Death's Curses

by Becca Fox

  Looking out at the sun setting behind the glass skyscrapers, I couldn’t help but think of home. There weren’t too many differences between Seattle and Boston that I could see. Both cities were big and by the water, giving the air a permanent car-exhaust-infused moisture no matter the temperature. Both were a hodge-podge of ancient and new buildings placed almost as afterthoughts along winding streets. Seattle did have a lot more homeless people though. Somehow it still felt safer than Boston. I thought of the gang and suppressed a shudder, absently rubbing my shoulder.

  Getting the tattoo had been my initiation all those years ago. Two fiery bird wings were customary, but I’d opted for a single wing across my left shoulder blade. It had been one of the most painful things I’d ever experienced, short of dating Marty.

  I killed the minuscule cigarette butt and flicked it into the grass somewhere far below.

  Despite it all, there were perks to being banished here.

  ◆◆◆

  I strutted down the aisle between easels, toward Charlie. Today I wore a deep V-neck shirt under a leather jacket with studded leggings and boots. I looked like a badass. What snide comment could he come up with about my clothes today?

  I slid into the seat beside him. “Hey. Glad you could make it.”

  Charlie leaned back, his mouth quirking in amusement. “Am I the only good thing about your day, or what?”

  I clapped a hand over my mouth and widened my eyes, going for the surprised doe look. “Is it that obvious?”

  “Were you trying to be discreet?”

  I tucked my messenger bag under my chair, chuckling. “Nah, I was just looking for a way to bring up your ditching yesterday. What excuse did you use? Maybe it’ll work for me.”

  He ran a hand down the length of paper fixed to his easel. “It won’t work for you.”

  “Why not?”

  Sizing me up out of the corner of his eye, he said, “Because my sister is mentally disturbed and everyone knows it. So when I say she’s having another episode and my uncle needs help getting her to stop screaming, teachers tend to believe me and give me a free pass.”

  I blinked at him, all playfulness gone. “Wow. Sorry, man. I didn’t know.”

  “How could you have known?” he said, shrugging my apology away. “You’re new.”

  “So how’d your family’s dirty laundry become public knowledge?”

  Charlie nodded at the teacher, who was starting her lecture. I turned my attention to the front of the class somewhat grudgingly.

  Damaged kid: just my type. The thought was sarcastic, but in truth, all I was really feeling at this point was sympathy. It had to be stressful as hell living with someone like that. Could he ever just cut loose? I was tempted to offer him my last few cigarettes and maybe volunteer to steal some beer for him, but thought better of it. He probably had friends who could do that for him.

  Why did I care so much anyway? I hardly knew the guy.

  I gave myself a shake and tried to pay attention to the fascinating lecture about the differences between watercolors and oil pastels. It didn’t work. I was still curious. When the time came to experiment with watercolors, I picked up where we’d left off.

  “Did your sister have a public episode? Is that why everyone knows?”

  Charlie studiously selected the colors he wanted to work with and dipped his brush into one of them. “My sister’s psychic gift is what drives her crazy. She goes with my uncle to crime scenes and helps him solve murders. The media loves her.” He met my skeptic gaze with a frown. “Go ahead and Google it if you don’t believe me. My uncle’s Detective Victor Campbell. He’s closed the highest number of cases in the county thanks to Jasmine.”

  “Wicked,” I said once I’d recovered from my shock.

  He started doodling along the edges of his paper. Apparently, the conversation was over.

  I dabbed my paintbrush in a random color and drew streaks across my paper. Trying to sound less freaked than I actually was, I said, “That must make your home life kinda rough.”

  He shrugged. “Sometimes.”

  “So you live with your uncle, right? Are your parents…?”

  Charlie gave a short, bitter laugh. “No, they’re alive. They couldn’t handle Jasmine’s condition so they shipped us here when we were little.”

  I flinched. Ouch.

  “Yup, I’m the whole package.” He cocked his head and gave me a maniacal grin.

  I laughed when it dawned on me. “You’re trying to scare me. It ain’t gonna work.”

