Cursed: Out of Ash and Flame

by E. C. Farrell

  With every mile, however, the question continues to echo through my brain: What if Max is telling the truth about his mom? What if that isn’t a manipulation, and he really is like me, about to suffer for the crimes of his parents? What if the secrets behind that asterisk prove all of this to be true?

  As awful as breaking the contract and getting kicked out of the guild would be, condemning Max to that fate feels worse. Way too close to my own story. This is why it’s straight up stupid to ask marks why there’s a bounty on their heads. I’ve been reckless. It only makes sense that it’s catching up with me.

  Readjusting my grip on the wheel, I focus all my attention on the road and try not to think, try to get lost in the music. It only continues to stir the ridiculous desire in me to see him play. With his water spirit grace, it must be breathtaking, far more beautiful even than nymphs in springtime.

  A few hours pass before we both need a bathroom break.

  When I pull into a rest stop, I wave Max on. “I need a minute. Don’t talk to anybody. Wouldn’t want you accidentally creating fan girls.”

  The lame joke doesn’t help ease the persistent guilt grating on my every nerve. Max laughs, probably out of the kindness of his heart, then jogs to the men’s room. I grip my phone, drumming my thumbs on the black screen and dragging my lower lip between my teeth. Hitting the Home button, I unlock it, then pull up Hank’s number.

  He could find out what I need to know.

  But do I want to know? Right now, I have plausible deniability. Right now, I can claim — quite reasonably — that I don’t trust Max and his manipulative magic. If I find out he’s telling the truth, I know I won’t be able to fulfill the contract. Guilt won’t let me. My own experience with this blasted curse won’t let me.

  Kneading my forehead with a knuckle, I mumble nonsense to myself. This is why I shouldn’t have tried to look into his file. This is why it’s stupid to let the mark talk, why Yaritza makes them shut it with the magic of the cuff. I’ve always said it’s not my business to know why they have a bounty on their heads. I’m not judge and jury. That’s not my job.

  I can’t ignore it now though.

  Grunting, I tap Hank’s number, pressing it to my ear. As the tone trills, I watch a man wearing an LSU trucker hat corral a group of three little girls. Stickers and face paint cover their arms and cheeks and smiles show off missing teeth on the younger two, braces on the oldest.

  Even inside the rental car with the windows up I can hear their laughter.

  Hank’s voice distracts me from the ache carving its way through my chest. Crowd noises surround his voice along with the clink of glasses. At this time of day, he’s probably opening up Guidry’s, making coffee for Sam, forcing him to eat a healthy breakfast.

  “Everything okay, Fee?” Hank asks.

  “I need a favor. One I don’t need the guild knowing about.”

  The sound of a click comes through the speaker, probably a door closing. “Consider it on lockdown. What do you need?”

  Good old Hank. I glance through the window, then hop out of the car and walk back behind the restrooms. No reason to tip Max off by refusing to let him in the car so he can’t hear this conversation. Waving a hand, I mumble a quiet spell to muffle my speech, just in case he walks out at the wrong time.

  “I need you to look into Iris Smith,” I say, sandwiching the cell between my ear and shoulder so I can light a cigarette.

  “The Tribunal Member?”

  “Yes.” I blow a circle of smoke into the wind. “Specifically, any circumstances surrounding her husband, or a lover, or brother. Or, I don’t know, maybe a sister too. Anybody she cares about that’s gone missing. I’m not really sure which.”

  Hank sniffs. “Does this have anything to do with Max?”

  Rubbing the spot between my eyebrows, I flick ash off the end of my cigarette. “You got it, chief. Call it curiosity.”

  “Happy to, but is it actually empathy?”

  I grunt again and kick a piece of broken concrete with my heel. “Just look it up, would you? His water spirit witchcraft is getting to me and I need some logic to keep me from doing anything stupid.”

  Hank laughs. “I’m on it. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”

  “You’re a gem, Hank.” I click my tongue. “Don’t ever let anybody tell you different.”

  “You might want to save that praise until after I tell you what I found out about your curse.”

