Cursed: Out of Ash and Flame

by E. C. Farrell

  She stands, adjusting her belt, and giving us a lop-sided grin. “Sorry ‘bout that folks.” One of her gold teeth flashes. “I know it’s not what you want to hear, but we’re going to be a little delayed. Just sit tight and we’ll be back on the road in no time.”

  More murmurs and profanity and grumbling. Little kids bounce in their seats, gripping chair backs as parents attempt to calm them, apologizing to other passengers for the disruption. One small girl asks over-loud, highly awkward questions to the clear horror of her red-faced mother.

  Max pushes up from his seat, craning to look out the window opposite us before flopping back down. Pale light shifts over his face. Shadows slide down the smooth slope of his cheeks and cut a sharp edge to his already sharp jaw.

  Sucking my lower lip, I tear my gaze away from his distracting features by digging into the pink backpack and pulling out a water bottle. “Here.” I slap it against his chest. “Don’t want you to dry out.”

  A corner of Max’s mouth makes like it’s going to start a smile, then drops right back into place and twists the top open with a series of gentle cracks. “Thanks. Your boss didn’t seem to care about that much.” His dark eyes again dart around the bus.

  “We all have different ways of working.” The excuse falls past my lips even as my guts twist.

  Though I view my marks as, at bare minimum, low level criminals, I prefer not to make them suffer needlessly. I’ve always known that Yaritza tends to be rough with her bounties but drying out a fellow water spirit feels a little harsh, even for her.

  Something about this whole scenario sits real uncomfortable. Suspicion — already so restless inside me — thrashes violently and sends nervous energy through my limbs. I bounce my knees. Could it have something to do with that asterisk? Or simply because he was so difficult to get a hold of initially?

  Grinding my teeth, I pull out my cell, and swipe up a text message.

  Me: Find out anything yet?

  The response comes fast.

  Hank: Your sleeping spell’s pretty strong. Camp’s still out but will let you know when he comes to.

  I send a thumbs up emoji. Something collides with the side of my head. Reality twists around me as I tumble, wrapped in nauseating blackness. Glass shatters and then I’m airborne. Pain, equal parts sharp and dull, batters my body. My spine slams into what has to be concrete. It scrapes my skin as I roll. My muscles throb. Blood splatters across my skin. A roar fills my ears.

  When I finally come to a stop, something hard rams my ribs. Over and over it slams into them, unrelenting, breath robbing. Liquid metal fills my mouth. Bone cracks. Though the pain doesn’t let up, the spinning does, and instinct kicks in. Almost automatically, my hands shoot out as I grasp blindly for my assailant.

  I catch an ankle. Blind with pain, I wrench sideways with as much speed as my aching body will allow, pulling the leg with me. Even with the static clogging my ears, I hear the distinctive sound of a body hitting the ground. Something, I think the heel of the free foot, slams into the other side of my rib cage.

  Crying out, I burst into my phoenix shape, but only long enough to hover a few inches in the air. I spin to face my attacker. Blood loss forces me back to human form almost immediately. I stumble away from a woman twice my size in every aspect. Broad shouldered and almost as tall as Hank, she dwarfs me when she springs up in the sloped grass with surprising grace, a crooked smile on her angular face and a beauty mark under her right eye.

  Before I can take in our surroundings, she lunges at me, fist first. I bob, but her knuckles catch my shoulder. Bone cracks. One part of my brain registers the agony, the sound of my own screaming, but the instinctive part blocks all of that out. I dart in the other direction, driving a punch to her gut with my good arm.

  Pain shatters through my hand as more bones break against cement-hard skin. Contact sends vibrations straight up to my shoulder. Terror claws my insides, so loud that logical conclusions can’t get through. Stupidly, I try to strike again, this time hooking a leg around one of hers and shoving with all my strength. She hits the ground, but the bottom of her shoe collides with my nose before I can make another attack.

  Stumbling backward, I lose my balance. Gravity tugs me down the small hill. I sink into blackness again, but only visually. Every rock and stick and root digs into my body. Then a hand closes around my wrist. The feeling of water floods over my skin, bubbling quiet wraps around me, a moment of painless alien peace.

