Cursed: Out of Ash and Flame

by E. C. Farrell

  With a huff, Max paces again. “I’m sorry. I can’t do it. What if something happens?” He glances at me out of the corner of his eye. “What if you only have a limited number of lives?”

  Cold shock prickles across my skin. My feet go completely numb, and instinctively I try to sit up. Pain stabs through me. I crumple back, mind reeling, head spinning. Nausea socks me in the stomach. I’ve never thought of this before. What if there is a limit to the number of times I come back? And what if, at the end of this random number, I can’t come back at all?

  Back teeth clamped together, I push myself into a seated position with my good arm, swallowing down another groan. “Are you really concerned about me, or do you just want to slow us down?”

  “Would you blame me if I was?” Blood rushes his face, tinting his skin and the veins in his eyes black, a jarring water spirit trait. “Whether or not you believe me, I’m not in any kind of hurry to take the fall for my mom. Because I can guarantee that if whoever put out this bounty is hoping to lure her out into the open or whatever, that’s not going to work. She doesn’t care what happens to me.”

  An ache completely unlinked to physical pain throbs through my every muscle. Frustrated by this wave of unwanted sympathy, I growl, grab the magazine, and work to shove it into the bottom of the gun. None of what he’s just said matters. I have to preserve the contract. This is the most important thing. I don’t even want to think about what might happen if I screw this up.

  Besides losing a potentially powerful ally who might be able to help me find a cure for this curse, I’ll absolutely get kicked out of the Louisiana Guild. Without them, I have nothing, possibly not even Hank. There’s too much on the line for him to betray them.

  Awkwardly, I twist the gun around, and press my thumb into the safety.

  Max lunges for it before I can click it off. Out of pure reflex, I throw up a kick to block him. It makes contact, but pain shatters through my ribcage, sending sparks across my vision. Nausea again rolls through me. I gag, half blind, fully incapacitated long enough for the gun to leave my grip.

  I peel my eyes open just in time to see Max vanish in a burst of water. Snarling, I force myself to my feet. The room pitches. My knees give out, colliding with the hard carpet. Dropping my head, I grind my knuckles into the ground, at bare minimum keeping my face from slamming into it.

  With another splatter, Max reappears, hands now empty. He hovers by the door but sinks to my level. Fury burns through my veins at his furrowed brow.

  I sneer. “I don’t need your pity, water spirit.”

  A small smile touches Max’s lips. “Sure about that? You look pretty pathetic. No offense, little mama, but you took a pretty bad beating. Otherwise, there’s no way I could’ve gotten that gun from you.”

  “Where...” I drag in a ragged breath, “is it?”

  Max’ expression stiffens. “Somewhere safe.”

  I growl deep in my throat, my thoughts not functioning fully, slowed by the damage done to my body. “So now what? We just sit here while I writhe in pain from broken bones and listen to your sob story?”

  Max runs a hand over his face. “As fun as that sounds, you could just let me patch you up, find you some food.”

  Letting out a long sigh, I slump to my backside. “Fine. We’ll do it your way.”

  “I knew you’d see reason.”

  “You didn’t give me much choice.”

  Max stands, then takes me gently by the arms, and helps me back up onto the bed. Still standing, he grazes his fingers lightly over my injured collar bone. I gag.

  “Sorry,” he says. “My guess is it’s probably broken. Mind if I take a look at your ribs?”

  “Knock yourself out.”

  Sinking into a crouch, Max grazes my midsection, then lifts the hem of my shirt slightly. His frown deepens, casting further shadows across his face as his thumbs slide slowly along my skin. Even amidst the pain I register their silky feel.

  Comforting warmth follows their path. They search in order to help, not hungrily like so many of those I’ve lost time with...selfish lovers who only caressed when they wanted something. Under other circumstances, I might be inclined to lean into his touch.

  “I probably don’t need to tell you these are almost definitely broken too.”

  I gulp quietly. “They sure feel that way. And like I said before, something might be punctured in there too, so...”

  “I’m not shooting you.”

  “Sadist.”

