Bound (The Curse Trilogy Book 2)

by Nicole Marsh

  Marc finally looks up from his computer with a sigh. Steepling his hands in front of him on the desk, he looks lost in thought for a minute staring at the wall behind me. A few unreadable expressions flit across his face before his eyes meet mine. “I want you to tell me the truth, Mira. How do you know about the wolves?”

  The dread that I had tamed to lie dormant, rears its head once more causing my hands to become clammy and my mouth to dry. I stammer out a response with wide eyes, surprised by his serious nature, “I found an injured wolf the other day… something.” I pause, searching for the words to explain what I saw. “Something happened and triggered his shift. I was with Vlad, and the wolf just shifted into a guy, into Eric.”

  His eyes harden, “A shifter named Eric just changed into a human right in front of you?”

  “Yes,” I reply cautiously, wondering why I feel like I’m being interrogated by my typically friendly boss. “He was injured and wasn’t in the right… head space. When he turned back into a human, he was in very rough shape. Eventually he ended up at the Council.”

  “You aren’t covering for Vlad, are you?” His tone is accusatory and his emerald eyes scream with unspoken suspicion.

  Feeling like I’ve been called in the principal’s office and wrongfully accused of a serious offense, like bringing a weapon to school, I try to defend myself and Vlad. “No, not at all. I was at Vlad’s house and we heard a strange noise coming from the woods. He told me to stay inside while he checked out the backyard, but I followed him out. Right at the edge of the woods behind his house there was an injured wolf, laying on the ground in a puddle of blood. I moved closer to check and see if it was going to live, or if there was anything we could do to help.” I pause in my story, vividly remembering how Eric looked before he shifted back. “The wolf was in terrible shape, and didn’t look like it was going to make it. I said a few soft words and tried to pet him hoping to offer some comfort before he passed, then he shifted into a human. I don’t even know what happened after that. The whole thing startled me so badly, I fainted.”

  As I tell my story, the tension seems to drain away from Marc’s body. His gaze softens and instead of appearing angry, he appears contemplative. He doesn’t respond, but keeps his emerald gaze locked on mine, after I finish speaking.

  “What’s going on, Marc?” I ask after an unbearable moment of silence.

  Marc inhales a deep breath then flattens his hands against the desk. “How much do you know of the history between the wolves and witches, Mira?” He asks in lieu of responding.

  “Not much,” I respond hesitantly, unsure of where this conversation is going.

  My grandmother told the story about how a curse on the town affected witches magic, but she never mentioned the shifters. I don’t think she knew about their curse. Vlad gave me the outline of the shifter curse, but didn’t mention a history with the witches. So far, I have knowledge of dual curses with no real connection between them.

  His head nods, like that was the answer he was expecting. Marc pushes his chair away from his desk and stands, then sits back down again. His odd behavior isn’t helping calm my nerves at all. “Okay,” he finally says. He pauses briefly with his eyes focused on the wall behind me. When his emerald colored eyes connect with mine, he continues, “I can tell you what I know. A few hundred years ago, two shifters born of prominent families were engaged to be married. However, three days before the wedding, one of the wolves ran off with another and wed in secret. The wolf that was scorned went to a witch and asked for a curse to be placed. Although this wasn’t unheard of, it was uncommon. Wolves and witches knew of one another, but did not oft interact.”

  “Was this in Florence? What happened next?” I ask, wide-eyed and engrossed in his tale.

  Marc looks speculative. “This was a few hundred years ago, I’m not sure if Oregon was even on the map yet. From what I’ve always heard, this happened in New England.”

  This gives me pause. From what my grandmother told me; the curse had originated in Florence. I assumed the alleged wedding was between a witch and a shifter, which was the reason behind the animosity between the two races. I keep my thoughts to myself though, instead encouraging Marc to continue. “Okay, what happened when the curse was cast?”

