Baba Dika laughs. “Sweet girl. I’m eighty-seven this spring. My sixties are far behind me.” She rocks back and forth on the couch, launching herself into a standing position. “But yes, I might know someone who knows this woman. Let me make a phone call.” She reaches up, selecting a slim volume from the bookshelf on the wall beside us and handing it to me with a wink. “Take this with you when you go. There might be a few things inside that you’ll find interesting.”
My fingers curl around the book—Tales of Royalty and Romani—my pulse picking up again. “Th-thank you.”
“Of course.” She pats Jeffrey on the shoulder on her way across the room. “My granddaughter follows you on the computer. The youngest brother is her favorite, but I’ve always liked the serious ones.” She glances my way as she adds, “Never trust a man who smiles too much. He’s thinking with his teeth, not his heart.”
“S-sounds right to me,” I say.
She chuckles and moves away, eventually circling the checkout desk and ducking under the blue curtain behind it.
Hands trembling, I open the book to the table of contents, running a finger down the list of stories until I find what I’m looking for. I turn to the chapter on the Rochat curse, skimming the first few paragraphs. I’m just getting to the part about my ancestor stealing the Romani babies when Jeffrey says, “You didn’t tell her about the time discrepancy. That you assumed you’d been gone for hours, and your sisters—”
“I know. I didn’t want her to dismiss me out of hand.” My throat tightens as I turn the page to reveal a medieval etching of a woman with wild hair swirling around her shoulders pointing at a queen sitting on a throne made of bones. The title of the piece is “The Curse of Greta,” but the woman doing the cursing doesn’t look Romani. She’s wearing an elaborate dress and jeweled rings on her fingers, one of which I swear looks like the sapphire ring my mother hid in her girdle when the state came to collect the royal jewels.
Mother hasn’t pulled out her collection of girdle treasures in years, but I know where it’s hidden and approximately how much each piece would fetch on the black market. My mother would rather we starve to death than sell a single heirloom, but Sabrina and I won’t let that happen. If we have to hock our mother’s treasure to keep a roof over her head, we will.
I skim the second page of the story, looking for more information, while Jeffrey murmurs, “It seems like something she should know. If we want truthful answers, we should ask truthful questions.”
I reach the text beneath the picture, and my breath catches. “There are two versions of the story,” I say, running my finger beneath the words as I read faster. “One where the Romani cursed my family, and…”
Eyes wide, I glance up at him. “And one where my family cursed itself.”
17
Jeffrey
Before I can ask questions—or remind Elizabeth that you can’t trust everything you read in a book, especially a book of fairytales—Dika emerges from behind the curtain with a pink square of paper stuck to her finger.
“My little sister, Fawnie, thinks she knows the woman you’re looking for,” she says as she crosses the room. “But she travels, and Fawnie isn’t sure if she has a cell phone. If she does, my sister doesn’t have the number. But they’re one of the caravans that gathers to celebrate The Day of the Three Maries in the Wettingfeld Forest. I’m not sure if they’re still there, but it would be a good place to start looking. I’ve written her name and my cell number for you here in case you need any guidance that I can provide.”
Dika stops beside the couch, and Elizabeth jumps to her feet, plucking the piece of paper from the woman’s finger. “Thank you s-so much. I appreciate your help. B-but could you tell me, before we g-go…” She takes a breath and holds it for a moment before asking, “Do you think it’s real? The curse?”
“I made a promise when I joined this collective,” Dika says, bracing a hand on a barrel full of dolls that watch her with flat black eyes. “I swore to cultivate tolerance and respect for our community. Our people have endured so much, all because our ways were different. Because we were different. We’ve been persecuted, and that persecution isn’t all a thing of the past.”
Elizabeth nods. “I know. I’m so s-sorry.”
“There’s no need to apologize, princess.” Dika gives Lizzy’s hand a squeeze before adding gently, but firmly, “But don’t ask me to speak of things that might add to the prejudice against my people.”
“Of course,” Lizzy says. “I understand I…” She holds up the book. “I’ve n-never read anything like this story before. N-not in any of my research. Is there m-more? Somewhere I can look for further information?”