  Max snorts, then lets my shirt drop, and straightens. “How far does this thing let me go?” He taps the cuff on his wrist. “We should really get you some ice. I thought I saw a machine at the end of the hall.”

  “You should be okay to go that far.”

  “Then I’ll be right back.” Max swipes the bucket off the table, then slips out the door.

  I ease back onto the pillow again, and fish out another bottle of liquor. This time, I chug the whole thing, then hunt around for my cell. No messages from Yaritza. Two from Hank. I smile at the gargoyle’s excessive use of emojis. With a thumb, I text back.

  Me: How’s Sam? It’s the full moon tonight, right?

  Hank: Exhausted. Discouraged. Acting like he isn’t. How’re things there?

  A frown weighs me down. Of all the humans in the world to get saddled with a werewolf curse, Sam’s the last person who deserves it. I’ve seen his contraption, the chain-filled prison he locks himself in when the moon waxes, and it tears at my heart. Poor kid. Even with his odd ability to steer the beast inside of him away from humans, he still doesn’t trust himself.

  I sigh. There’s no convincing him to do otherwise.

  Me: Complicated mission is complicated.

  Hank: What happened?

  Me: Beat up by female version of u. At motel, halfway to check point.

  Those dots bounce, then stop, then bounce again.

  Hank: Need me to come?”

  Max appears again next to the window, arms wrapped around the ice bucket, and a slight smile on his face. “I scored us some extra bags. Give me a sec to put a few ice packs together.” He marches into the bathroom.

  Lips pressed together, I look back down at my cell.

  Me: Thanks Hank. Rt. now I’m in pretty good hands. Check into something for me, will u?

  Hank: Hit me.

  I tap the phone screen with my thumb nails. Fear rotates in my chest like a cyclone. Part of me doesn’t want to know if Max’s theory is right. Better not to live in fear that my next death will be my last. Then again, if my lives are limited, I’ll need to be more careful...

  Me: See if u can’t find out whether or not the curse has an end date. As in, I can only die so many times b4 I can’t come back at all anymore.

  Those dots bounce a few times before Hank finally sends a thumbs up emoji. Either work has distracted him, or the question is as jarring to him as it is to me. Whatever the case, I know if I can count on anyone, it’s Hank.

  TWENTY MINUTES LATER, Max has me wrapped up in blankets, and packed in ice like a hunk of meat after a fae wild hunt. Shivering and propped against the headboard with every pillow in the room save one, I clutch a cup of coffee to try and keep warm. It’s not helping much. Either in terms of heat or making my brain function more clearly.

  A solution tickles the back of my mind, but it’s faint, unreachable through the mental fog from my injuries.

  Max bends over me, one knee propped on a chair as he dabs the cuts and bruises on my face with a damp washcloth. He rests a hand on the wall above my head to get a better angle. My gaze traces up his neck, drawn along by the smooth skin there, and my fingers twitch with the impulse to follow the band of muscle standing out.

  It tempts my imagination to dangerous realms, to tangled limbs, and shared warmth.

  Then he hits a particularly sensitive spot on my eyebrow, and I suck in a sharp breath. “Sorry,” he says. “Almost done.”

  “Maybe I like it a little rough. You don’t know.”
/>   Max grins. “Eh, I bet you’re the cuddling type who pretends not to enjoy chick flicks because she wants guys to think she’s not like other girls.”

  I giggle faintly. “I’ll have you know, my favorite movies are a very weird mix of Hallmark Christmas stories, violent war retellings, and heartwarming Claymation.”

  Letting out a loud laugh, Max drops the red-tinged washcloth onto the edge of a cup half-full of murky water, and swaggers back toward the bathroom. “I’m here for that kind of movie night. Maybe if that cell Hank brought you has the right app, we could find a good one to stream. Depending on the level of production value, sometimes they’re free.”

  Curious, I unlock my screen, and scroll through the options as Max rinses the washcloth and cup. A knock at the door nearly has me jumping out of my ice packs. Max jogs across the room — somehow managing to make even this look fluid — and peers through the peephole. Tossing me a grin, he slides the security chain free, and turns the knob.

