Cursed: Out of Ash and Flame

by E. C. Farrell

  The bed dips behind me, and I gasp quietly, glaring up at Max. A grimace warps his face. “Freezing?”

  “Oh no, I’m super toasty under all this ice.”

  Snorting, Max scoots an inch or so closer. “Don’t read too much into it, but I could warm you up if you want. No seriously, keep your mind out of the gutter.”

  I purse my lips. In terms of sticking to my goal of not letting myself get seduced by his water spirit magic, this is a horrible idea. However, freezing and miserable as I am, the idea of a little extra heat is way too tempting to refuse. Surely, I’m strong enough to resist falling for him just because he shares a little body warmth.

  Tilting my head, I say, “Climb in. Hands where I can see them.”

  With a small smile, Max lifts the sheets, then slides in next to me. Immediately, his warmth cuts through the cold wrapped around me. He wriggles a little closer until we’re touching. Our knees bump. A thrill runs through me, pooling in my gut like boiling water.

  From that spot, right under my belly button, a magnetic tug pulls me toward him. It urges me to curl into him. After the last twenty-four hours, I deserve a little comfort. Even if it is with the guy who refused to kill me like a total jerk.

  Sighing, I compromise, and rest my forehead against his shoulder. When I look up, he’s staring down at me. Faint light cutting through the slit in the motel curtains slices a sharp, pale line across his jaw, faintly illuminating his dark eyes so they take on an almost bronze hue. Like coins at the bottom of a wishing well.

  “Better?” Max asks, his voice a soft murmur.

  “Mm,” I hum in my throat. “You do this with all the girls?”

  A grin shifts the shadows on his face so that line of light slides to his throat. “Well, not all the girls. And none quite as busted up as you. Or as stubborn.” He winks.

  I poke his ribs with a knuckle, and he flinches out of the way with a laugh. The movement barely jostles the bed, but it’s enough to jar my aching body. I suck in a sharp breath. “You have room to talk, mister won’t shoot me in the head so I can heal quickly.”

  “I’m not sure refusing to kill you makes me stubborn so much as a compassionate, warm, kind water spirit, but maybe we’re working off different definitions...”

  I jab at him again, but he catches my hand and pins it to his chest. Strong but somehow still gentle, his grip holds me in place. His eyes drop to my lips. Instinctively, I run the tip of my tongue over them. Heartbeat fluttering like phoenix wings in my throat, I swallow, struggling to stay focused, and not give in to the reckless desire to kiss him.

  It has to be his water spirit magic. Though I don’t hesitate to throw myself into short-term, firestorm relationships, I’m usually not stupid enough to do that with a mark. Granted the circumstances are a little strange.

  Clearing my throat, I uncurl my fingers so my hand lays flat against his sternum. “So how does it work?” My voice comes out much more thin than I’d like it to. “Your powers. Can you turn them on, and then off again? Or are they always cranked to full blast? Do they ever go on the fritz?”

  “Passively, they’re always ... on, I guess,” Max says, tracing the pad of my palm with a thumb. “But I can crank up the intensity or turn it down. It can get wonky if I’m sick or injured. And like any magic, words, actions can amp its effectiveness. I try not to use them too much. Charming people without its help feels like a challenge. I like a challenge.”

  “What about when your life is on the line?”

  Max’s face darkens. “Playing fair isn’t quite as appealing.”

  “I can’t imagine it would be. Most people will do anything to stay alive...” Including but not limited to seducing a bounty hunter.

  A small, unexpected smile touches the corners of Max’s mouth. “Unless they know they’re going to die every day. What drives them then? What drives you, Fee?”

  My mouth dries as he tilts an inch or so closer. Logic and desire battle it out for control of my body and brain. He’s all but admitted to using his magic on me to save his own life. I can’t trust him. Shouldn’t trust him. But my every muscle longs for his touch. The need ripples across my skin like waves of heat.

  My brittle restraint shakes. “It’s the same drive,” I say, head swimming. “It just looks a little different. Finding a way to live even in a guaranteed cycle of daily death.”

  “That sounds like it would make seizing the moment that much more important.”

