To Kill a Curse: A Lingering Sea Novel, #1

By Jennifer Jenkins

Would you touch the one you loved, even if it might kill them? Antonio, a merchant sailor, has no idea how dangerous Fina Perona is when he rescues her from drowning in the middle of the Lingering Sea. His ship is headed to the home Fina just abandoned, carrying desperately needed payment for her father's prized wine stores. Pirates attack, and as Antonio and Fina escape the clutches of slavery, she steals back her family's small fortune from the pirate captain's quarters. Fina doesn't need Antonio's protection, she's more dangerous than he could ever be, but she needs his experience as a navigator and agrees to give him a cut of the payment in exchange for his help. Returning the money is the only way Fina knows how to atone for inadvertently killing her own brother, but what she doesn't realize is, before Antonio was a sailor, he was a thief. While threats of curses, witches, bandits, pirates, and traitors are all very real, Fina and Antonio are the most dangerous players in this story of true love and betrayal. Will they become each other's demise or salvation as they set out to find redemption and to kill a curse?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Oliver-Heber Books
• Release date: Mar 6, 2025
• ISBN: 9798230313335

Book preview

To Kill a Curse

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be sold, copied, distributed, reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical or digital, including photocopying and recording or by any information storage and retrieval system without the prior written permission of both the publisher, Oliver Heber Books and the author, Jennifer Jenkins, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

PUBLISHER’S NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2019 Jennifer Jenkins

Cover Design by Melissa Williams Design

Cover images: Young Witch in the Autumn Forest (2 images) © grape_vein/Adobe Stock; Beautiful Girl in White and Red Dress © grape_vein/Adobe Stock

Published by Oliver-Heber Books

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CONTENTS

The Scrapper’s Log

Chapter 1

The Scrapper’s Log

Chapter 2

The Scrapper’s Log

Chapter 3

The Scrapper’s Log

Chapter 4

The Scrapper’s Log

Chapter 5

The Scrapper’s Log

Chapter 6

The Scrapper’s Log

Chapter 7

The Scrapper’s Log

Chapter 8

The Scrapper’s Log

Chapter 9

The Scrapper’s Log

Chapter 10

The Scrapper’s Log

Chapter 11

The Scrapper’s Log

Chapter 12

The Scrapper’s Log

Chapter 13

The Scrapper’s Log

Chapter 14

The Scrapper’s Log

Chapter 15

The Scrapper’s Log

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

The Scrapper’s Log

Chapter 18

The Scrapper’s Log

Chapter 19

The Scrapper’s Log

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

The Scrapper’s Log

Chapter 23

The Scrapper’s Log

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

The Scrapper’s Log

Chapter 28

The Scrapper’s Log

Chapter 29

The Scrapper’s Log

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Letter

Epilogue

Acknowledgments

Also by Jennifer Jenkins

About the Author

We do not need magic to transform our world. We carry all of the power we need inside ourselves already.

J.K. ROWLING

Dedicated to my big brother, who has always inspired me to dream, and who has more power than he knows.

THE SCRAPPER’S LOG

8 JUNE

Today I saw a beggar. I’ve seen beggars at plenty of ports since joining with Captain Giovanni and his crew when I was but a scrapper of a youth, but I prefer the beggars along the Lingering Coast. Mostly because they remind me of my mother.

Not that she’s a beggar; at least, I assume she’s not.

The beggars of the Lingering Coast never tug at your shirt or try to distract you with Zingaro children while your pockets are being picked. No, the beggars of the Lingering kneel in the dirt, off the side of well-traveled roads, and press their foreheads to the ground with their arms extended in front of them, their hands cupped into the shape of a bowl.

They don’t speak, but their position in the dirt communicates more than words could. It says, I am like a child, beyond helping myself. I will either take your charity or die in prayer.

My mother used to make that pose—not on the streets begging for spare coin, but in our home at the end of her morning ritual. I never joined her on my knees. It seemed weak and pointless.

Still. When I see beggars using mother’s pose, I usually press a coin into their palms. For her sake, if not the beggar’s.

The sea has been calm these past few days, making travel slow, and the crew restless. I watch the horizon with the hawk eyes that earn me my keep. I’m always searching. Even when I’m relieved from duty, I climb the mizzenmast and rest on my stomach along a beam and watch the horizon. When the captain asks, I tell him I’m looking for pirates, but that’s a lie. Because somewhere out in this endless ocean, I know my parents are looking for me too.