  His smile vanished. “Why not?”

  I put my paintbrush down and shoved the sleeve of my jacket up to my elbow, exposing a jagged scar along my forearm. “See this? I got it in a knife fight against some bitch from a rival gang. I won, by the way.” I tugged at the loose neck of my shirt, exposing my collarbone and the spear-shaped burn mark I had there. “My ex used my straightening iron to give me this because I dared to talk back to him once.” I released my shirt and flattened the hair around my ear to expose the crescent-shaped scar along the base. “My stepdad gave me this the last time I was arrested. He threw a can opener at my head.”

  Charlie stared at me, his mouth agape. Clearly, we’d misjudged each other.

  I smirked. “Let’s just say I don’t scare easily.”

  * * *

  Chapter 4

  Jasmine

  I dipped my hand into the bucket and sprinkled bird seed beside me as I walked. The birds left their branches and perches to assault the ground where the seeds landed.

  The birdhouse was huge—it took up half of the precinct’s roof—and was constructed of double paned glass. Several trees had been planted inside along with flowers and different kinds of bushes. The occasional fountain sprung up from the green and a little pond sat at the center to give the birds plenty of places to wash. It was my haven, the one place I felt at peace.

  It was also the one place I was guaranteed privacy. I sat on the stone bench by the pond, set my bucket aside, and burst into tears. My body still ached from the torture Ida Mavity had gone through before being murdered. My throat was raw and dry no matter how much hot tea I drank. We’d both done a lot of screaming before we’d died.

  More than that, my heart was grieved. There was no other way to describe this looming shadow, this pit of hopelessness. After that horrible torture, I’d been given a taste of eternal peace...only to be forced to return to this living hell. I’d never admit it to anyone, but I often wished I wouldn’t come back to life. I wouldn’t be able to feel anything if I stayed dead. I’d be free then, truly free from my curse. The only motivation to live was my brother. I couldn’t stand the thought of him suffering alone.

  I sniffled and wiped my face with the too-long sleeve of my sweater. A pale, gangly creature with a curtain of dark hair covering half of her face grimaced at me from the surface of the pond. How I envied the girls on the streets with long, tan legs, bodacious curves and big curly hair. Beautiful girls like Vanessa Burkley, who was free to pine after Uncle Victor, free to have a career and hobbies and dream about the future. It wasn’t fair.

  I took a deep breath and slowly let it out. My half hour of self-pity now over, it was time to go back to being Charlie’s cheerleader.

  I practiced my smile until it looked genuine. I sang along with the birds and admired the view through the glass walls until my mood improved. Only then did I retreat into the precinct. I pranced down the stairs, swinging my bucket back and forth. Men and women in uniform nodded respectfully as they passed, but never held my gaze. I didn’t bother with contacts here and my purple eyes unnerved people. Well, that and the rumors of my “psychic powers.” Charlie was moody and antisocial, but at least he could pull off sane and semi-normal.

  He really had no idea how lucky he was.

  I shook off my melancholy before it could take over and forced a smile. Zigzagging through the maze of desks on the first floor, I finally found my uncle.

  Detective Campbell pounded away a
t his computer’s keyboard while Vanessa chattered at his side. He occasionally nodded and grunted to beguile her into believing he was paying attention to what she was saying. Any other girl would have seen right through this and been offended, but Vanessa didn’t seem to care.

  Her eyes were brown with flecks of gold which stood out against her black hair and skin. She was tall, curvy and youthful, but anyone who knew her well knew better than to underestimate her. She’d graduated from the academy with honors, was the youngest officer to be recommended for detective, and was the first person our uncle had given permission to shadow him. Because of mine and my brother’s peculiar gifts, Uncle Victor had been hesitant to take on a partner but apparently he was comfortable with the aspiring detective studying his methods.

  Vanessa paused in her monologue to give me a smile. “Hey, girl. Love the outfit.”

  Her only flaw was her determination to be friends with us.