  The muscles in my chest seize up. Blowing a puff of smoke to calm my nerves, I glance around to make sure I’m still alone. “Is it bad?”

  Hank sighs through his nose. “There’s a limit to the number of times you can die and come back. And after that...”

  I massage my forehead. “What’s the cap?”

  Hank clears his throat, but his voice still comes out gruff. “That’s designated by the witch who casts the curse. And unfortunately...”

  “I know, I know.” Growling with frustration, I press the heels of my hand into my forehead. “If I didn’t regret killing her before, I definitely do now. Not that I think she’d give us the information. That charmer refused to tell me anything when I confronted her.”

  In fact, she simply laughed, a sound that clatters all too often through my dreams. And now I’ve broken the contract our guild has with a powerful member of the Tribunal who could have helped me remove this curse. If I can bring her justice though, a little closure, maybe she’ll still help me.

  “Okay.” I rub my clavicle. “Okay, thanks, Hank. Sucks, but good to know. I’d better get going.”

  “Stay safe, kiddo.”

  “I’m not a kid.” I protest, but the moniker warms me right up like a good tequila shot. “Thanks again. Text when you’ve got something.”

  Ending the call, I stomp out my cigarette with a heel, then I find my way to the bathroom, weaving through that same trio of giggling girls. I can’t help but grin at their unhindered joy. But anxiety tumbles inside me, spinning off in multiple directions laced both with hope and dread at what Hank might find.

  Shaking my head — and wrinkling my nose at the chalky smell of urine and damp cement in the bathroom — I focus my thoughts on the next thing. No reason to break down over something I don’t know yet.

  ONLY SPARSE CONVERSATION scatters through the quiet of the next leg of our journey. Mostly, we let the music fill the nervous void. I grip the steering wheel so tight my knuckles ache. Every half hour or so I realize I’m doing it and have to tell myself to stop. My eyes flinch away from the road to my phone screen whenever the map shifts.

  It’s unreasonable to expect Hank to get back to me so quickly. He’s got a bar to run, a staff to take care of. But my nerves are on edge, my muscles active as if ready to run. By the time we cross the Tennessee border, my guts have hardened to rock. I never should have asked Hank to look into this. My job isn’t to question things, just to honor the contract.

  But what if he’s telling the truth? What if he’s about to suffer for something his mom did the same way I’m suffering for my dad’s mistakes?

  All the muscles in my throat and along my jaw clench. If this is the case, I don’t know if I will be able to preserve the contract. The fall out of that decision unwinds in my head in an apocalyptic explosion until my vision blurs and I almost veer off the road. A chorus of car horns wail me.

  “Careful, mama,” Max says. “Some of us don’t come back from the dead.”

  I grunt.

  Max drums his fingers on the car door handle. “Everything okay?”

  “Are you hungry?” I ask, unable to keep the strain out of my words.

  For a long beat, Max stares at me, perfectly still.

  My grip tightens on the steering wheel again.

  Finally, he grins, but his eyes droop at the corners. “I could eat. And I definitely need more water. Don’t want to deliver a dried-out water spirit, right? That might look unprofessional.”

  I nod way too enthusiastically. “Definitely unprof
essional. Craving anything?”

  For your last meal, my mind finishes for me. Bile rushes up my throat.

  “French fries and milkshakes,” Max says without hesitation.

  Spluttering a nervous laugh, I start watching road signs for a good burger joint. Not just fast food. Max deserves something fresh, not flash frozen. A few exits later, I turn off the road into a restaurant that looks promising, not sure I’m going to be able to keep anything down. Except maybe a shot of tequila.

  Unfortunately, I have to drive.

  We order from a kid with a lip ring and fake nails I’d never be able to navigate, then take our electric buzzer to a booth in the far corner by the window. I jog my knee under the table. The seat vibrates, but before I whip out my phone to check for a text, a pickup turns the corner, its pounding base the source of the faint movement.

  I pull apart my straw wrapper with much more violence than strictly necessary.

  “Everything okay, mama?” Max asks again.

  “You’re asking me that?” I meet his eyes.