At least, that’s what I tell myself.

CHAPTER ONE

Fina Perona knew she deserved this death, but it didn’t lessen her panic.

A massive wave crashed down over her head, sending her spinning in the roaring ocean. She kicked and thrashed, not sure which direction led to air or a watery grave. With her boat in ruins, her supplies lost to the greedy sea, Fina didn’t know how long she could fight the water. How long had it been? It seemed like forever.

When she finally found air, it was sandpaper to her throat.

A breath.

Another.

Her head slipped below the surface again, and for a moment she considered the consequences of letting the ocean consume her.

Bells sounded in a faint echo that seemed to straddle both reality and dream. Was she dying? Were the bells of San Pietro calling her home?

Another monstrous wave crashed overhead, only this time she didn’t fight back as it swallowed her.

She let her body relax, releasing air from her lungs one giant bubble at a time. The ocean carried her deeper. Her lungs screamed for breath as she released her last bubble of life. All that remained was to let the water in. It would hurt, but nothing could be more painful than the last two days … the last ten years.

Something hooked her waist and pulled her through the water.

Fina’s eyes flew open and salt water filled her lungs. Her head broke the surface of the wild waves, and she coughed up the sea in a violent retch. The air burned her throat with each inhale. Suffocating pressure clamped down on her chest. Before she caught a second breath, another black wave covered her head.

The person that had yanked her through the water kept his grip locked firmly around her waist, tugging her at intervals with the swimmer’s strong strokes until they came upon a large ship. A long beam stretched like a reaching arm over the side of the vessel. From the beam, a fishing net lowered into the water attached to a pulley system.

Hang on to the netting while I pull myself up, the faceless man holding her commanded. He spoke the common tongue, but with just enough of an accent to confirm he wasn’t native to Patria.

Fina tried to help pull herself into the net, but after her struggle with the ocean, the well of her strength had completely run dry.

I can’t. Fina’s head dipped under the water again.

The man gripped her scarred bicep and hooked her arm to the net. A fiery, tingling sensation immediately pulsed from her scar. Fina flinched at the contact.

No one touched her. Not willingly.

This stranger had no idea what he’d done. She didn’t know what the fates would send his way—be it a sea monster or a deadly accident—but the poor man would soon find out. She hoped the consequence would come quickly so his suffering might be minimal.

He positioned himself in front of her, looping one arm into the net while the other firmly gripped her arm. She saw his striking green eyes for the first time. You must hold on to the net until I can climb in and pull you up.

His voice was a deep rumble, partially masked by the wind and the creaking of the ship as it rolled over the high ocean waves. Water ran from the man’s black hair, down his shadowed face. He shook her shoulder and shouted to be heard over the waves crashing into the side of the boat. I’ll lose you if you don’t.

Lightning cracked a few hundred yards off, and Fina flinched. The whites of her rescuer’s eyes glowed, reflecting off the water as rain poured from the sky. Even with the chaos around them, he didn’t break his ghostly stare until she gave a convincing nod.

Satisfied, the man turned and pulled himself up the netting and out of the water. For the smallest moment, Fina thought he was abandoning her. Perhaps even in the storm he noticed the flaming red scar and sensed her secret.

The man looped his arm twice in the netting, dug his heals in, and reached for her with his free hand. He pulled her so hard and fast that she thought her wrist would detach. She landed like a dead fish on top of him in the swaying net.

The abrupt contact with another person—the blissful sensation of touch—reminded her of all of the other touches that that had caused her family and so many others in Vino Antico pain. It transported her to an awful place of remembering. Of reliving ...

The world was a wash of gray and black. Gray, the clouds blanketing the morning sky, smothering the sunlight. Black, the clothing of all of the mourners in attendance. Gray, the pallor of Mama’s skin as they lowered her youngest son into an early grave. Black, the dark expressions of the towns people cast in Fina’s direction before several turned to show her their backs.

She stood apart from the rest, as near the edge of the graveyard cliff as she dared. The ocean crashed against rocks below. The thought of the potential fall at so great a height sent ripples of fear up and down her spine. Paralyzing. She deserved the discomfort and was unwilling to add to the grief of those she loved any more than she already had by cursing them with her presence. She shouldn’t have come. Her absence was the only kindness she might have offered what remained of her grieving family.

