and if she didn’t get ready soon her mother would come up to her bedroom and then she would have the devil to pay.

  Her lady’s maid sighed. “Your party has already started. If’n you don’t hurry, the Mistress will turn me out minus a letter o’ recommendation. I’ll be destitute, Miss.”

  Lucy sat up, determined to stop her insufferable behavior. “You needn’t concern yourself, Harriet. My mother knows I cannot get by without you.” She picked through the gowns unceremoniously tossed on her bed. Each was made to fit Lucy’s slim form perfectly. The dressmaker, the self-proclaimed Great Harry DeVent, claimed Lucy would be the talk of the London Season, declaring her waist length dark brown curls, violet eyes and lithe figure were all the rage. He predicted that if Lucy wore his dresses, she would capture the heart of every eligible male of worth. And went on to say that she would be engaged, and the banns posted before the Season was finished.