  It ends, but only for a single gasp before enveloping me again. Twice more I come up for air. On the third time, arms encircle me, easing me into what feels like cool grass. A hand cups the back of my head to prop it up.

  “Fee, can you hear me?” Max’s voice echoes in my ears.

  I gag on blood, squinting at him, at his obscenely beautiful face. Sunlight fans around his head. A funny little halo. Like the angels in those paintings some churches have. Only half conscious of the act, I lift an arm to touch his cheek. The simple movement sets stars exploding in my eyes. Then black bleeds across my vision again and this time, I lose my grip on consciousness completely.

  SUNSHINE THINS THE darkness of my eyelids. Pure misery races after it immediately, and I moan. The sound chafes my raw throat. I blink rapidly, unable to see at first because of the light piercing through the branches of the trees surrounding me. Something moves across my vision. I flinch, then relax when Max bends over me, the pink backpack hanging over one shoulder.

  “You’re awake. Thank the Fates.” He drags a hand over his face. “How bad do you feel? Because you look pretty awful.”

  In pain or not, I chuckle-groan, then regret it instantly. “Thought you were supposed to be charming, water spirit.”

  Max grins. “I just meant you look beat up. You’re still hot.”

  This time, I stifle the laugh threatening to jostle my aching rib cage. “Thanks. Where are we?” I lift my chin to take in our surroundings better.

  Noonish sun warms the small, grassy clearing we’re sitting in. Thick trees form a wall around us, blocking us from view, but I can still hear wheels on cement off to our left. We can’t be too far away from the highway in that case. Apart from this, birds chirp, small animals rustle bushes, and a quiet breeze winds through the branches overhead.

  “Not exactly sure where I bamfed us,” Max says. “A—”

  “Bamfed?” I ask.

  Max grins. “My nerd-word for water spirit travel. We’re just a little off the road. I could’ve gotten us farther, but I wanted to make sure you were okay. That lady gave you a pretty bad beating.”

  With an elbow, I try to push myself into a seated position, but pain throbs through my entire upper body and I collapse again. “Yes, yes she did. I think a few things are broken. Mind helping me get upright?”

  “Hang on.”

  Gently — much more gently than I would expect from a bounty — Max loops an arm around my shoulders, then slowly pulls me off the ground. Fire claws across my rib as he helps me scoot back into what feels like a tree trunk. Black bubbles grow and shrink in my vision. Every inch of my body pounds with horrible pressure.

  My nostrils flare, reminding me of another body part that is probably broken. I rest my head against the tree. Waves of nausea wash over me, and the ground undulates under my legs. After a few slow breaths calm it a bit, I ask, “Dumb question. What happened? The pain made it a bit fuzzy.”

  Max scratches his shoulder. “Giant lady smashed the window and threw you out of it, then just started wailing on you. Friend of yours or another bounty hunter? She barely glanced at me. Not even when she climbed over me to go after you.” He grimaces. “It looked ... personal.”

  “I bet our fellow passengers will be traumatized for life.”

  “No joke,” Max says.

  Attempting to place the woman’s face, I squeeze my eyes shut, thinking back on her features. None of them strike me as familiar. Not her short dark hair, not the beauty mark, not her fierce gray eyes. Other than her Hank-li
ke size, she’s completely, and totally unfamiliar.

  “I didn’t recognize her, but she could be a shapeshifter.” I cough, realizing for the first time that I can’t breathe through my nose. The taste of metal intensifies on my tongue.

  “Do you have any enemies who might want to turn you into roadkill?”

  “I’m a bounty hunter.” I wince as I peel my eyes open again, and grin at him. “I’m sure there are a lot of people — paranormal and otherwise — who want to exact a little revenge.”

  Resting his elbows on his knees, Max smirks. “Fair assumption. It comes with the territory, I guess. So, now what? We wait for you to die again so you can reset? Unless you’ve got a way to heal yourself?”

  I sigh, though it comes out laced with a bit of a whimper. “Unfortunately, no.”

  My stomach sinks. If something doesn’t kill me, I’m going to have to suffer until tomorrow night at midnight. We could, in theory, go to a hospital or search for the nearest healing center, but I’d rather not risk it with Amazons and rival bounty hunters on our tail. I’m also not too keen on dying twice in one day.