  He’s already drained his cup of water and now crunches the left-over ice. “You seem jumpy.” Max scoots forward. “Did you see a rival bounty hunter following us? Or that woman from the bus?”

  Massaging a throbbing spot just under my left brow, I shake my head. “No. It’s nothing. It’s just been a long two days. Forty-eight hours. Whatever.”

  And I just found out my respawns are limited. Inwardly, I shiver.

  “You’re not wrong,” Max says.

  Our food arrives. In spite of the nausea, I choke most of the burger down. It turns to paste in my mouth. I don’t even attempt the curly fries. My gaze wanders the restaurant, and my imagination amplifies every glance in my direction, adds a heavy layer of suspicion to every look. When we’re finished, Max refills his water, and stops by the bathroom.

  While he’s gone, I type out a text to Iris Smith with shaking fingers to let her know we’re close. I stare at the words. If I delay, I might hear back from Hank before we even make it to Memphis. But if I delay, a rival hunter might catch up to us, and I do not want to deal with another attack.

  Heart in my throat, I hit send. Without greeting or any other form of small talk, Iris sends me the address of where we’re supposed to meet and signs off with a warning to “be prompt.”

  Back in the car, the burger churns in my gut. Mile after mile passes far more quickly than I’d like. Without meaning to, I ease a little off the gas, pulse growing louder in my ears as we near Memphis. My damp palms slide on the steering wheel.

  Fifty minutes.

  It’s not my business.

  Forty-five minutes.

  Come on Hank. Text me back.

  Thirty minutes. Buildings rise up out of the tree line. Max’s hands ball into fists in his lap, veins springing out along his arms.

  I need to preserve the contract, or I’ll get kicked out of the guild. Even worse, Iris Smith won’t help me with this stupid curse.

  Twenty minutes. I slow down on the city roads, sticking to the speed limit, sometimes even falling below it, grateful for every red light.

  What if he’s innocent?

  Fifteen minutes.

  Fifteen minutes and two more corners. Sweat soaks my lower back as I take the next turn and approach the address Iris sent me. My foot lets up on the gas a little more. My eyes zone in on a woman with platinum blonde hair standing on the street. I’ve only seen pictures of Iris Smith — moving photos in The Tribunal Times — but she’s even more stunning in real life.

  Five minutes.

  I pull to a stop in front of Iris. Breath solid in my chest, I peel my hands off the steering wheel and grab my still silent cell. “When we get out of the car, stay behind me, and don’t say a word,” I say, not looking at Max.

  He grunts quietly, opening his door when I do, silent and pale. Out on the sidewalk, I put myself between him and Iris.

  Face neutral, I loop my arms across my chest, willing my phone to buzz. “Ms. Smith?”

  Iris zeroes her attention entirely on Max, a narrow, hard look. “Is this him?”

  I fight to keep my shoulders from inching toward my ears. “This is Max Avila. Delivered as promised. I’ll hand him over once the funds are transferred to Yaritza.”

  A ball forms in my throat as Iris slides her cell out of the pocket of her business jacket. “Small price to pay for a touch of justice,” she says under her breath.

  My phone buzzes.

  Heart slamming against my sternum, I tilt it in time to see a message from Hank light up the screen. Head swimming, I swipe it open quickly.

  Hank: Iris Smith had an older brother named Joel who disappeared about six years ago a few months after starting a relationship with known water spirit, Aline Avila. There is a bounty out on her as well. No one’s been able to fill it. More details in the article.

  A web link pops up after the text, but there’s no time to read it. The name Joel lights up my brain. Where have I heard that name before? I shake my head, thoughts muddled, racing. They screech to a halt when realization hits me.

  The man who taught Max to cook.

  “One moment,” I blurt out.

  Iris’ flame blue eyes finally dart to my face. “Tell me you’re not about to negotiate terms. I’ve been waiting for far too long for any more delays.”

  “It’s not that.” I turn to Max, pulling him a few feet away from Iris by the elbow, and throw up a shield spell with as much subtlety as possible. “Be honest with me. Have you ever used your magic for personal gain? Not saving your life, but for straight up, selfish pleasure.”

