Once Blessed, Thrice Cursed: A Sister Witches Urban Fantasy #1

by Coralie Moss

  “I killed someone.”

  15

  That shut me up. For all of three seconds. “Alderose. What happened to Mom’s first rule of magic, do no harm?”

  “Nothing. Except it was always followed by Dad telling me to keep my blades sharp, go for a throat punch if I wanted to stop an attacker, and aim for the femoral artery when the only outcome of a fight was death.”

  I must have been too young for those lessons.

  “Don’t say anything, Clementine. There are things I haven’t told you or Beryl. A lot of things.”

  “Obviously.”

  More silence.

  “In a way, it was all a part of my job.”

  “What job? What job could you possibly have accepted that involves killing people, Alderose?”

  “Dad’s job.”

  “Dad’s a hairdresser.”

  “Dad is a hairdresser, and he’s really good with curly hair.”

  “But…what about the part where you killed someone for your girlfriend?”

  “Heriberto del Valle is very, very good with more than just scissors.”

  “Are you saying— Wait, how do you know that?”

  “I put two and two together, Clemmie. It’s all right there.”

  My dad. Able to cut your hair and your throat. Not something every witch’s kid could claim. “Did you look in Mom’s scissor drawer? Because she’s got a ton of blades in there and—”

  “Now you’re thinking like a Brodeur.”

  “Please tell me you’re not saying Mom was an assassin, as well. Because that would fry my brain.”

  “Clemmie, Dad’s not an assassin. He’s an Unbinder, like Serena. She took care of clients who wanted to be legally unbound from marriage or business contracts. After Mom opened the shop and the locals started to get to know her, and trust her, a witch in an abusive relationship asked for help leaving her partner. Serena found out the woman was being abused so she referred her to Mom.” Alderose blew out a quiet breath, then added, “Mom worked really hard to make sure that those she severed from abusive or unwanted relationships were never in harm’s way once they were freed.”

  “How’d she do that?” I asked, adding, “And how do you even know that?”

  “She used her ability to craft garments to create wholly new personas for those who wanted them. And I know that because I looked in the box.”

  “What box?”

  “The donation box Mom always kept on the counter. Didn’t you ever look inside it?”

  “Never. I just liked to shake it and hear the money rattling.”

  “One day when I was visiting her at the shop, I opened it. There was a petition for help.”

  The dented metal donation box sitting on the counter near the cash register suddenly made much more sense. One innocuous little box, covered with a faded advertisement and a phone number, could be the trigger someone in trouble needed to get help. And Mom had a gift for making everyone feel comfortable in her shop. “Is that where all her income went? Could she have done that for Gosia?”

  “Maybe? I mean, I only just started to uncover a lot of this through talking with Serena before she died.”

  “Why didn’t Serena say anything to us? Jeez, Rosey, why didn’t Mom tell us? And why didn’t you say anything to me or Beryl when you started to find out?” My heart beat hard against my ribs then dropped deep into the hollow of my belly. “Why did you keep me out of the loop?”

  “Because you don’t think, Clementine. You follow your heart and your instincts, but you never really take the time to think out the repercussions of your actions or take responsibility for them.”

  “Fuck you, Alderose.”

  “No, fuck you, Clementine. The women Mom protected had to disappear. Completely. The fewer people who knew, the better. Mom didn’t have to keep her magic tight, and right now I’m really wishing she shared everything with us before she died. But her work with those women—and their kids in some cases—had to stay locked down. And your mouth, dear sister, is not locked down.”

  Our conversation was forced to stop. I was almost grateful for the position we were in, all tied up with nowhere to go. Because if I could free even one arm, I’d imbue the cloth and threads protecting my body with every ounce of anger and frustration coursing through my veins and use it to punch my way out of the trap Gosia and Jadzia had set.

  I couldn’t picture what would come after. Only the punching part. I’d start with whacking my sister. Not too hard. But hard enough for her to know I was hurt and confused. Then she’d pull out her hidden knives and daggers and we’d—

  “We’re here.”

