The Cursed Prince, Teresa Roman [the reader ebook TXT] 📗

Terry, and the man beside her was Phil. They owned a body shop in town. “Beaver Falls is one of those everybody-knows-everybody towns.”

She was right. Besides Phil and Terry, the two other people in attendance were Mary, who worked at the library downtown, and her daughter Rachel. Mary’s husband had died several years ago.

From the gossip around town, I’d gathered that the Korzhas always invited three people to attend, and each person was allowed to bring one guest. It was a manageable number if their goal was to get to know the residents of Beaver Falls better. But if that was the purpose behind these dinners, then why did Frederic, Maxim, and Alexander stay holed up inside this castle all the time instead of coming into town to mingle with the rest of the residents? If they didn’t actually like it here, then what was keeping them in Beaver Falls?

“We were deep in the middle of a fascinating discussion when the two of you walked in,” Frederic said.

“Oh really?” my father said. “What was it about?”

“The history of Beaver Falls,” Mary said.

“Do you know much about it?” Frederic asked.

“I don’t,” my father confessed. “But my wife did. Her family has lived here for generations.”

Alexander’s face seemed to light up. “Is that so? Tell me then, do you think there’s any truth to the rumors about the founders of this town?”

“You mean the one about them being a coven of witches who fled Europe to avoid persecution?”

“Yes,” Alexander practically hissed in excitement.

“It’s partly true,” my father replied. “The settlers of Beaver Falls were trying to escape persecution for being witches. But, of course, they weren’t really witches. That’s all a bunch of superstitious nonsense.”

“What if it isn’t?” Rachel asked.

“A lot of people believe it,” Mary added.

“I’m with James,” Terry chimed in. “I don’t believe in any of that nonsense. If there really was such a thing as magic, I’d be first in line at one of those fortune teller shops downtown to get the numbers to the next winning lottery ticket.”

“That’s not how magic works,” Maxim said, barely containing his contempt for Terry’s remark.

Frederic turned to me. “What do you think?”

I pondered his question. A part of me wanted to believe in magic. It seemed like fun, but I knew better. I was an accountant. I dealt with numbers. Logic and hard facts made sense—magic, not so much. Like my father, I’d dismissed the stories about Beaver Falls as silly superstition. “I agree with my dad.”

“A shame,” Frederic said, shaking his head. He seemed genuinely disappointed.

Just then a bell rang from across the hall.

“Dinner is served,” Maxim said. “Come, everyone. Follow me.”

As we crossed the grand foyer my father whispered, “I think I know why they’ve been hosting these parties.”

“Really?”

“We’re as entertaining to them as they are to us.”

In the short time since we’d arrived, I’d picked up on the Korzhas’ I’m better than you vibe. Perhaps that’s why they rarely ventured into town. And yet week after week, they opened their home to guests. Maybe it was out of boredom as my father had just suggested. That notion did not sit well with me. The idea of being viewed as nothing more than an amusement bothered me.

We took our seats around an enormous dining table. It was elegantly set with crystal glasses, fine china and perfectly polished silverware. Floral arrangements and lit candles added a stylish touch. Two servants dressed in tuxedos entered the dining room and filled our glasses with wine. They left through a door at the far end of the room only to return moments later with baskets of warm bread and a giant tureen from which some sort of creamy vegetable soup was ladled out.

“This looks delicious,” Phil commented.

“Enjoy,” Frederic replied.

“I hope you don’t mind me asking,” I said, finally working up the nerve to ask a question after a few spoonfuls of soup and a bite of bread. “But I’m kind of curious about something. Have you guys decided to stay in Beaver Falls permanently?”

“Not permanently, but for the foreseeable future,” Frederic replied curtly. His expression was stern, but he quickly managed a smile and continued. “Which is the reason for these gatherings. We desire to get to know our neighbors better.”

I glanced at my father, trying to pick up on his thoughts by the expression on his face, but he was too busy enjoying his meal.

“Your neighbors really appreciate that,” Terry said. “I don’t think a single one of us hasn’t wondered what this place looks like on the inside.”

“Will we get a tour after dinner?” Rachel said

“This is our home, not a museum,” Maxim said.

Rachel looked contrite, but before she could offer an apology the servants returned. They removed our soup bowls and served the main course: spiced lamb and roasted root vegetables.

“This food is delicious,” Phil said, wiping his mouth a napkin. “I’ve never had anything like it before.”

“Dishes from our home country,” Alexander explained.

“And where exactly are you from again?” Mary asked.

“We are from Sarabia,” Maxim said. “It is a very small country in eastern Europe. Most Americans have never heard of it.”

“That explains your accent,” Terry said.

Maxim seemed surprised by the comment. “Do we really have one?”

“It’s slight,” Mary said, “but definitely there.”

I’d noticed it too. It wasn’t as pronounced as the man who’d greeted us at the door or the one who’d offered my father and me wine earlier. The brothers must have been taught English at a very early age.

“I think it’s sexy.” Rachel had gotten all starry-eyed. She seemed quite taken by the Korzha brothers. I might have been, too, if I hadn’t found their aloofness so off-putting.

My eyes drifted around the room. A large chandelier hung from the ceiling. There were portraits on the walls and in between them the same carved wood paneling that I’d noticed in the drawing room.

“Those carvings,” I said, pointing to them. “Do they have any special significance?”

“Wolves are pack animals; their image reminds our family and me that we must