Once Upon A Curse: 17 Dark Faerie Tales

by Yasmine Galenorn

  “Okay,” I said, “but I want to do everything possible to make sure it doesn’t go wrong. Why don’t you hold on to me when I make the wish? Maybe that’ll help make sure we both end up out of the hole together. Hold on tight.”

  “Okay.”

  She reached out and gripped my arm as tightly as she could, digging her tiny, sharp fingernails into my flesh. I winced but bit my tongue. I didn’t want to spook her. I felt for the ring and touched its cool surface. I couldn’t see it, but I knew the jewel was gorgeous. I was thankful I’d not lost it sliding down into the abyss.

  I wished that both Aylin and I were no longer in the hole and instead in the forest above. I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping the wish would turn out right and not mutate into something obscene. Nothing happened.

  “It’s not working!” I panicked. What if we were to die down there? No one would know where to look, and this would become our grave. My chest seized.

  “Can I try it?”

  I sucked in a breath, wondering if it would work. I had to give the ring to a ruler of some kind, not just anyone, or I’d never be released from this curse. But I didn’t know anything about Aylin. There was a possibility.

  “Are you… royalty?”

  “Not anymore, but my father did once say my mother was a queen or… something. He didn’t talk about it much. She shed the title to marry my father. I suppose that makes me a princess, but I have no lands, no people, no castle.”

  I could have jumped for joy. How had I gotten so lucky to meet this girl? She was just what I needed. I hoped.

  “Here, put it on,” I said, deciding that there was no way my situation could get any worse. I took the ring off, only half surprised that I wasn’t flung back into my living room. I had remained in the earthen pit with Aylin. I handed it to her, and she quickly slipped it onto her finger. The air moved about us like something had changed. Something was going on, but it stopped as quickly as it had begun.

  “I hope this works,” I muttered. “Wish us out of here, Aylin.”

  She nodded and grabbed onto me again.

  “I wish us to the surface, back in the Variance forest.”

  The moment she wished it, something happened. The damp, earthen scent of the hole faded and gave way to a warm breeze enriched by the familiar scent of honeysuckle. I could feel the warm air circle around me, feeling more like a hug than just wind. I couldn’t have been happier.

  “I did it! We’re out of the hole!” Aylin shouted.

  “Then you must be a queen,” I said, smiling at her. The coincidence of it all was crazy, but I was relieved to be free of the ring. It had been nothing but trouble and had never given me what I truly needed.

  Aylin smiled and peered down at the gleaming ring on her dirty hand. “It’s beautiful.”

  “I’ve finally found you,” said a strange voice, cutting through our joy.

  We both turned to find the homeless man standing in the middle of the clearing, but he was no longer dirty or wearing torn clothes. He was dressed regally, cleanly shaven, his skin white and gleaming. He was breathtakingly handsome, and we both held our breath as he approached.

  “You—you’re that homeless guy who gave me that infernal ring.” I pointed toward Aylin’s finger. “It was a curse, not a gift. There are no legions of fairy or wishes. They all get messed up. Why did you give that to me?”

  “Because, sister, you’re the one who could find Aylin with this ring. The only one.”

  My eyes widened. Sister?

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m Prince Axlon of the Variance Court. My sisters disappeared long ago, taken for protection by the man who married my mother after our father died in the war our family waged against the darker courts. He hid one in the human world and one in the Variance to keep them safe. Aylin has no magic without her ring. You”—he pointed toward me—“were the only one who could wield the ring to find her, even though it would cause chaos wherever you went. I am the ruler now, and I want my sisters back in our court, safe and sound.”

  “Wait, what?” I stepped back. I was adopted? My parents had never told me that. “What’s my real name then?”

  “Ainsley. Your name is Ainsley.” Axlon held out his hand, and in it was another blasted opal ring. “And this is your true ring. It will restore your powers. It won’t be chaotic or unpredictable. It is pure power and will help you rule our kingdom.”