  “Well, I can get us to the nearest motel or hotel or whatever,” Max says. “Unless Hank packed a tent in that backpack.”

  I press my lips together, our options spinning around me. The pound in my head, not to mention the rest of my body, derails my thoughts. Every throb drags my brain off course. I force it to find the first, most simple step: getting out of the open.

  When attempting to reach my cell fails and produces a long rant of profound profanity, I look back up at Max. “Grab my phone and find the closest motel.”

  “Where is it?”

  “My back pocket.”

  That smirk spreads into a grin, and Max wiggles his brows.

  “No, I don’t just want you to touch my butt. And if you do ...” I trail off, pinning him with a glare.

  He laughs. “I’ll do my best to avoid fleshy bits.” With the tips of his fingers, he pinches the rubber part of the case, and pulls it out. A few taps later, he nods. “There’s one pretty close, but it still might take me a few jumps. Ready?”

  With a gentle touch of his hand, water encases me again. Each short stint relieves my torment. Our landings bring it back. When we finally pop up outside of a dingy motel that must’ve once been white, I half collapse against Max, pain radiating from nearly every inch of my body. His soft grip on my arm keeps me steady.

  Choking down a groan, I twist my fingers into the only thing I can get a grip on: his shirt. I suck in a breath. He smells faintly of soap, and nothing more. Water spirits have no scent. I know this, but it still throws me a little. It’s oddly comforting, one less stimuli to deal with.

  Lips parting, I meet his eyes, and my intended words disintegrate to ash. We’re too close together. Far too close. At the back of my mind, I’m sure it’s just his charisma drawing me in, but that knowledge slides away from me at this proximity to him. My aching body thrums with a strange sort of hunger, longing to lean into his embrace, to find comfort there.

  With the barest tip of a finger, Max brushes a strand of hair out of my eyes, then smiles a little. “Credit card, or fae gold?”

  Pain cuts off my laughter almost instantly, and both break the spell of his charms and my own vulnerability. I sway away from him, but thankfully still manage to stand on my own two boots. Arm cradled to my side, I lead the way to the front desk, limping something fierce. Ten minutes later, Max swipes the card for our room.

  Hovering a hand in front of the door, I cast a shield spell across it, then collapse on the motel bed, not even caring about how gross this top sheet probably is. Bed bugs and bodily fluids are much less of a concern than broken bones and bruises. Not to mention the fact that I’m still bleeding and covered in dirt, so it doesn’t really matter.

  At least we have one day left before we’re supposed to meet Yaritza in Breaux Bridge. Because I will not be moving fast any time soon.

  Max drops the pink bag on the bed next to me and slumps into one of the ugly blue-adjacent chairs across from me. “Want me to go raid the front desk for pain killers?”

  I grunt, then unzip the backpack, and dig around inside. Hope zings through me when my fingers brush the top of a bottle. Yanking it out, I lift the tequila into the air as best as my injured arm can.

  “Unnecessary.”

  Max rocks forward and rests his elbows on his knees. “Need help opening that?”

  “I’d like to say no, but...” I extend the bottle.

  Flowing to his feet, Max takes the alcohol from me and twists the cap. When I reach for it, he pulls it back with a grin. “Before I give this to you, will you answer a question, mama?”

  I growl at the back of my throat. “I’m only half broken, don’t test me, water spirit.”

  “Do I get points for not waiting until you’re drunk to interrogate you?” Max’s grin widens. “Also, I saved your life.”

  “I die every day; you didn’t save anything.”

  Max crosses his arms.

  My upper lip curls. “Fine. Ask away. I don’t promise to answer.”

  Handing me the opened bottle, Max sits on the edge of the bed next to my knees. He doesn’t ask his question right away. I pause, waiting until the pain won’t allow it anymore, then down half the tequila. Pleasant warmth dulls some of the ache, casting a pleasant hum across my skin along with a healthy dose of light numbness.

  Max jogs his leg. “When you died at the bus station, it didn’t break the spell.” He gestures to the cuff on his wrist. “My guess is you’re the only one who can do that?”