  “Well, it backfired,” Marc states simply. “The scorned wolf wanted all wolves to be cursed. The intention of the spell was to create terrible consequences for any wolf that broke their word or promise. She was hoping to prevent any future shifters from having to suffer the embarrassment and heartache that she did.” Marc shrugs like that’s the end of the story.

  “No way, you can’t stop there. How did it backfire?” I prod again.

  Marc chuckles at my enthusiasm, despite the morbid history we’re discussing. “Well, the curse was very complicated and should have never been attempted by one witch alone. For a very complicated spell, multiple strong witches working together helps ensure the potion is the right strength to create the intended outcome. But this witch was renowned for her skill in many categories: reading the future, spellcasting, potions, just to name a few. She believed she was strong enough to do it on her own.”

  “So, this witch was arrogant and her arrogance cursed everyone.”

  “Basically,” Marc replies with a shrug. “Instead of cursing the wolves to keep their words to others, it made them obligated to keep their word to their wolf, essentially. The witch’s curse created a punishment for any shifter that ignored their baser urges—the ones that cause the shift—if ignored, the shifter would turn into their wolf and remain that way permanently.”

  “Are all shifters cursed then? How did witches become cursed?” I ask, enthralled with Marc’s story.

  Marc nods his head again. “Curses can be complex and carry dire consequences if they’re not cast correctly. The curse the witch cast… Well, obviously something went wrong. It cursed all the shifters, but the cost was high. There is always a cost that comes with a curse, you must sacrifice something in order for a curse to stick. The witch who cast the curse didn’t plan appropriately, and for her mistake all witches were stripped of all of their magical powers except potion brewing, to pay the toll of the curse.”

  The room is absolutely silent. Even the office outside seems unusually still and quiet. Shifting to the edge of the seat, I lean forward eager to hear more of my ancestors and more about the curse and hope Marc has more to tell me.

  “The curse wasn’t well-known, and even the most experienced of witches have been unable to break it. There’s also the fear that if the wrong spell is attempted, it may make things worse instead of better,” Marc finishes.

  My eyes are the size of saucers. “How do you know all this?” I ask quietly.

  Marc sighs. “It’s complicated, but my family has always been into documenting history. They have an expansive archive on witching history back in Connecticut.”

  “Is that why you’re so into writing the news?” I inquire curiously.

  A smile blooms on Marc’s face. “Something like that.”

  The plot was a bit lost for a minute, but suddenly I remember how this conversation started. “Okay, but what does all this have to do with me knowing about shifters?”

  Marc’s face sobers immediately. “Shifters tried to get the witches to reverse the curse, but like I said before, no one knew the exact spell. Since the magic became so mutilated, no one has been able to find the cure. After the curse, shifters slowly started to isolate themselves from the witches, in an effort to avoid future magic that would further threaten their existence. Over time, witches have slowly forgotten that shifters exist, like the shifters intended. In order to continue keeping their existence hidden, the shifter council passed a law against revealing your wolf form to a witch. The offense is punishable by death”

  “Unbelievable,” I say. The word is not enough to express how I feel, but it’s all that I can think of. “I can see why you were so concerned,” I tell Marc.

  “I was hoping that
wasn’t why Vlad has been MIA as of late,” he confesses. “His parents called me last week to explain he needed to go out of town to attend family business… but I’ve seen you moping around and eyeing his desk. The whole situation just seemed,” he pauses to think before continuing. “It just all seemed a bit off.”

  “Well,” I begin, “Things are a bit strange right now,” I admit to Marc. “Vlad isn’t in trouble with the Council, at least not really… or maybe not yet. We were in the woods the other day and some other wolves appeared. They were acting strange, and then suddenly Vlad leapt into the air, shifted into a giant wolf, and ran away with the others,” I say quietly with a bit of a hard edge to my tone. “I’m not really sure what’s going on with him right now.”