  I shook my head. It didn’t make sense. I turned to Aylin, who was grinning ear to ear, like she’d always known she was meant for something more. I had never thought that. I never could have imagined anything like this.

  “What if I don’t want it? What if I want to return to my human world?”

  Axlon’s face fell, and he took a tentative glance toward Aylin before staring at the ground.

  “It will be difficult to rule without the triumvirate. We are nearly powerless without each other. Our kingdom has suffered without us all to help balance the power of the Variance. It is a difficult job, but there must be three to succeed in keeping it at full power. It is how we defend against the dark courts and evil magics of the Variance.”

  I swallowed hard. It was a big decision to make, and I wasn’t sure I could do what he asked.

  “I—I don’t know what to do.”

  “Join us, Ainsley. You and I can learn together.” Aylin reached for my hand, and her warm fingers felt familiar against my skin. Somehow I knew these two, and the desire to learn more about them and this world, the Variance, grew tenfold just by hearing her say my real name.

  Ainsley. My human name had been Anna. So close, yet so far off.

  Axlon handed me the ring, and I slipped it on, half expecting to be jetted off to another weird world. That didn’t happen. In fact, the power of it surged through me like a natural high, soothing all my bruises and whispering my history to my mind in flashes of memory. My mother, my father, the kingdom, they were all there for me to look over in my own time. It felt warm and inviting, and I suddenly felt more at ease with all of it.

  I nodded. “Okay.” It was better than learning more Microbiology. “I’ll give it a go.”

  Axlon bowed slightly. “Thank you. Our battles against the dark courts are ever ongoing. They are rising up again, growing stronger. You will not regret taking back your seat on the throne. This is a promise I will forge in blood.”

  “No more wishes or promises, please.” I shook my head. “I’ve had enough wishes to last a lifetime.”

  He gave me a nod and grinned as he offered his hand. “To the Variance Court.”

  About the Author

  Alexia currently lives in Las Vegas, Nevada–Sin City! She loves to spend every free moment writing or playing with her four rambunctious kids. Writing has always been her dream, and she has been writing ever since she can remember. She loves writing paranormal fantasy and poetry and devours books daily. Alexia also enjoys watching movies, dancing, singing loudly in the car and eating Italian food.

  Find all Alexia’s books on AMAZON.

  Connect with Alexia Purdy:

  Sign up for Alexia’s Newsletter HERE

  Alexia Purdy’s Website

  Twitter

  Instagram

  You-Tube

  Goodreads Author page

  Alexia Purdy’s Facebook Fan Page

  A Dark Faerie Tale Series Facebook Fan page

  Reign of Blood Series Facebook Fan Page

  The Morrigan - Phaedra Weldon

  OAK & ASH & THORN

  Chapter 1

  Oh crap.

  That was the thought running through Tam's mind as he watched the group of thugs form a threatening circle around him. It was after midnight, and he'd just left a drumming circle inside one of the dormitories at Harvard Yard. Since he didn't live on campus and it'd started out as a nice spring day in Cambridge, Tam had decided to forego his Harley and walk the grounds.

  Big mistake.

  Some of the other folklore students, like himself,
had filled him in on some attacks on campus, all suspected to have been from the same group of guys in matching black hoodies and carrying pipes. And not the kind to make music with. The victims had survived, but all had ended up in the hospital.

  "You should be really careful, Tam," Janet Bostwick said as they packed their drums before he left.

  "Why me? Do I look like a victim?"

  Harold Jamerson, a psyche student, but Irish folklore enthusiast, had chimed in. "You look like the other victims. Five in all and they all had your general look."

  My general look? "They're attacking short, dark-haired guys with funny names?"

  "Same build, same hair and face shape." Janet had nodded.

  "I have a look?" The serious expressions on Harold and Janet's faces came back to him as he stared down what he suspected was the same hooded gang. The single light from the building behind him wasn't strong enough to break through the shadows created by their hoods. They'd picked the perfect place to surround him, less than a mile from his house. Didn't accidents always happen less than a mile from one's house?