  I knew I had a wacky sense of fashion. As a child, my mother had only ever gotten me outfits matching either in color scheme, cut, or style. Being older now, I found myself favoring the opposite. Today, I wore my classic gray knit sweater that was two sizes too big with a knee-length plaid skirt and some black Mary Jane shoes. From afar, I might’ve looked like a girl from a private Catholic school or something. I wasn’t trying to look ironically cute (which was a thing now, I guess?). I just wore the clothes that made me feel comfortable, regardless of how they looked to others.

  Still, I smiled politely. “Thank you, Ms. Burkley.”

  She blew a raspberry and waved a hand at me. “Ms. Burkley is my big sister. Call me Vanessa.”

  I set my empty bucket on my uncle’s desk, choosing not to reply.

  The sound snapped Uncle Victor out of his research trance. He turned with a start. “Hey, Jazz. How’re you feeling?”

  “Better,” I lied. “Just about ready for some food.”

  He pushed back his sleeve to glance at his wristwatch. “Is it that time already? Okay. I’ll go pick up some burgers.”

  “Make it a veggie burger for me.” I wrinkled my nose. “I’m sick of beef.”

  Uncle Victor rose and snagged his coat from the back of his swivel chair. “Sounds good.”

  “And a salad for Tony. You know he counts carbs.”

  “Mmm-hmm,” my uncle said, patting his pockets. “Where did I leave my wallet?”

  Vanessa held up the leather square between her pointer and middle finger.

  Uncle Victor took it with a murmured thanks and added, “Why don’t you finish this query for me, Nessie? I’m looking into any incident reports involving Ida Mavity. Charlie thinks this has something to do with the mayor and his wife, but I want to rule out any other possibilities before investigating Mr. Ward.”

  “On it,” Vanessa said with a salute.

  Uncle Victor snatched his keys from his desk before planting a kiss on my forehead. “Be right back. Check on your brother. He didn’t stop by to see me when he came home from school.”

  “He might’ve and you just weren’t paying attention.”

  My uncle turned to his shadow. “Nessie—”

  “You were right the first time,” she said, already sitting in his chair and typing on his keyboard. “Your nephew didn’t stop by.”

  “Good to know I haven’t completely lost it. Be back in a few.”

  I watched him go with a fond smile. “Good luck with your research,” I told Vanessa before proceeding underground.

  The sound of drilling met me as I tugged open the elevator door. Across the cavernous space I called home, I noticed my brother hunched over his work desk. I tossed the bucket onto my bed in passing. When I was close enough, I saw he was working with bits of metal, wood, and shards of mirrored glass. Sparks flew as he sawed a glass slate into pieces.

  “Charles?”

  He didn’t turn.

  I rolled my eyes and pulled out one of his earbuds.

  “What?” he snapped, glaring at me through protective goggles.

  I beamed. “Hi. What’re you doing?”

  He set the saw aside to measure the piece of mirrored glass. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

  “It looks like you’re venting on inanimate objects.” I picked up a flat wooden bird painted red on one side and green on the other. “Who was stupid enough to upset you today?”

  “I’m making you a toy, Jazz,” he muttered, “and I’ll finish it faster if you stop bothering me.”

  “Aww, thanks. You know I love toys.” I wrapped my arms around his shoulders. “But you still haven’t answered my question.”

  “It’s an optical illusion,” he said, gesturing to the partially-finished box. “The bird goes inside a box with one-sided mirrors as two of its walls. You look in through one little window and you can see a complete red bird, but when you look in through the other window, you see a complete green bird. In reality, it’s just one bird being reflected from different angles.”

  “And that’s all very interesting, Charles, but you’re ignoring the big question. Why are you creating this toy for me?”

  Charlie sighed and tugged out the other earbud, his gaze averted. “It’s the new chick again.”

  I smirked. “What? Is she still not cowering in fear?”

  “No.” He chewed on the inside of his cheek. “Her dad was military. I think he died overseas because she talked about him in the past tense. She’s been physically abused by her stepdad and her ex-boyfriend. She was a member of a gang back in Boston; I’m pretty sure she moved here recently. While listening to her talk about her scars, I actually felt sorry for her.”

