At Thanksgiving, we wonder what blessings have touched our lives.
Characters in books also have things to be thankful for. For instance, Nevara Wood from A Perfect Curse began her day happy that after months of hunting, she finally found a clue to a perplexing mystery.
A bookworm by nature, it’s not surprising that the clue she uncovered was inside a book. But in novels, blessings can transform into something more sinister. But be careful of too quickly labeling a stressful event a curse. Because sometimes in fiction, as in our lives, our most trying moments are really a “blessing in disguise.”
EXCERPT from A Perfect Curse
This past summer, Nevara had found a clue to the alliance’s origins. A heavy-lidded, painted eye on a crest found on the late Duke of Morton’s portrait had seemed oddly familiar. So, for months, she had been scouring libraries and bookstores across London to locate where she had seen that insignia.
Today, she had finally found it, in a book about Spanish gypsies. Nevara patted the volumes she carried with barely suppressed excitement. This discovery led to the very city in Spain she wished to visit. Seville. At last, she was on the verge of discovering the source of the alliance’s curse. And surely, once she achieved that, ridding herself of her affliction could not be far behind.
She wove through the crowded pavement, her imagination transforming the chill brush of the English autumn wind into a hot Spanish breeze warming her shoulders and back. If only her Aunt Cora could have lived to see how close Nevara was to ending her affliction. She would be so proud of her. Perhaps she might even have loved her again, as she once had, before Nevara’s curse began to manifest itself.
A bird suddenly flew by her shoulder, its wings beating so close, Nevara ducked aside. It skimmed past her and landed on a nearby tree. Startled, she stopped to glance with curiosity at the black bird. It was a crow. A one-eyed crow. The moment she sighted it, her head began to throb, a definitive signal that her talent had been activated.
Her sight began to shift, overlaying the bird’s black feathers with streaks of shimmering light.
Do not be swayed. This is an illusion.
Nevara repeated the mantra her Aunt Cora had taught her, followed by the Lord’s Prayer, to ward off evil apparitions. She blinked to clear her sight and rubbed at an aching spot on the side of her head. Why must her accursed talent act up now, when she was in a rush to return home?
Up in the tree, the crow hopped from branch to branch, a blinding shimmer that shuffled among the leaves.
Her throbbing temple made her dizzy. Nevara moved to the edge of the pavement and braced herself by wrapping an arm around a lamp post. Her books slipped out of her grip.
She bit her lip to keep her moan silent. She did not want to alert people to her distress. They might ask what was wrong and she could hardly say the devil considered her its plaything.
Her altered sight disguised what was real—her scattered books—with a layer of what was unreal, a medley of crisscrossing lines of light. The lines spread out in intricate pathways, like frost forming on an icy windowpane.
Experience had taught her, however, that if she waited long enough, her normal sight would return. So she breathed slowly and urged her pounding heart to be calm.
“This too shall pass,†her Aunt Cora used to whisper between each lash of her whip.
Despite all of Nevara’s quietly muttered prayers, the street stayed as lit up as if Guy Fawkes Day had come early in September, instead of in November. Pain and frustration brought tears that wet her cheeks.
“Nevara?†a man said.
That voice sounded so familiar. She was petrified at being spotted in this debilitating state by a friend. Few, even in the alliance, were aware of how she dreaded her shifting sight, or how dramatically it could affect her. She eased behind the lamp post, hoping whoever it was would just walk away.
When he did not say anything else, she adjusted her spectacles and peered up. A tall man was staring down at her but she could not make out his face beneath the mask of light that covered his features.
“You have dropped your books,†he said, and knelt to retrieve them from around her feet.
That voice. It was unmistakable this time. And it belonged to the last person she wanted to run into while in this state of distress. Surely God could not hate her so much as to bring her face-to-face with the one man whom she loved with all her heart, a man who had shunned her because of her abnormal talent? Her vision finally began to return to normal, but as he was bent over gathering her books, it was still hard to confirm his identity. Was she fooling herself? That lush brown hair was so achingly familiar. Could it be him? Then she caught her first clear glimpse of his handsome face as he gave her an adorably worried grin.
Recognition slammed into her and Nevara’s knees liquefied. Mark Dimas Alvaro. It was him. Her heart thudded with joy. And in the tree above, the crow cawed.
Inspired by Snow White
WHO NEEDS A PRINCE, WHEN YOU’VE GOT A HUNTSMAN?
Nevara Wood is desperate to change her life. Plagued by shifting sight, which skews her normal vision and shows her disturbing images, she’s always felt odd and unlovable. And she greatly wants to be loved-especially by Mark Dimas Alvaro, the man she has hero-worshiped since the day he saved her life. Her only chance at happiness lies in breaking the curse that afflicts her-and all clues to the source of her torment point to a town in Southern Spain. Unfortunately, her every attempt to travel to that war-ravaged continent is impeded by the very man whose love she wants to win . . .
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