She stared at the ceiling, drifting off and waking intermittently. Something buzzed close to her ear and she batted a hand to swat the insect away. She pulled the pillow over her head as a barrier and eventually drifted off into a light sleep, only to be woken by her phone pinging at five o’clock in the morning.
She groaned when she saw her sister had messaged her.
I’ve got news. It’s not urgent, I can’t sleep. Club Insomnia, Jess texted.
Carla groggily propped herself up in bed. I’m there too x, she texted back.
Sorry, did I wake you?
I’m not sure if I was awake or asleep.
A few seconds later, Carla’s phone vibrated and she pressed it to her ear. “Hi,” she said with a yawn.
“Hi,” Jess said, equally sleepily. “Do you remember when we used to wake up early in our bedroom and whisper to each other, thinking no one could hear us?”
“Then Gran used to knock on the wall and shout for us to go back to sleep,” Carla added.
“And we’d both be exhausted in school, later on? This feels a bit like that.”
Carla smiled to herself. “What’s your news?”
“I paid a visit to that church in Preston,” Jess said. “It’s only fifty miles away, and the stained-glass window was there, just as it looks in the photo, complete with the magpie.”
“You didn’t shoot up in flames for heresy?”
“Don’t worry, I left my runes and sage at home, and I dressed smartly, too. The vicar looked ancient, like he’d been there forever, and a church didn’t seem the right place to tell him our family was cursed. I talked to him about the window, though, and he told me some interesting things...”
Carla plumped up her pillow and got comfortable. “Tell me more.”
“When I mentioned Lars and Agatha, he started to talk as if he’d known them personally, a long time ago. He mentioned they were a quiet couple who both lived into their eighties.”
Carla’s brow crinkled. “Was he talking about the same people?”
“I reckon so. He mentioned the couple were Dutch.”
Carla’s mouth parted with confusion, and she felt the need to recap what she knew. “So, we know a curse was cast, and it was announced in a newspaper that Lars died because of it, but then we find out that he and Agatha both lived in England until a ripe old age?”
“Yes,” Jess said. “That’s it. The vicar also told me they had a son named Willem. He died several years ago.”
“So, we can’t ask him anything...” Carla mused aloud.
“What’s there to ask?”
“I don’t know.” She just felt, knew, that there had to be more to this story. “So, Lars and Agatha somehow managed to outwit the curse?”
“It looks that way. But that’s not all. The plot thickens,” Jess said, her breath quickening. “The vicar said Agatha was a glass artist and she designed the window in the church. That could be why the design features the magpie. He still had some records on file, so could tell me the window was installed in December 1923.”
Carla batted the buzzing insect away from her face again. “But Lars died in November 1923, in Amsterdam. The newspaper article says so. How did he and Agatha manage to have their photo taken in front of the window in December, in England?”
“I have no idea. My head hurts thinking about it.”
Carla’s logical side kicked in. “There’s obviously some mistake. The church records must be wrong or something. We need to look at the positives here. Even if a curse was bestowed on Lars and Agatha, they somehow managed to escape it. It looks like it didn’t work.”
“But how?” Jess asked.
“Maybe curses aren’t true after all,” Carla reasoned. However, Anastacia’s talk of spirituality and Pharaohs’ curses in the early twentieth century left her feeling not quite certain.
Both sisters took a moment to try to make sense of everything but failed.
“Where are you up to with your search?” Jess asked.
Carla glanced toward her bedside drawer. “There’s only one card left now.”
“Which one?”
Carla grimaced, not wanting to think about his face, about his name. “The Lovers,” she muttered.
“Ooh,” Jess said. “Who’s that supposed to represent?”
“I’m not sure.”
Jess tutted. “You always mumble when you’re lying. You’re going to marry Tom in ten days’ time, so you need to find this last guy quickly.”
“Um...how are things going between you and Mr. Forty-Nine Percent?” Carla asked.
“Switching the subject, I see,” Jess said with a small laugh. “Last night he made me spaghetti carbonara and it was so gorgeous I’ve renamed him Mr. Fifty-Eight Percent.”
“I’m glad you’re giving him a chance.”