But she loved her brother too much not to say this final goodbye.

Her rescuer whistled to the crew above, bringing her attention back to the present.

The ropes hoisted them into the air.

Fina leaned away from her him, threw up half of the ocean and—because she lacked the strength to do anything else—collapsed back onto his chest, letting him support most of her weight. Waves roared in her ears, as if angry about her escape from the deadly sea. Fina burrowed into her rescuer’s side and closed her eyes, basking in the feel of another person’s skin against hers—too exhausted to feel guilty for it, even though she knew she’d hate herself for the selfish indulgence later.

Hadn’t this man already touched her scar? How much worse it could get?

When the net reached the top deck of the ship, everything happened at once: countless hands pulled her aboard, a blanket wrapped around her shivering frame, rain pelted against the deck, and a large man with more beard than face lifted her from the net into his giant arms and carried her down a narrow set of stairs, out of the wind and rain.

Take her to the chart house. The order came from behind.

Grateful for the blanket that acted as a barrier between her skin and the stranger carrying her, Fina was deposited on a bed shoved in the corner of a small room. A sudden flame crackled to life accompanied by the smell of sulfur as a fire-stick was struck, a lantern lit.

Fina had only seen a fire-stick one other time in her life. When she was eleven, her tutor from Malto used one to light a candle to read by. It had been harvesting season, the hearth was cold, and the boys had yet to bring in the wood. At the sight of the fire-sticks, Nonna had taken the whole box of devil magic and thrown it into the ocean while sending a prayer to Dio.

Fina used the unholy light to glance around the room at the walls plastered in maps. A heavy-looking desk topped with odd instruments and paperweights stood in the corner opposite her. When her gaze landed on the two men staring at her from the doorway as though she were the Drago Taranta or some other sea monster and not a half-drowned runaway, she pulled the blanket up to her chin and shied away.

Quite a fish you’ve got there, Antonio, said the large, bearded man who’d lifted her from the net and carried her down the stairs.

Though she hadn’t had a chance to really look at him before, it was clear by his dripping hair and the blanket draped around his shoulders that the man standing next to the giant—the man called Antonio—was Fina’s rescuer.

He stood tall with wiry arms attached to deeply veined hands peeking out from his blanket. His skin was cinnamon and a shelf of dark brows knit together above striking eyes as he examined her. His face was handsome in a timeless way that may have fooled her into believing he was younger than he really was, were it not for the superior tilt of his chin.

Stomping boots approached the door. Fina pulled the blanket more firmly about her shoulders and quickly looked away.

I thought they’d take her to the infirmary. A third man entered and sneered at the dripping Antonio, and Antonio practically growled back. This new intruder wore an elaborate mustache and goatee and scowled when he saw Fina.

Three men: the giant, the rescuer, and this mustached newcomer who looked as pleased to see her in this room as a snake in a pit.

The giant responded, Captain wants to keep the girl close to his own quarters for her protection. He gestured to Fina with a sweeping arm. Can you blame him, Besnik?

The light cast dark shadows beneath the newcomer’s sharp cheekbones. What’s a young woman doing this far from shore? Besnik ran his fingers along his mustache and down his chin.

She’s not that young, Besnik, said the giant. Didn’t you see her lines? She might be a bird, but she’s got some shape to her.

The dripping-haired Antonio took a half step closer to Fina. Shut up, Zacius. Don’t talk about her as though she can’t hear you. He studied her again and frowned. Are you hurt? he asked. How are you fairing?

Antonio’s concern made her blink and her heart pinch. She might have asked him the same question. He had no idea what kind of danger awaited him—all because of his charity.

And then something so obvious yet so astounding occurred to her.

Antonio wasn’t afraid of her.

This handsome stranger didn’t know about her past. Her present.

She looked around the room, stunned to realize that no one else did either. To them she was just a young woman without history or reputation. She saw pity and curiosity in their appraisal of her, but not fear!

Fina allowed herself to imagine what it would be like to be normal. No complications. No worries. She took a controlled breath, savoring the dream for a sweet moment before letting it drain from her mind. She closed her eyes, remembered the promise she’d made herself only days before, and knew there was really only one way to respond to such kindness ...