  Tam wasn't totally defenseless. He had a backpack full of library tomes, all of them weighing a hefty amount. He also had his bodhrán's hard case, something he was now happy he'd paid more money for instead of the soft case. At the time, he'd felt anxiety for spending so much, but given the bodhrán had belonged to his mom; he’d do anything to protect it.

  With the backpack and case on his shoulders, and dressed in a thigh-length peacoat that would constrict his movements, Tam held up his hands. "Hey…look, guys. I’ve got nothing of value."

  "You think it's him this time?" the tallest one to Tam's right said. The guy's voice surprised Tam. It was gravelly and deep. Not usually the tone of a college kid's voice. Unless these weren't college kids.

  "So what if it ain't? We're to keep looking till we find him, and then take it from him." This voice came from Tam's left, from a medium-height hoodie. The voice had the same graveled timber. What is up with these guys? They smoke too many cigarettes?

  "I'm bet'n it's in that case. That's where he keeps it."

  Oh hell no. Tam turned his body so the case was furthest away. "There's nothing in the case of value." He surprised himself when his voice didn't shake, though the same bravado that kept his timber even wasn't talking to his knocking knees.

  Adrenaline pumped furiously into his system. Everything he'd learned in defense classes told him this would end in a fight. He had to be ready. Of course, he'd paid more attention to his Irish step dancing classes lately, mostly because of a particular young woman. He doubted he'd be able to dance his way out of this.

  "So why you protect'n it, huh?" Still another voice, graveled and with a slight accent that sounded vaguely Irish, but it'd been polluted with something else. Tam knew what a purer accent sounded like because of his own family and their ties to Ireland. He couldn't tell which of the dark hoods spoke.

  "Let's do it quick," the first one said, and to Tam's horror, pulled a metal pipe out of his jacket.

  They all pulled metal pipes from their jackets.

  Janet and Harold had said the victims were beaten with hard, blunt objects. One of the victims remained on life support.

  "Look…guys…I really don't have anything of value. You don't have to beat the crap out of me."

  "Oh, yes we do," the smaller one said. "We have orders to kill after we relieve you of the prize."

  Kill? He narrowed his eyes. "You left the other victims alive."

  "'Cause they weren't what we was look'n for."

  "They didn't have the prize?" Tam shifted his feet into position for one of two options. Fight or flee. What they did next would determine which he chose.

  "No. But we're pretty sure you do." The smaller one slapped his pipe into his other hand. "So, we can do this easy...you give us the case and we kill you fast, or we take the case and kill you slow."

  "What's the prize?" He figured it was a lot to ask, but now curiosity had its grip on him. That was something all the Kirkpatricks in his family had. An abundance of curiosity.

  "The shill—" the smaller one started to say, that is, before the one next to him knocked him in the face with his pipe. The smaller one flipped in the air and rolled into the empty road.

  Tam took that moment to make his move. It was the diversion he'd hoped for. One thing he could do well, besides playing his bodhrán, was run. Fast. He wasn't a tall man, standing at five-foot-seven without shoes, but he was lean and he kept in shape. It was something his stepdad had instilled in him when he was younger, after his mother ran out on them. "Keep healthy, keep fit, and one day your body will be your greatest asset."

  Now it was time to validate that advice.

  He heard their yells and the following pounding of their feet on concrete as they came after him. Tam pumped his arms and legs hard as he retraced his steps toward campus, the backpack and case beating against his sides and back. If he could get them to follow him back to Harvard Yard, then the campus police would see them, and maybe even arrest them.

  He heard metal slide against concrete seconds before one of their pipes tangled in his feet. Pain lanced up his right leg as the pipe cracked his ankle. He went down with some speed behind him, and forced himself into a roll to make the impact less painful. Tam wasn't sure if that worked or not, because the agony in his ankle overrode every other rational thought he had. He also felt the burn on his exposed skin, especially his left cheek, where he scraped it against the concrete.