  I blinked in surprise but said nothing.

  “You know,” he said, starting to sound more thoughtful than angry. “I always knew life sucked, but I thought it was because of our curse. I didn’t realize life sucked for everyone else too.”

  I chuckled. “That’s what happens when you listen to others. You start to realize you’re not the only one with problems.”

  He scowled at me, his ears turning slightly pink.

  “What’s her name anyway?” I asked, leaving him to plop down on the edge of his bed.

  Charlie huffed and went back to his crafting. “Esmeralda Barnes. She goes by Esmer.”

  I repeated the name to myself several times, enjoying the feel of the syllables as they rolled off my tongue. “I like it,” I finally decided. “It’s new and different, but also sort of vintage.”

  “I’ll be sure to tell her,” my brother said with a smirk.

  I crossed my legs and pretended to pick invisible lint from my skirt. “You’re planning on talking to the same human being for a third time?”

  My brother started the drill up again without replying.

  I let out a triumphant, “Ha!”

  He raised his voice to be heard over the drill. “Leave it alone, Jazz.”

  “You like her,” I said, wagging a finger at him.

  “What?”

  “You like her!”

  The drill went silent. Charlie lowered it onto his desk and slowly turned to face me. “I do not like Esmer Barnes. Period. Exclamation point. Frowning emoji. End of discussion.”

  I laughed. “How do you know what an emoji is? You don’t text.”

  “Neither do you.”

  “Yes, but I actually take an interest in the outside world and do research on all the trends kids our age are into,” I said matter-of-factly. “One of which is crushing on people they’ve just met.”

  “I’m not crushing on Esmer,” my brother growled. “I can barely understand her half of the time. She has a thick Bostonian accent. It’s annoying.” Turning back to his crafting, he muttered, “And she talks more than you do.”

  The elevator door slid open on the other side of our apartment and Anthony stepped quietly down the stairs, phone pressed to his ear, textbooks tucked under his free arm. His voice flitted across the empty space between us. “Yes, I know. I’ve already talked to him about it. No, I won’t
forget. Tell the boys I can’t wait for our weekend together. Take care, Georgina. All right. Goodbye.” He slid the phone into the pocket of his suit jacket and smiled at me as he approached. “Ready to do your Calculus homework?”

  I groaned. Calculus was the worst! “Uncle Vic will be here with dinner any minute. It doesn’t make sense for us to start if we’re just going to have to stop to eat.”

  That’s when it hit me. I was thrown off the bed as invisible shards of glass savagely attacked my face. Before I could lift a hand to defend myself, the world faded into blackness. For one blissful moment, I couldn’t see, feel, hear, or smell anything. I was aware of my consciousness only because of a thought that coursed lazily through my brain.

  Finally.

  My senses returned slowly, as if I were waking up. There was the vague outline of the familiar brick gate standing before me and a sunset-orange sky above. A transparent hand with a faint glow reached up to touch my face. A breath filled my lungs. There was suddenly hair covering my ears. A warm breeze kissed my skin. Soft grass rose up between my luminescent toes. A smile stretched across my face.

  Death sighed, drawing my attention to the gate again. Then a hook latched into my back and I was reeled into the land of the living.

  I woke with a gasp. Coming back to life was nothing like dying. My body assaulted me with information. My face stung in a million different places, my teeth ached, my head spun, my stomach frothed as if I had heartburn, and it was much too bright around me. Voices tore through my sensitive ears.

  “What’s happened?” Uncle Victor asked.

  “An old man crashed his car,” Charlie wearily replied. “Just an accident.”

  “Jazz,” my doctor murmured. “Jasmine, can you hear me?”

  “Yes,” I murmured back. “You guys are loud.”

  A hand gripped mine. Then Charlie’s anxious face hovered over me. “Jazz?”

  “M’fine,” I managed, suddenly overwhelmed with exhaustion. “Jussneedo sleep…”