  I drag my tongue along my lower lip, then take another sip. It’s a brazen question. I’ll give him that. Most bounties would definitely have waited for me to get drunk before even attempting to broach the subject. And I doubt seriously any of them would have saved me from that beating when the bus tire blew.

  Then again ...

  I narrow my eyes at him. “Is that why you saved me? Because you figured all busted up, I might be more likely to tell you how to get free? I can’t say I blame you. It’s a pretty smart strategy, but it’s not going to work. Like I said before, I don’t break contracts.”

  A muscle twitches in Max’s face, the shadow of emotion he covers up quickly with another wide grin. “It was worth a shot to ask.” He shrugs. “Plus, I was pretty curious since you dying didn’t break the connection. That must be a pretty powerful spell.”

  Eyes still narrow, I cough again, bloody droplets filling my mouth, then take another sip of tequila. Probably an unwise decision, but with multiple broken bones, I need something to numb the pain. “It took some trial and error, a lot of trial and error, but eventually I got it to work. I think I’m close to figuring out how to spell my bag and clothing too.”

  “Are your parents spell casters?”

  Carefully, I reach back to grab a pillow to stuff under my head. Fire wraps around my rib cage. The room sways and nausea undulates through me. As I breathe through the pain, the bed shifts slightly, then a hand helps nudge the soft pillow into place. I grind my teeth. If he’d just let me die in the first place, I wouldn’t be in this state.

  “Thanks,” I say in a mumble, too tired and sick to wring him out again, much less think clearly. “And no. My parents obviously have their phoenix magic, but beyond that, they’ve never messed with spells.”

  Max crisscrosses his legs and props his chin on a palm. “Any particular reason?”

  I finish off my tequila, then dig around in my bag for another one. This time, I land on two bottles, and offer one — a Bacardi — to Max. Managing to unscrew mine with a thumb and pointer finger, I watch him stare at the label of his own drink for a moment, before opening it. He takes the barest minimum sip, eyes on something far off and invisible.

  “They see it as ... low class, or whatever.” I blow a raspberry. “My mom would literally use the word bourgeois. They view our innate magic as pure. To them, using spells is something lesser magic users do.
Like a crutch.”

  Max grimaces. “They sound swell.”

  My laugh turns almost immediately into another stupid, bloody cough. When it ends, I shake my head. “Need I say we don’t get along?”

  “To complicated parental relationships.” Max holds up his drink.

  We clink the bottoms of our bottles together, and both throw back a shot. Quiet settles as I sink into a new layer of numbness. Exhausted, I let my brain lean into the fuzz, choosing not to use any more brain power on practical things like next steps. My decision-making skills are highly compromised anyway. An hour or two of rest won’t kill me. Though if it does, this will solve a lot of my problems.

  A ball forms in my throat. I douse it with the rest of the tequila, and shut my eyes, letting the alcohol burn through me before shoving my hand back into the backpack. I pull out a 9mm gun and hand it to Max.

  “Do you know how to use one of these?”

  Gray immediately clouds his skin as he stares at the weapon. “Why?”

  “Because I can’t load it myself right now.” I dig around to find the magazine. “It’s stupid to wait until tomorrow. I’m going to need you to kill me now.”

  6.

  MAX DROPS THE GUN AND jumps off the bed. Without looking at me, he paces. Every time he has to turn around, he pauses to run a hand along the back of his neck. He mumbles in another language. On his third trip between the bathroom and outer door, he faces me, opens his mouth, then curses in English.

  Pinching the bridge of my nose, I groan. “Look. I know it feels crummy, but it’s not. You saw what happened with the bus. I came back in less than a minute without a scratch. Good as new.”

  Max shoves both palms over his face. “Listen, mama. It might feel normal to you. It happens every day, so I don’t know, maybe you’re used to it. But I’m not. I don’t think I can kill anybody. Even if it is only temporary.”

  “Dude.” I restrain myself from rolling my eyes. “I’ve got multiple broken bones, something is probably punctured internally, and unless I get real lucky, I won’t die again until tomorrow night at midnight. We can’t wait that long.”