  I hum an affirmative in my throat. Brain shutting down, I lift my chin, shifting forward to kiss him. Pain lances through me. Desire disintegrates amidst the grinding ache of broken bones and bruised flesh. A whine fumbles from my lips before they touch his as nausea rolls through me. Automatically, I curl in on myself, like this will somehow protect me, but it only makes things worse.

  Humiliating tears burn down my cheeks.

  Max brushes my hair from my face, tucking it behind the point of my ear. “But sleep is also important, mama.” He scoots closer, and drapes a warm arm over me, a steadying presence.

  Emotion forms a hard ball in my throat. Sniffing, I squeeze my eyes shut, hoping unconsciousness will carry me away quickly, and wipe away the shame of my intense foolishness.

  MORNING SLAMS INTO me full of pain. With all the ice melted, my protective barrier of numbness is gone, leaving a stiff, agonizing ache behind. Max still holds me steady, his arm heavy across my chest. I squint up at him, then carefully slip out of his embrace — wincing the whole way — and slide off the bed.

  Injured arm cradled against my middle, I just let the bags of water flop to the ground, sighing with relief when Max doesn’t stir. Getting upright is miserable, but I manage to make it to the bathroom. Then I face off with the mirror. I haven’t seen myself since the beat down yesterday. Though I figured it was bad, I didn’t realize just how bad.

  Cuts and bruises litter my face and jaw, all dark, brutal memories of how I let that woman get the drop on me. One eye is particularly swollen. Red mars the white, pooling around the gold at the center. I probably burst a blood vessel.

  With a moan, I rinse my mouth, then wet a washcloth. A shower is out of the question, so this will have to do for now. It takes some doing, but eventually I get most of the grime scrubbed off the places I can reach, then run my fingers through my hair. Once all this is over, I’m going to book a spa day.

  I shuffle out of the bathroom to find Max stretching in bed. My cheeks heat. How had I let myself get so wrapped up in his magic last night? His power must be much stronger than I initially realized. Or a few broken bones weakened my resolve.

  Max smiles at me, and that heat crawls down my neck. “How you feeling?”

  “Like a bus didn’t hit me.” I can’t help but grin at my bad joke. “Or like someone wouldn’t shoot me in the head.”

  Max presses a hand to his chest and gives me a wounded look. “Will you never forgive me for not killing you?

  “Nope. I’m a grudge holder.” I reach for a packet of coffee, but the fast movement sends pain across my ribs, stealing my breath. “Though I might consider it if you manage the caffeine situation.”

  “On it, mama.”

  As he hops off the bed and glides to the coffee maker, I slide my cell off the nightstand, and ease into the chair Max left by the window. A message from Yaritza fills the screen when I unlock it. My pulse jumps at the details about when and where to meet the client.

  Yaritza: The client is Tribunal member Iris Smith. She is aware of the transfer and your delay. You are to meet her at the Tribunal Building as soon as possible. Contact her when you are close. Details to follow.

  The next message includes her number, which I save to my cell immediately. My thumbs then hesitate over the screen. A Tribunal member. That possibly explains the false name on the order and the asterisk. Then again, since there’s nothing illegal about calling out a bounty on someone, it doesn’t fully calm my paranoia.

  Blowing a raspberry, I tap the internet app, then hesitate
again. I could book us new tickets for the bus, but after what happened yesterday, I’m not sure that’s the best strategy. If I wasn’t busted up, we could just rent a car with my fake ID. In the worst-case scenario, we could stay at this motel one more night, but the idea of delaying much longer chafes.

  Groaning, I rub the throbbing space between my eyebrows. Where did Max put that gun? One bullet would solve this plethora of problems. Not to mention alleviate my pain. I narrow my eyes on his shoulders as he drums his fingers against the edge of the counter on which the coffee maker and TV sit.

  It couldn’t be that far since the spell’s leash is fairly short. Plus, I can’t imagine him leaving it in a place where anybody could just stumble across it. But there’s no reasonable way for me to search for it. Not without wasting a ton of time. With his ability to water bamf from place to place, as far as I know, he could’ve dropped it on the roof.