  Marc nods slowly. “Well, I know your families are close and he’s important to you. I’m glad you’re alright and I’m sure he will be too.” He claps his hands together after his words of encouragement. “Okay, how about we stop talking about things we can’t change and work on this story instead?”

  “Can I ask one more question before we move on?”

  “Sure,” Marc replies, giving me his undivided attention.

  I had forgotten how warm it felt to be on the receiving end of his emerald gaze. He becomes so focused on you, like you’re the only person in the world. “Do any of the other witches in town know of the shifters?”

  “None of the others are aware of them, at least as far as I know. Like I said, despite living in close quarters, the shifters prefer to keep their existence a secret from anyone that could do them harm and that certainly includes witches.” After a few seconds of silence, Marc asks, “Anything else?”

  I decline with a shake of my head and Marc grins, his beautiful teeth glinting as they’re exposed to the light. “Let’s dig into our story then.”

  “Sounds good to me, what are we working on again? Sorry, I kind of spaced out when you were handing out the assignments.”

  “Let me double check,” Marc says, pulling over his notepad where he jotted down the assignments from the board. “It looks like we’re working on a story about safe methods for gopher extermination.” He looks up from his notepad and the second his eyes connect with mine, we both burst into laughter.

  “I guess we better get started. Gopher lives are at stake,” I joke once I get my giggles under control.

  I shut the door to Marc’s office gently behind me, returning to my desk after hours upon hours of gopher research. I’m feeling accomplished after completing the simple task of drafting our article. As I return to my desk, I’m grateful for the break from all thing’s gophers, even though I had a surprisingly good time with Marc. Spending time with him, working on our article together, made me feel normal again, like pre-eighteenth-birthday-witchy-reveal-shifters-exist-Vlad-disappearing normal.

  He provided a lot of new information on the curse, most of which I think I’ll need to share with my grandmother—and possibly Leif—this afternoon. Hopefully the two of them can help me dig further into the details of the story and figure out what our next steps should be. The curse is so much larger than what I thought. It’s bigger than the small town of Florence, affecting witches and shifters everywhere!

  When my internship first started at the Daily, Marc and I vibed so well. The relationship, or friendship, we were building with the maybe date and dinner with my family, only began to deteriorate when Vlad became involved. Marc is a lot of fun and so interesting to be around. He has so much knowledge about the Daily, and maybe about witches and shifters too. I don’t want to lose his friendship and hope that we can mend our bond. Marc opening up to me about the curse, feels like an olive branch and leads me to believe he wants to reconnect, as well.

  It isn’t until I take a couple of steps towards the exit, ready to leave for the day that I realize something I didn’t ask Marc… nor did he volunteer the information himself. Besides his family’s interest in history, he never told me about his own affiliation with the curse.

  At this point, I’m not even sure if Marc is a witch or a shifter.

  5

  The Bully

  Mirabella

  The minute my feet hit the paved parking lot outside the Daily, a text message from an unknown number pops up onto my screen with a ding. I click on the message, hoping it’s from Vlad. Hey, this is Leif. Your gma gave me your number. Are we still on for this afternoon?

  When I see who it is, or I guess who it isn’t, I’m not as disappointed as I expected to be. With a small smile, I type back a quick message: Hey Leif, I’m just leaving work. I’ll be over soon and we’ll go for our ice cream!

  I shove my phone into my purse and dig out the keys to my Prius. Now that I’ve thought of ice cream, I realize how hot it is outside. Rain is the normal in Oregon, but occasionally we get a small heat wave during the summer. This year, the weather has fluctuated dramatically, but today is sweltering hot.

  Sliding onto my seat, I start my car and immediately jab the buttons to get my air conditioning blasting. With the cool air started, I buckle up and look around before pulling out onto the road to head to my grandmother’s house. My thoughts are preoccupied, trying to arrange the information told to me by Marc into bite-sized tidbits that will be easy for my grandma, and maybe Leif, to digest. I’m hopeful that they’ll be able to offer me suggestions on how to proceed in finding more answers to cure the curse and save the town. After my conversation with Marc, the other witches’ ‘disinterest’ in the plight of the wolves makes more sense.