  “Soup’s up.” He signs for our Chinese takeout, then carries the bags to the table in the corner.

  As he digs into the bag and unpacks the boxes, I can’t help but watch, mesmerized by his movements. Even numb with cold, or maybe because of it, my skin remembers the warmth of his touch. Bounty brain scolds it. Yaritza’s mantra repeats in my head.

  Preserve the contract.

  Fraternizing with the mark isn’t exactly against the rules, but it’s definitely frowned upon. Entanglements leave you vulnerable. Create blind spots. With everything he’s done so far, with everything he’s said, the last thing I need is to stir up any more emotions toward him. I need to steel my nerves.

  My resolve to do that shakes when Max turns that grin on me. The memory of him glowing with sunlight fills my mind. It’s so brilliant it’s difficult to think of much else, not even about his water spirit magic.

  Boxes in hand, Max carries them over to the side table, and takes my coffee cup. He then lays the final pillow on my lap, and steadies one of the containers on it with a fork sticking out of the rice and chicken.

  “Think you can balance okay, or do you need me to feed you?”

  “If kicking you wouldn’t risk spilling this orange chicken...” I glare, but can’t quite keep the grin from coming, or a cough from nearly toppling the container.

  Chuckling, Max steadies it, then sits cross-legged next to my feet with his own food. “We definitely wouldn’t want that.” He breaks his chopsticks apart and rubs them together to smooth the sides. “Have you ... ever done that before? Killed yourself because of an injury?”

  Nose wriggling with a grimace, I take a bite of orange chicken before I answer. It takes a little extra effort to gnaw through some of the more rubbery edges, which gives me time to measure my words, even out my emotions. I stare at my socked feet. Max took my shoes off for me before packing me with ice.

  Keeping my emotions in check isn’t going to be easy. Not with the way he’s taken care of me in spite of everything. Knowing it’s probably a manipulation doesn’t help much either. The faster we can get to Breaux Bridge, the better. Until then, I’ll have to put up every barrier possible to protect myself from his charms, his smooth words, and politic kindness.

  I rest the back of my head against the pillow. “I’ve killed myself once before. About a month after I was cursed, around two in the morning, I jumped off a cliff. I admit, I was very drunk on fae wine — which, by the way, is about a thousand times stronger than anything on this plane — but I also wanted to see what would happen. Not just out of morbid curiosity. Only thirty days or so in, and I was already so tired of the cycle. I didn’t even think about the possibility that I might have a limited number of times this could work. That I might be cursed to never enter the phoenix rebirth cycle...”

  My eyes burn. I glare up at the ceiling to fight tears. As a child I’d never concerned myself with my reincarnation. A new life built on gathered lessons felt far off, unimportant. Now that Max has put the thought in my mind though, I can’t get rid of it, can’t shake the sense of potential loss.

  “What happened?” Max asks. “When you jumped off the cliff?”

  Covering my mouth with a fist, I cough again, once more tasting blood. “Well, it definitely didn’t feel like flying, I can tell you that. The crunch when I hit rock will stick with me forever. And the pain of coming back...” My face wrinkles and pinches. “It’s much worse the second time. Way more painful.”

  Max swears. “That’s an awful curse to put on anybody. I’m sure you’ve looked for a cure. Have you found anything?”

  Chuckling with absolutely zero humor, I eat another mouthful of orange chicken, and roll my eyes. “Nothing yet. Hank either. And when I tracked down the witch who did it to me, she was surprisingly uncooperative.”

  “Shocking.”

  “I know, right?” I sigh. “Maybe she would have told me something eventually, but I sort of lost my temper.”

  Max turns his noodles over with his chopsticks. “What’d you do?”

  “Oh, nothing irreversible or anything stupid like that. Just shot her in the head.” I grimace, gaze dropping to the blankets wrapped around me.

  “Ouch.”

  “Not my proudest moment.” In spite of my best efforts, this pronouncement comes out in a mumble.

  That witch was the first living being I ever killed apart from swamp pixie. Even if her death didn’t free me, I expected pain, shock, relief, something. But after the gun went off, I felt nothing. I just stood there splattered with her blood. Totally numb. That scared me almost more than the curse. It made me wonder if my family was right. Maybe I was born wrong.