  An idea hits me, and I straighten, crumpling forward almost immediately when my ribs complain about it. It’s a terrible idea. Slimy. But we can’t waste any more time. The Tribunal Building is near Memphis, positioned near one of the biggest doors to the fae realm in the United States. The fastest way to get there will be for Max to water bamf us. And if I give him a direct command, the magic of the cuffs tying us together will force him to obey.

  It could also compel him to retrieve the gun.

  If it weren’t for my broken bones, I’d smack my forehead at my sheer stupidity. I should have thought of that last night. Blame it on the pain, exhaustion, or water spirit magic. Maybe a combination of all three.

  Max turns on me with a grin and two paper cups of steaming coffee. “Want yours spiked?” He asks, handing me one.

  Weakly, I smile. “I need to keep a clear head for when we get on the road.”

  Paling, Max sinks onto the edge of the bed. “I guess you don’t want to wait another night? Until you reset?”

  “Here’s the deal, Max.” I swallow. “Because of the magic binding us with these cuffs, I can give you an order, and you have to follow it. I know you know that because Yaritza used it on you. There are some commands I don’t mind giving to marks — harmless ones where they’re not allowed to talk or use their magic — but I generally don’t like to overuse it. So instead, I’m going to give you an option. Two actually. You can voluntarily bring back that gun so I can reset, then water travel us or whatever to the Tribunal. Or I can magically force you to do it. It’s up to you.”

  If possible, more color abandons Max’s face, and his hands shake. However, he flashes me an almost believable smile. “Well, if you put it that way, what choice do I have?”

  Setting his coffee cup on the side table, he snaps his fingers with a flourish, and disappears. Seconds later, he’s back. Mouth set in a tight line, he loads the gun, unclicks the safety. Pressing it into my hands, he steps away from me and wraps his arms around his waist.

  A sigh of relief rushes past my lips. “Thank you.” I glance down at my clothes, then moisten my lips, and look up into his face, my own ablaze. “Um, one more favor. I don’t really want to torch my outfit, but with my busted arm and ribs...”

  Max wiggles his brows. “You want me to help you get undressed?”

  “Don’t get weird about it,” I say, even as the blush creeps further up my face and along my scalp. “You already saw me naked.”

  “And it was most impressive.”

  “Max...”

  “No problem, mama. I got you.”

  For a potentially intimate situation, the process of Max helping me ease out of my clothes is mostly just awkward. By the time I’m naked, I’m dripping with sweat, nauseous with pain, and shaking something fierce. Max turns back toward the bed. As he folds my jeans, I stare down at the gun.

  “This is gonna suck.”

  Max looks over his shoulder, brow wrinkled. “Anything I can do?”

  I shake my head. “Thanks. Just have my clothes ready when I’m back. And, um, be prepared to put out a fire if necessary.”

  Max pulls the ugly comforter off the bed. “Yes ma’am. Ready to snuff it out if necessary.”

  At least Max’s antics means I didn’t die twice yesterday. In theory, this shouldn’t hurt too much, if at all. Plus, I might be able to get some solid sleep tonight. Slowly I shuffle to the bathroom, push the shower curtain aside, and ease into the tub. Heart hammering, I press the gun to my temple, and pull the trigger.

  8.

  HEAT ENGULFS ME, WARM like campfires on cold nights. Flames obliterate my broken bones, wipe out my bruises. Stillness settles over me. Peaceful quiet cushions my world. A second later, I gasp, tumbling out of a pile of ash. I catch my shin on the edge of the tub and fall face first toward the tile floor.

  A pair of warm, soft hands catch me by the shoulders. Max holds me steady as I get my feet back under me. I gasp quietly. No one’s ever caught me before after a rebirth. It’s equal parts jarring and comforting. My head swims as Max’s breath fans across my skin in a rush, and when I look up into his face it’s wrinkled with concern.

  He quickly morphs the expression into a grin. “Feel better?”

  I clear my throat and straighten the rest of the way. “All put back together again.”

  Max scratches the back of his neck. “That was intense.”

  Grabbing a towel off the counter, I wrap it around me and shrug. “It’s my every day. You know. You saw it at the bus stop. To be fair, I’ve never actually seen ... footage of it happening before. I’m not even sure what it looks like.”