  I’m so busy thinking, the drive passes by in what feels like seconds. Once my grandmother’s tree cottage is visible, I turn off my car and hop out to jog up the small set of steps. Normally my grandmother is waiting on the steps when I arrive at her house and I’m surprised to see she isn’t outside. I move forward and firmly knock on her red door twice, hoping I’ll be able to talk with her about what I’ve learned.

  A minute goes by and I’m about to knock again when the door creaks open to reveal Leif. Well, Leif’s chest covered in a light blue t-shirt. Standing this close to him, I have to crane my neck back in order to meet his gaze. When my eyes finally reach his face, his brown eyes have an intense look that I’m not sure how to interpret.

  I choose to ignore it and ask, “Hey Leif, is my grandma home? I wanted to run a few things by her really quick before we head into town.”

  Leif declines with a shake of his head. “She left an hour or two ago. Said she had a top priority bunko game at her friend Marjorie’s.”

  I’ve never heard of this friend before, but that honestly doesn’t surprise me. My grandma is a social butterfly and seems to know everyone and everything that’s happening around town, despite living in a tree in the woods.

  Tamping down my disappointment over not getting discuss my new discoveries immediately, I ask Leif, “Well are you ready to hit the town then?”

  A huge grin appears on his face and the excitement over ice cream makes him look younger. I can feel a smile slip onto my own face, mimicking his. “I’m almost ready, let me just go grab my shoes really quick. Did you want to come inside?” He gestures to his feet while he’s talking before taking a step back to allow me to pass him.

  I step into the cottage and wander to stand near one of the bookshelves. Leif hustles by me and heads through the kitchen and around the corner. After he disappears from sight, I realize I’ve never seen the back portion of my grandma’s house. I’m extremely curious what the bedrooms look like, and maybe I can get her to give me the full tour once Leif is no longer a guest occupying one of the rooms.

  The guest in question reappears, now with appropriate foot attire and announces, “Ready!”

  The Parlor is teeming with activity, the line spilling out onto the sidewalk and wrapping around the side of the building. Apparently, ice cream was everyone’s first thought when the heat wave struck. Downtown is bustling with the street parking fully occupied, forcing me to park my Prius two blocks over.

  “So, this
is Downtown Florence?” Leif asks, looking around as he exits the car.

  I follow his gaze and try to imagine what it would be like to be an outsider, seeing Florence for the first time. Majority of the buildings are squat, brick structures with vibrant signage to differentiate each shop from its neighbor. A few painted buildings are interspersed, but most of downtown looks the same. As I look around, I find myself wondering what Leif’s hometown looks like. Are there skyscrapers or is it a sleepy little town like ours?

  Muddy eyes connect with mine and I remember Leif asked a question. “Yes, this is it. Welcome to Florence.” I finally say, throwing my arms out to encompass the area around us.

  Leif tilts his chin at me. “I like it, feels very… quaint.”

  So yes, to skyscrapers then I think to myself with a smile. “Let’s head over to get our ice cream.”

  Together we walk along the paved sidewalk, the heat causing a trickle of sweat to begin dripping down my back. I glance at Leif under my lashes, inspecting him as he walks. He doesn’t seem affected by the heat, despite the fact that he’s wearing jeans. Either he is more composed than I am, or he’s used to hotter summers than this.

  We make it to the Parlor and queue up at the end of the line. Luckily, we are just close enough to be included in the shade provided by the forest green awning, a small respite from the heat. I quietly watch the family in front of us struggle to wrangle their kids into decorum, while the line slowly shuffles forward.

  To the parent’s relief and the kids delight, the wait is short and all of us are in the shop within a few moments. A teenaged boy steps up to help the family and I laugh as the kids scream and point at the glass, requesting their desired flavors.