  Great. I held on to my emotions, infused my jumpsuit with them, and waited to see what would happen next.

  The covering over our heads was lifted. The vessel rocked and tilted, and Alderose and I were dumped onto the ground and forced to roll onto our bellies. “Don’t move. I’m cutting the head covering. I’ll try not to remove too much of your hair.”

  There was nothing gentle about our captor’s movements. It felt like they were using dull saw blades to cut through the threads, and I winced every time my hair got snagged. Finally, they were done. Toes worked their way underneath the front of my shoulder, and I was rolled faceup.

  Jadzia stared at me. Her features were cold. Emotionless. Until she grinned and turned her attention to Alderose. My sister cried out a couple of times. Her curlier hair had likely gotten more tangled in the threads. I almost felt sorry for her.

  Anger. Keep feeding it, Clementine. Feed it, bank, use it.

  I couldn’t wait to see what these mystery creatures had in store for us next. Jadzia left my sister and me and walked off. She and Gosia spoke to one another in a language I didn’t recognize, and their voices and footfalls faded until I couldn’t hear a thing other than my own breathing.

  I turned my head to look at Alderose. Sections of her arms and torso wavered like heat on tarmac. Blades came in and out of view. “Whatever spell your girlfriend made for you is no longer working,” I said. “I can kind of see your weapons. Maybe our friend Jadzia weakened the spell with her exquisite knife work.”

  Alderose lifted her head, spit sand and blood out of her mouth, and rested her cheek on the ground, facing me. I couldn’t really see her features underneath the tangle of her hair and the malevolent threads.

  “I’m sorry, Clemmie. You have every right to be mad at me.”

  “Right now we have to figure out how to get out of here.”

  My sister nodded. “Got any great ideas?”

  “They’re not going to be pleased if they see there’s an arsenal strapped to your body. I’m going to try something. Don’t move.”

  I closed my eyes, relaxed into the pain and discomfort I was feeling on the physical level, and called to the thread coiled over my heart. Whispering, I asked the thread to find its way over to my sister and begin to divest her of her daggers and knives. “First, remove one from this side and then the matching one from her other side. Be careful. Be stealthy.”

  The thread drew reinforcements from the waistband of the jumpsuit. I was ticklish and had to press my thighs together. Giggling would have been highly inappropriate.

  “I can get the threads in my clothes to do things for me,” I said to Alderose. “You’re going to feel a crawling on the outside of your thighs. I instructed the threads to remove some of your weapons and hide them inside my jumpsuit.”

  “Okay.”

  While the thread snaked over to Alderose, then back to me, dragging a dagger with it, I kept listening for Gosia and Jadzia’s return. The blade was drawn down the front of my body, between my breasts, and secured to a hastily constructed strap on the inside of one pant leg. The threads left, returned with the dagger’s mate, and secured it to the other leg.

  This was the most intimate I’d gotten with anything animate—or inanimate—in months, except for the interlude with Laszlo. I was ready to give the threads names and promise to make them breakfast for their
efforts. “First set has been transferred,” I whispered. I paused the thread from continuing and asked my sister which weapon should come next.

  “I keep a special set of blades at my lower back,” she said. “Please be careful. They’re ridiculously sharp. I was prepping them in Mom’s workroom.”

  “Where should they be positioned on my body?” I didn’t want them to be easily discovered. Nor did I want to stab myself—or be stabbed if our captors insisted on dragging us everywhere.

  “Put one in your front pocket on your right side and put the other one in your back pocket on your left side. I’ll try to stay to your left. If they ever let us stand up.” She went silent as the thread wound its way to her neck and down, then added, “Do you have any way to make a slit in the fabric to make it easier to reach inside?”

  “I’ll see what the threads can manage.” Footsteps returning in our direction didn’t give me time to make it any clearer. I made myself go still.

  A being stopped close to our heads. Their feet shifted on the sandy ground when they turned and crouched. A barely audible growl chilled me to the bones.