She snapped at Antonio. "How am I fairing? I just swallowed half the sea. How do you think I’m fairing?"

She turned away from him so she wouldn’t have to see his reaction to her ingratitude. She hated this act. But harming others emotionally usually kept them far enough away that she didn’t harm them physically. It was a twisted kindness Antonio would never understand.

Your fish bites, Antonio. Besnik chuckled. Should we throw her back? He ran his thin fingers along his goatee. Come to think of it, it isn’t like to you risk your neck for a perfect stranger. Why jump in at all? He let the question dangle, making Fina wonder exactly what type of man Antonio truly was.

She cringed and closed her eyes, as if that would send these three strangers away.

I don’t leave people behind. Antonio shrugged, but his eyes seemed to tighten at the corners, his gaze turning distant.

Don’t mind Besnik, little fish, said the bearded giant they called Zacius. He’s just upset that we can’t port tonight. Considers himself a respectable gentlemen and was looking forward to drinking from a glass and not a tin this evening.

A shiver racked Fina’s body. Antonio retreated from the room without so much as glancing in her direction, leaving a puddle of ocean water behind.

She did her best to glare at Besnik and Zacius, but it required too much energy. She really was exhausted. When footsteps returned, they didn’t belong to Antonio. Instead, an older man with black and white hair entered the room. Tan leather wrinkles framed an honest face.

The older man said, Besnik, take us another five miles off the starboard quarter. Drop sail and double the lookout for rocks. We’ll try for land again in the morning when the storm blows over.

Aye, Captain. Five miles off starboard quarter, repeated Besnik before leaving the room.

Fina gathered her strength to stand, but stumbled. "Please, Signore. Where do you plan to make berth?" she asked the captain.

Vino Antico. We’ve come to make payment on a special shipment of wine.

Of all of the ships in the Lingering Sea!

She couldn’t go back there. She couldn’t. Not after what she’d done. She’d managed to escape her home in a stolen dinghy early that morning and had sailed most of the day until the storm capsized the boat, sending her meager provisions and coin into the depths of the sea. So much effort wasted, all to return her back to the nightmare she’d just escaped! Did the fates really hate her so much?

Fina’s family owned the largest vineyard in Vino Antico. The wine shipment in question was not just any merchant load. It was her Papa’s life work, a special dessert wine called Sciacchetrà that the family had prepared and aged for nearly fifty years. This one shipment would bring in more money than the vineyard had made in all the time since Papa had taken over the family business from Nonno. It would make up for the last twelve years of poor harvests when too much rain had led to rot in the vineyard.

Papa had been anxiously awaiting the ship that would bring payment from a buyer in Valencia and transport the wine. Her family would lose the vineyard without it.

The captain came to her bedside and tried his best to smile even though the action seemed unnatural. "Welcome aboard the Destino. I am Captain Giovanni. What’s your name, my dear?"

Fina panicked. She’d known she would need to come up with a new name when she left home but had yet to choose one. Senza, she blurted. My name is Senza. My family is from Genoa. It wasn’t the first lie she’d told, and it wouldn’t be the last.

One of the captain’s tufty eyebrows rose into his hairline. An uncommon name.

Please, Captain. I thank you for rescuing me, but I can’t stay aboard your ship.

The wrinkles around his eyes deepened with humor. Nor should you. A ship is no place for a young girl of ...

Five and Twenty. A spinster by any standard, but she looked young for her age. Always had.

He nodded. "You’ll stay aboard the Destino with us only until morning. I have connections with Vino Antico that can provide you safe land passage to Genoa."

Fina wanted to argue, but knew there would be no point. She’d simply have to find a way off the ship tonight. Perhaps she could steal a dinghy, or at the very least something to float on. No matter what, she could not port with this ship in Vino Antico. Not if she valued her life.

Antonio entered carrying a bundle of clothes and a fresh blanket on his arm. His wild hair still clung to the sides of his face, and he hadn’t changed his ocean-soaked clothes.

They’ll be too big. But it’s something to sleep in. He set the bundle on the little square table by the bed and turned to leave.

Antonio? The captain called.

The young man placed a hand against the doorframe and turned. Yes, Captain?

Don’t you want to learn more about the girl you just risked your life to save?

