Garnet or Garnets Curse

sitting room and there was a cup of cold coffee on the table and the remains of a recent fire in the fireplace. I knew someone had been there, but who? I wondered if this was where Charles kept Auntie’s records and her money.
    By the window was a desk. I pulled the curtains back and sat down. When I opened the book, I felt a chill run down my spine. On the first page was written, “The Chronicles of the Dragos Family.”
    I don’t know how much time may have passed as I turned each fragile page. There were records of births, marriages and deaths spanning back over 200 years. I felt my heart flutter when my eyes fell upon these words:

    The Curse of Aurochs
    The first of the Dragos by the name of Voltak came from the Hungarian country. He traveled many days and nights before he stopped to rest by the river Moldova. Voltak looked upon the hill and saw seven wild oxen. He picked up his bow and with the sure accuracy of just seven arrows, the oxen lay slain upon the hill.
    Much to his dismay, he discovered not oxen, but the bodies of seven men dressed in the hide and horns of oxen. An army of soldiers rode up and became witness to the seven men’s bodies lying in a pool of dark garnet blood upon the golden hill. Voltak took up his sword and prepared to battle for his life. Unbeknownst to him, he had killed the seven sons of a witch called Aurochs, who practiced dark magic. Voltak was taken to the city where he feasted with the noblemen and was rewarded with riches and a large tract of fertile land.
    The people rejoiced, but not the King’s prophet. He warned Voltak that Aurochs was a master of disguise and she would surely come to avenge the death of her sons. He gave Voltak for his protection a gold dagger studded with seven dark red garnets. Voltak was to wear this dagger on his girdle always. The dagger would remind Aurochs of her fallen sons and her powers would be temporarily weakened. Voltak was told he must act quickly and thrust the dagger through her heart.
    In the new land, Voltak became a rich man and sent for his brother to share his good fortune. Voltak desired nothing, except for a wife. Then one day into the village came a beautiful maiden and before a fortnight, Voltak had made her his bride. On the wedding night, he set aside the dagger to lay with his love. Once he fell asleep, she arose, drew up the dagger and thrust it through her lover’s heart. Alongside of Voltak’s body these words were written in blood:
    I, Aurochs, curse seven times seven the veins of those that flow the blood of Dragos. Now in my belly is your brother’s seed. Unto me, a son shall be born more powerful than I, and his seed shall be more powerful yet, until the seventh generation be most powerful of all. He shall seek and destroy the last of the Dragos blood forever.

    I could not control my trembling as I turned the next page. The balance of the book was a journal of disasters that had fallen upon the Dragos family over the last 200 years. All of these dates were in intervals of seven.
    My breath left me when I saw in my Auntie’s handwriting: Rose Beason Dragos, the seven-year bride of Victor Dragos, dies seven days after giving birth to baby girl. God be with the seventh generation and to all of us.
    It was the last entry in the book. I had just closed the cover when I felt a cold hand on my shoulder. I attempted to scream, when next the attacker cupped his hand over my mouth. I struggled to free myself, but he held me tight. “Garnet, I am not here to harm you. I will let you go, but you must promise not to scream,” he whispered.
    Slowly he released me and I turned quickly to look at him. Even in the dim light, I recognized his face as the man I had seen standing at the cemetery.
    I turned to run and he caught hold of my arm and held me by force. “Who are you and what are you doing here?” I demanded.
    “Quiet,” he said, putting his finger to his lips. “No one must know I am here!” he said firmly.
    Fearing for my life, I stood still as he commanded, even though I was looking for the first opportunity to escape. As he slowly released me these words left his lips, “I am Victor Dragos, your father.”
    I drew back and rubbed my arm where his grip had been. “My father is dead!” I said sharply.
    He smiled at me tenderly. “If that be so, then standing before you is a ghost.”
    “What can you say to prove yourself?” I asked him. He reached in his pocket and took out a small gold locket. Engraved