  “Alderose Brodeur, you sneaky little witch. How did you manage to get all those pretty little blades past my inspection?” Jadzia’s voice was tinged with cruelty. “Ooh, I see a witch with a friend in the Fae.” She dropped something metallic on the ground and tskd as she ripped through my sister’s clothes. “Fae. And witches. Do not. Mix.”

  “You’re cutting me,” Alderose said. “Stop and I’ll tell you exactly where all of the knives are.”

  Jadzia bent closer and stage-whispered in the space between me and Alderose. “I would much rather look for them myself.”

  I turned my head to see what was happening. I couldn’t see much beyond Rosey’s right side and the flash of the blade in Jadzia’s hand. She wasn’t even trying to be gentle.

  My sister whimpered. I smelled blood and kept silent, willing the threads Maritza had bestowed on me to hide the four blades in my clothing as best they could.

  We needed a diversion. “Where’s Gosia?” I asked. “And where are we?”

  “Gosia’s busy.” Jadzia gathered my sister’s blades and grunted as she stood. “And you’re not going to need these.” Splashes announced the blades were going the way of my old boots, the broken button charm, and Laszlo’s blade.

  Alderose whispered, “Fuck. I liked those knives.”

  “Maybe the beasts who live in the cavern will like them too.” Jadzia spat and went to work on me. She freed my arms, rolled me onto my belly, then immediately bound my wrists behind my back. She tugged my hips toward my heels, which scraped my face on the ground, and pulled me up to standing. She repeated the same with Alderose, then hauled me away and forced me to sit on a rock. My sit bones protested, as did the back of my head. My skull hit rock twice while she tied a rope around my shoulders and one around my thighs. “I’ll be back for you, witchling. The length of your sister’s life depends on you being a good little girl.”

  What sympathy I had for these two as-yet-unclassified creatures was fast running out.

  “Be good, Sissy.” Alderose, always adept at holding her emotions in check, never called me Sissy. That was Beryl’s special nickname for me. If my oldest sister was trying to convey a message, I wasn’t in on the secret. At least it gave me something to think about while Jadzia marched her away.

  I tried the breathing and meditating thing.

  I tried to be positive, but the only positivity I could muster was that Alderose and I were in the crappiest situation we’d ever found ourselves in and surely nothing would ever top this.

  Or maybe she’d encountered worse and hadn’t told me. Because the fact that there was a whole lot more to Alderose Brodeur that I didn’t know was really sinking in, and it sucked that it took us being in a life-threatening situation for my sister to come clean.

  Keeping my ears tuned to Jadzia’s return meant I missed the first part of my demon’s arrival. I didn’t miss the second part, when he clamped his hand over my mouth, brought his lips right to my ear, and whispered, “It’s Laszlo.”

  I wiggled, trying to shake off his hand.

  “Shh, Clementine, shh.” He pressed his mouth closer, kissed the side of my head through the rat’s nest of tangled hair and matted threads, and relaxed his grip.

  “Go along with whatever they ask. I’ve got a plan. I’ve got you covered.” The demon left, taking his reassuring strength with him. Shaking overcame my limbs.

  The missing charm meant my body wanted to follow Laszlo. My brain shrieked at me to use one of the knives stashed in my coveralls. I could slash at my bindings, grab the demon—kiss the demon—get my bearings, rescue my sister. And go back to kissing the demon.

  I drew a long breath in through my nostrils, held it in my lungs, then pursed my lips and let the breath out slowly.

  “We’re fucked,” I said to the roof of the cavern. “Completely fucked.”

  The thread coiled near my heart disagreed, calling on other thick threads to pull away from the inner part of my coveralls’ waistband. Its intentions were unclear—the threads were lining themselves up vertically along my ribs—front, back, and sides. They stopped when Jadzia strode close and announced it was my turn to let her play tour guide.

  Her voice was strong. Confident. Her words must have carried to Laszlo. I tensed, expecting him to burst out of his hiding place and initiate a dramatic rescue. I flexed my knees and bounced. I was ready. Ready for the drama, ready for the rescue, ready for a hot shower and a—and I was wrong.