Antonio stared blankly down at Fina, again, cocking his head a little to the side. Fina didn’t know if anyone had ever bothered to study her the way he did in that moment. It was as though she was being measured, weighed. She found she couldn’t pull her eyes from his, caught in the spell of his attention.

Whatever Antonio saw in her must have disappointed him because his mouth set into a hard line.

No, Captain.

He walked away without a backward glance.

His words stung at first, but Fina was too relieved by his reaction to feel slighted. She’d intended to push him away and succeeded. It was a satisfying victory. He had done more than grab her hand or brush her shoulder in passing. In the net, she’d rested her head against Antonio’s chest and enjoyed the feel of his embrace as the ship pulled them from the water.

He’d actually touched her scar, skin to skin.

I can’t be the cause of another accident, she silently prayed, twisting the too-large ring around her thumb again. Please, don’t let him pay for his kindness.

It was a useless plea to a God that had already allowed so much pain to enter her life and the lives of those around her. The curse had never failed to strike before. It was only a matter of time.

She had to find a way off this ship and far away from Vino Antico before anyone else got hurt.

THE SCRAPPER’S LOG

15 JUNE

My father used to tell my older sister, Nati, and me that if ever one of us found ourselves separated from our parents among the market crowds of Valencia that we were to stay in one place. That it was easier for two people to find each other when one of them wasn’t moving. Even as a child, I found his lecture ironic. I remember once asking him, Papi, you told me the stars in the sky are constantly moving, and yet, you find them easily in your chart. Why must I remain still?

Ah, yes, my son, he replied. Star movements are predictable. Little wild boys are not so much.

I don’t remember enough about my father, but I do remember the smile lines that gathered around his eyes and bled into his cheeks. I remember the way he ruffled my hair and held up a finger while he laid the truths of the world at my feet.

I wonder if he remembers our conversation about moving stars. When I find him, I’ll be sure to let him know that I tried to stay in one place for him. I tried as long as I could.

CHAPTER TWO

Fina startled awake, falling onto the floor of the chart house, shaking in a cold sweat. Thunder rumbled in the distance and Fina covered her ears, digging her fingers into her scalp as images of her last days in Vino Antico assaulted her mind. Purple lines marking death across skin. Head thrown back in agony one moment and then rolled to the side in surrender in the next. Mouth open, jaw slack.

Fina blinked away the memories that would drown her if she let them fester for too long.

The ship groaned and rocked. Nausea gripped and twisted her stomach.

She needed air. She needed to get off this ship.

Stumbling in the darkness, Fina held up the too-large waistband of her trousers as she made her way to the oversized desk. Moonlight shined through a porthole, but it was only enough light to realize she had no hope of finding a tinderbox and taper. She squinted at the maps on the desk as the boat rocked and her stomach churned again.

Unlike most people from her village, Fina knew how to read and write. Her parents had insisted that all seven of their children learn such skills, and they had the money and means to do so. While other children played in the vineyards and chestnut orchards, the Perona children studied their numbers and letters. Fina had been especially fond of geography and often followed older siblings around their home, asking them to quiz her on the names of countries and their capitals in the region.

When she’d stolen her brother’s old fishing dinghy from the docks, she’d planned to sail it toward the southern tip of Patria, stopping at every port to inquire about work until she found a way to provide for herself. A perfect plan, had she known how to sail. It was a talent all seven of her brothers had mastered from a young age. But Mama didn’t think it prudent for Fina to learn such a rough skill. Sailing belonged in the world of her brothers along with matters of business and basically every other interesting and worthwhile pursuit.

Fina’s role in the family had been much different. Learn the skills to run a home worthy of the Perona name, and fetch a suitor with enough means to secure a prosperous marriage with connections that would benefit the family vineyard.

While she enjoyed working alongside Nonna and Mama drying pasta and mincing fine basil into pesto, she could never secure the alliance her family craved.

Before escaping Vino Antico, she’d taken one of her family’s more priceless treasures: a generation’s old black pearl necklace that was meant to be her dowry. She’d planned to sell it and use the money to establish herself as an independent woman. The velvet-lined case holding the pearls now sat on the ocean floor along with her satchel and favorite pair of gloves. Lost forever. Without the necklace to sell, there really was no hope for success outside her village.

I can’t go back. She had to find a way off this