  “Yesterday happened super-fast,” Max says as I walk back out to the bed for my clothes. “This was different. Up close and personal. Not to mention the fact that you chose to die this time.”

  I shimmy into my jeans, pausing when the look on his face really registers in my brain. Eyes on the ground, Max sags against the wall, hand still resting on the back of his neck, hair in his face. His Adam’s apple bobs. All facade is gone, leaving only discomfort behind.

  For the first time, it strikes me just how horrifying it might be for a normal person to witness someone kill themselves. While for me it means healing, a reset, for others it can’t help but look like suicide, the violent end of life with no take backs.

  Pulling on my t-shirt, I clear the space between us, and against my better judgement, squeeze his shoulder. “Sorry, that had to be hard to watch.”

  Max huffs through his nose. “It wasn’t my smartest move. But you had me nervous with all that stuff about putting out potential fires.”

  “It’s a hazard.” I click my tongue and retrieve my phone from the table. “Now. Let’s see about renting a car. Somehow I doubt asking you to water bamf us all the way to Tennessee is a good idea.”

  “Yeah, I can only go so far in a day,” Max says, rubbing his eyes. “Then I have to refuel. If I tried to go that far, I might collapse, and you’d have to drag my dead weight the rest of the way.”

  “Rental car it is then.”

  Fifteen or so minutes later, we’re back on the road, cruising down 1-55. Early morning fog — blue tinged and thick — parts for us as we speed through it. At this time of day, only a few other cars crowd the highway. All of them operate as if the speed limit is a trifling suggestion made by an overly concerned governess. Or whatever they have in this realm. Some weave in and out of traffic like they have an open wound and need to get to the ER, while others plod in the far left lane.

  “You have fun with that ticket, buddy,” I say between my teeth as a Miata swoops around me, nearly dinging the front end of my Toyota. “Must be nice to have all that excess cash that you don’t mind paying the fine.”

  Max laughs. “Road rage is real.”

  “These jokers.” I shake my head. “If I could drive as fast as I wanted without consequences, believe me, I would. But I’m not giving my hard-earned money up for that luxury.”

  “How about some music? It might give you a little Zen.”

  Without taking my eyes off the asphalt, I shove the
phone into his hands. “Find us some good driving tunes. And don’t text anybody for help.”

  The spell around my wrist warms with the command as magic flows out from it. My guts writhe like Medusa’s snakes. I shouldn’t feel guilty about this. I never have before. It’s not personal, it’s a job. But that doesn’t stop my innards from twisting and tangling. Pressing my tongue against the roof of my mouth, I repeat Yaritza’s imperative in my head as Max fiddles with my cell.

  Preserve the contract, preserve the contract, preserve the contract ... even if his mom is the guilty party.

  “What’s your poison?” Max asks.

  “I’ll defer to you on this one. Since we’re going for Zen. My taste in music doesn’t really encourage chill so much as helps me vent fury. The fae realm doesn’t have anything quite like it.”

  Laughing, Max nods, taps the screen with his thumb and pairs it to the car, then turns the volume knob. Stringed instruments float from the speakers. It swells as Max plugs the cell into the car charger and sets it in one of the cup holders. He then lets his head drop back against the seat and shuts his eyes. That road rage-induced tension gripping my chest uncurls slowly.

  I nudge Max with an elbow. “Not bad, water spirit. I’m not usually into this kind of music, but it works for me.”

  “Lindsey Stirling wails like a rocker. Her music videos are epic too.” Max waves his hand in time with the dips and curves of the instrumentation.

  Like most of his movements, it’s mesmerizing.

  “I’d kill to be as good as she is,” he says.

  “You play the violin?”

  “Since I was four. I had sporadic lessons, but mostly had to teach myself because of how much we moved.” Max runs a thumb over the tips of his fingers and for the first time I notice the callouses there.

  Something about the motion sends goosebumps across my skin. For such a mundane gesture, it’s still oddly graceful, and I find myself curious to see him play. I force my focus back onto the road, letting the music distract me away from the conundrum otherwise known as Max.