  “And it didn’t break the curse.” Max shakes his head.

  I look up at the ceiling, willing tears not to fall. “It was more than a little frustrating. And of course, now she’ll never be able to reverse it because I lost my temper. Now I’m not even sure what to do now.”

  Except maybe find a powerful magic user who might be able to help me. Like the one who put the bounty out on Max. This, like everything else so far, might be a dead end. But I have to try something. Anything. Even more so now with Max’s suggestion that I might be running out of time.

  Back in charge of my stupid tears, I drop my gaze fully to Max. He studies the sheets under me. His eyes flick back and forth across the burgundy threads as he opens his mouth, then shuts it again. With a sigh, he scoops out some more noodles and beef with his chopsticks, chewing slowly. When he swallows, he looks back up at me.

  “Fee—”

  My cell buzzes with a standard, generic ringtone, and I cringe. The number flashing across the screen isn’t familiar, but I answer anyway. “Guidry’s Family Morgue, how can I help you?”

  “Fee, it’s Yaritza.”

  Prickles dance across my skin. “Hey. We’re about half-way to the checkpoint. Had to stop at a motel because we got attacked on the way. Have you shaken your Amazon tails yet?”

  “You were attacked? Details, Fee.”

  As I tell her about the woman who jumped me on the bus — leaving out the part where she beat me senseless because I have my pride — I watch Max out of the corner of my eye. Muscles taut, he continues to play with his food, but doesn’t eat a single bite. Curiosity about what he planned to say bubbles at the back of my mind. It takes concerted effort to focus on my phone call, even more so than it’s been to focus on anything else.

  “That doesn’t sound like Amazon work,” Yaritza says, when I’ve finished. “Which makes sense because they’re still on my tail. I could confront them head on, but that’s not a risk I’m willing to take against their numbers. I’m not sure I’m going to make it to the drop.”

  Not wanting to sound too eager, I push out a slow breath before I respond. “I can take him the rest of the way. Or at least head that direction until you can shake the Amazons. I don’t expect the take. Consider me an avatar.”

  Silence drags like a dead body across the ground. My pulse pounds, throbbing my every bru
ise and broken bone. I hold my breath. If Yaritza takes offense, I’m as good as out of the guild. Her devotion to the contract makes her very protective of her marks. That she let me take Max in the first place shows just how dire the situation is.

  But if she thinks I’m trying to horn in...

  “I don’t like it,” Yaritza says.

  The hair on my arms stands on end.

  “But I do think it’s the best option,” she continues. “I’ll text you the details. And Fee. Do not screw this up.”

  I swallow. “Don’t worry. I’ll get the mark to the buyer. You can count on me.”

  7.

  A LOADED QUIET BOOKENDS our night.

  Max and I do watch a movie on the tiny screen of my phone, but I doubt either of us absorb the gloriously trope-stuffed story. After all this is over, I’ll have to give it a second chance, use it as a squeaky-clean palate cleanse.

  As the credits roll, Max quietly replaces my melted ice packs. Once again, a solution pushes at the back of my brain, one so obvious I should absolutely see it. But pain continues to cloud my thoughts and exhaustion gets the better of me. Unable to meet Max’s eyes, I switch off my light, get as comfortable as I possibly can in my battered state, and sink into a shallow sleep.

  Midnight wakes me with shivers I can’t get under control and witch laughter I can’t escape. Teeth chattering, I tug at the blankets, but the cold of the ice burrows deep past my muscles and into my joints, burning my skin. Tempting though it is to remove the bags from my broken bones, the pain throbbing just under the numbness drives this idea from my mind.

  Exhaustion will overpower the cold eventually, I tell myself, and if it doesn’t, I still have some tequila.

  Mashing my eyes shut, I try to direct my thoughts away from the discomfort. The bed creaks with my shaking. I swallow a miserable, pathetic whine. A sob takes its place. If that stupid water spirit had just let me shoot myself in the head — or had done it for me — I’d be sleeping soundly instead of earning a healthy dose of frostbite.