  The group descended upon him before he could get back up on his feet. They shoved him over on his side, holding his arms and legs, as they wrenched his backpack and case from his shoulders. One of them struck him repeatedly in the stomach with a pipe. The pain caught his breath, so he couldn't get in enough air to cry for help.

  Through the pain-induced fog, he heard their voices, as well as the sound of ripping vinyl and the cracking of the case around his bodhrán.

  "It's just a drum!"

  "Don't be break'n it, Tolen." That was the voice of the tallest one. "That might be it. They can shape shift."

  "Och," another said. "Is it him?"

  "Check him."

  Tam fought back as they attempted to strip off his coat and t-shirt. He wrenched his left arm, his playing arm, free and delivered a hard right cross into the hood of the closest one. He let Tam go and fell back as Tam clenched his jaw at the bone-shattering pain in his fist. What the hell? Was that guy wearing some kind of iron mask?

  Even with one down, there were still four more. He managed to kick one of them holding his legs just before a pipe struck the side of his head. The sound rang in his ears and slowed his reflexes. The pain didn't feel right. Tam had been hit in the head plenty of times in his life, scrapping with friends, at the dojo, and even with his sword master, but never had the impact caused such a warp in his sense of reality.

  He no longer had control of his body as they finished removing his coat and shirt, though he did react to the cold temperature. It might be March, but it was still cold at night in Massachusetts.

  "Look at his arm!"

  "It's the mark, you see it? This is him!"

  Mark? My arm? Does he mean my tattoo? He had a Celtic knot tattoo around his upper left arm. How was that a mark? And more importantly, a mark for what? Certainly not a gang, unless there were secret Irish gangs. So secret, in fact, that they hid their tats? Tam tried to speak, but his words slurred, and his vision just wasn't working right. For starters, when he looked up at the one holding his bodhrán, the tallest one, he thought he saw…

  No…it wasn't possible. The guy's hood was back and his head… I've got brain damage. That's it. They knocked my brain against my skull, 'cause that guy looks like a troll. A big, horn-wearing, tusk-sprouting troll.

  "Boys, we found our prize. Put the torque on him and bring the van around."

  Torque?

  His question was answered when someone put something cold and burning around his neck. H
is body went limp and his thoughts spiraled into a dark, confusing place. He could see and feel, but he wasn't in control. He heard squealing brakes, felt himself being lifted over someone's shoulder like a sack of potatoes and then dumped onto a cold, metallic floor.

  The tall one with the troll head spoke, "Clean up the street. Don't leave any trace. And send a crow to the Morrigan. We have the Unseelie Prince."

  Tam's next waking thoughts were something he wanted to put back where he got them. They hurt. Bad. And he shook. Cold seeped in through his skin and made his bones brittle. Nothing prepared him for this.

  They'd hung him from his wrists in what looked, and smelled, like a basement. His feet were bound at the ankles with chains, and only his toes, if he pointed them, brushed the floor. A few bulbs hung from the ceiling, illuminating the room. Tam still couldn't speak or really control his movements. Just small things like making sure his head rested against his arms and didn't drop forward so the only things he saw were his feet and the floor, and pointing his toes. A dull ache plagued the muscles along his shoulders and neck as he swayed.

  His body was little more than a connect the dots of bruises and cuts where they'd taken turns striking him with their pipes. And with each hit the pain intensified. So much so that the impact of the hit wasn't what hurt, but the touch of the pipe against his bare skin.

  His ankle burned where the pipe had damaged it. Missing a month of step dancing was the least of his worries.

  They'd left him alone again, for a while. But he knew their questions would start again. Where is it? How do you make it shift? We'll end your pain if you just give us the secret. Tam hated that if he knew what it was they were after, he'd have given it to them long before it got to this point. He was little more than an isolated island in an ocean of pain.

  If he moved the right way, he could see his attackers huddled over the contents of his backpack and the drum. They treated the bodhrán as if it were gold.