  Max crosses his arms over his chest, gaze coasting back toward Iris. Her lips thin out into a thin, red slash of a line, but she doesn’t move from her spot as he says, “Sure. I used it to get out of trouble in school, to make a sell at my job ... and I’ll admit, I’ve used it to get out of a speeding ticket or two—”

  “You know what I mean.” I drop my voice lower. “Have you ever used it like your mom? Used it to do something bad enough for there to be a bounty on your head?”

  Max extends his fingers, rubbing his palms on his jeans. “I thought you said it wasn’t your business.”

  “Max.”

  “Never,” he says softly, gaze still intent on Iris, pupils dilated. “I saw what her magic did to people, to the ones she brought home, and ... I never wanted to be like that.”

  I swallow, temples pounding. “And were you using them on me last night?”

  Max lets out a slow sigh and meets my gaze as he says, “I don’t know if you’ll believe this or not, but no. No, I wasn’t.”

  Squeezing my eyes shut for a single moment, I gulp down air and force my brain into emergency strategy mode. If I’m going to do this, I have to play it smart, lay the groundwork for a good lie. The pieces click into place quickly.

  I dig my hand into a pocket and grab my keys. “Hold on.” Raising my voice so Iris can hear me, I say “I’m going to need confirmation you are who you say you are.”

  “Excuse me?” Iris’ face hardens.

  “ID, please.” I fold my arms over my chest and cock out a hip with a confidence I don’t feel. “We’ve had an eventful few days, got attacked on the way here and shifters are everywhere. Not to mention the fact that there’s been all sorts of trouble with this bounty. Wouldn’t want to give him up to a rival hunter on accident. As a Tribunal Member, surely you would understand the need for caution.”

  “How dare you waste my time?” Iris sneers. “I’ve been waiting for this bounty for years. Give him to me now.”

  Good enough.

  Teeth set, I force the shield at Iris, knocking her backward as I drag Max toward the car. The second his door shuts, I slam on the gas, speeding down the road and out of Memphis. This will almost definitely get me kicked out of the guild, but this is one contract I can’t honor. Not if Max is innocent.

  9.

  “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” Max asks, mashing the bottoms of his shoes
into the floorboard to brace himself.

  “Going to find some barbecue, I hear Memphis is pretty famous for it.”

  “Fee...” Max draws out my name slowly.

  I run a red light. “What does it look like?”

  “Auditioning for the next Fast and Furious movie? What number are we on now? 27?”

  Freaked or not, I laugh, making a sharp right turn away from the Tribunal Building. “That would probably end better than this is going to. Yaritza is going to kill me ... then let me come back and kill me again until the end of time. Like in that earth myth with what’s-his-name? Prometheus?”

  Max makes a choking sound in his throat and grips the door handle. “You’re breaking the contract?”

  “Don’t make me regret it, water spirit.” The steering wheel slides through my hands. “Or at least not any more than I already do.”

  “Hold on.” Max shakes his head. “Why? What made you change your mind?”

  “Let’s have that conversation later. Right now, I need to know what happened to your mom’s boyfriend, Joel.”

  Screwing up his face, Max shrugs. “I have no idea. She kept him around for a few years and then one morning he was just gone. That was pretty normal. Most of her boyfriends left without a goodbye eventually. I didn’t really think about it. Other than being bummed out because he was one of the cooler guys she’d brought home.”

  That followed, considering he’d gone missing. Does that mean Max’s mom killed him? My insides tumble uncomfortably. It’s an ugly question, but why else would he have disappeared? Did Max’s mom feed off the energy of her victims? Did she kill them?

  The article Hank sent might have more answers. As soon as we can stop, I’ll be able to read it. Then do my own research.

  “And her boyfriends all just disappeared like that?” I ask veering around a slow driver.

  Max’s brows pinch together, and he rubs the back of his neck. “I mean, I never heard from any of them again.” He swallows so the tendons along his jaw stand out. “Is it Joel’s family who’s after me?”