  Jadzia led me away. She was a terrible guide, completely forgetting to describe points of interest along the way. I stubbed my toes and scraped the sides of my feet on rocks, wincing every few steps. The texture of the ground changed as we walked, moving from fine river sand to sharp-edged pebbles that hurt the sensitive spots on the bottoms of my bare feet.

  Though I couldn’t see much of anything, the quality of the air in the space around me changed, freshened. Jadzia jerked me to a stop. Alderose waited to my right. We both held our breath.

  My sister was right-handed and wanted to be on my left side. I leaned against her, made as though I had stumbled, and managed to position myself so she could access her blades. She whispered, “Sissy,” before Jadzia shushed her and made us face forward.

  Gosia stood in front of a wide-open vista with her back to us. The night sky was visible high above the sheer rock walls in the distance. The water I knew was out there smelled metallic. We had to be in an abandoned quarry, one of hundreds scattered throughout Massachusetts and the rest of New England.

  In high school, quarries had been awesome places to face my fear of heights and practice holding my breath as friends and I dove for treasure. Old cars, battered trucks, and retired mining equipment never yielded much other than supplying our imaginations with stories of all the things that might have been tossed into the quarries’ watery depths.

  Including bodies.

  I shivered. Alderose did too.

  Gosia turned, said, “It is time,” and bent to pick up a two long pieces of rope. She handed one to Jadzia and went to her knees behind me. She wrapped the rope around and between my ankles, then checked the ropes binding my wrists at my lower back.

  I caught on to what they were doing and what they likely intended. “Don’t do this, Gosia. We can protect you. Like our mother protected you. You and Jadzia.”

  Gosia looked right through me. Her irises had gone as dark as her pupils. She stepped to the side, allowing Jadzia to lead Alderose forward. My heart hammered at the inside of my chest when I saw that weights had been added to the rope binding my sister’s ankles. Gosia pushed me forward until Rosey and I were side by side. I shifted enough that my butt bumped hers and she could reach for one of her blades if her fingers happened to be free enough.

  Before I could make a wish upon a star or utter a game-changing protest, Gosia and Jadzia walked us to the edge of the overhang and shoved the backs of our
knees.

  Don’t panic. Don’t panic. Don’t panic.

  It all happened fast. My mouth was open when I hit the water and I gagged on a bitter mouthful. Thrashing was useless. Utterly, unequivocally useless. I made my body go still. The weighted ropes drew my legs straight. I lifted my chin to where up might be and released some of the building pressure in my lungs.

  Don’t panic. Don’t panic. Don’t panic.

  I had to focus on me. And while I was focusing on me, the threads lining my torso streamed over my breasts and up my throat, around my ears, over my mouth and nose, frantic and searching. Someone—or something—jerked hard on the ankle ropes. A body slid up the front of mine, forced my mouth open with their fingers and inserted a tube. I clamped down and accepted the oxygen mask even as I was pulled farther from the surface. I twisted, worried for my sister, as I was shoved through a short tunnel and lifted out of the water.

  “I got you. I got you. You’re going to be okay.” Laszlo pulled the mask away, rolled me onto my side, and sawed at the rope at my wrists. I retched, tried to breathe, and ended up coughing and hiccupping. As soon as he freed my legs, Laz tossed the ropes aside and cradled me in his lap. I kept coughing, twisting away from his chest, desperate to locate the spot where we’d emerged, where Rosey would emerge, and everything would be okay.

  “Go help her.” I slapped at his arms and chest. “Please, find my sister, she’s claustrophobic and she’s probably completely freaking out and—”

  Alderose’s crumpled body rose from the water, held aloft by two arms. Laszlo set me aside, reached for her, and set her next to me. I made sure she was on her side, set her head on my leg, and watched dumbfounded as Rémy felt for purchase on the rocks before pulling himself up and out of the water.

  His body-clinging wetsuit had Moira Brodeur and her spelled threads stitched all over it. He shrugged off a sleek backpack, nodded to Laszlo, and went to work on my sister. Alderose was in worse shape than me. I stayed quiet, feeling nauseous, used, untrusting, and totally confused.