“Hang onto it,” Hank says. “Like I said, it’s untraceable. Even by the guild. I had it spelled against scrying too. For now, you should be safe.”
Thank the Fates for good old Hank. I let my head drop back, willing the muscles in my neck to relax. In a long list of difficulties, not having to worry about getting a hold of a new phone takes some of the pressure off.
“Thanks Hank,” I say, scuffing a shoe across the carpet. “If you find out anything else about Joel Smith, let me know. I’m going to attempt to scry on Max’s mom. I doubt we’ll be able to convince her to do anything even if I can find her, but it’s worth a try.”
“Good luck. Water spirits are tricky to pin down.”
“I don’t believe in luck.”
“Good vibrations, then.”
I smirk. “I’ll accept that. Considering no other hunter has been able to find her. I’m going to need all of that I can get.”
“It only takes one,” Hank says. “And you’re pretty great at what you do, Fee.”
“Don’t puff me up. I’ll get a big head, then definitely mess up the spell.”
Hank chuckles. “You’ve got this, Fee.”
“I’d better get to it,” I say. “Be careful, Hank.”
“Yeah, you too, kiddo. Text if you need.”
We end the call. Again, I sink into the chair, and reposition the stone over the map. Now that I know the cell is safe, I should be able to focus better. Whether or not Max’s vibrations will be sufficient, however, remains to be seen.
Like before, the crystal spins a circle around my screen, blurring the Map app as it searches for the vibrations I’m looking for. Every few rounds, it tries to come back to this hotel. I grind my teeth as my heart rate kicks up and my vision doubles. The stone’s speed increases. Finally, the movement stops. Mostly. Though the display solidifies on a specific city, it continues to quiver, almost like it’s unsure.
With a pointer finger and thumb, I zoom in a little, squinting at the area. This is absolutely no help. While I excelled at fae geography, I’m trash at remembering earth locations. Sam has tried to help me. He even went so far as to make me a giant map of the United States complete with fun facts attached to push pins. But my brain doesn’t seem to want to absorb any of it.
It most assuredly doesn’t remember the city my stone has landed on now. Shreveport. Where in all the realms is Shreveport? I zoom out. Louisiana. Not horribly far from where we are currently. At least there’s that.
Saving the location to my favorites, I glance at Max’s sleeping form.
Now on his stomach, his arm hangs off the edge of the bed. In the low light of the room, the shadows across darken, wiping out his eyes so his pale face looks almost skull-like. Chills crawl along my skin. Grimacing, I shift forward, supporting myself on my knees. Cracks still branch out from the corners of Max’s mouth, gray blood congeals on his chapped lips and the corners of his nails, and every vein is tinged black.
Though I don’t want to wake him up, all of these symptoms point to the fact that he desperately needs more water.
I grab the cup from the nightstand, fill it again, then crouch next to him. “Hey, up and at ‘em, water spirit. Time for some more fluids.”
Nothing. His eyes don’t even flutter.
Worry gnaws at my stomach. Gently, I nudge Max’s elbow with the tips of my fingers. “Come on, dude. Wake up.” When he still doesn’t rouse, full on nausea rolls through me. I set the glass on the floor, grip his shoulder, and shake him much harder than I mean to. “Max.”
Slowly, Max peels his eyes open, the lashes sticking together with sleep. I drop my head in relief as he mumbles something completely incomprehensible and probably in Portuguese. He groans, bumping my knee with his knuckles.
“You okay, mama?”
A slightly crazed laugh bursts past my lips. “You’re the one who wouldn’t wake up. Please tell me you just sleep like the dead, and I’m not going to have to find you a healer.”
Rolling onto his side, he gives me a sleepy grin, downing the water I hand him before answering. “I definitely sleep like the dead. Being this drained makes it worse. No healer necessary, just lots of water. I should’ve slept in the pipes. That would speed things up.”
I rest my chin on a fist. “Alternatively, we could throw you in the bathtub.”
Max laughs. “Not a bad option.” He clears his throat, then covers a rough cough with a forearm. “Did you get a hold of Hank?”
“Yeah, he’s covering for us.” I ease back onto my feet and go to refill his glass again. “I was also able to scry on your mom. The location is a little shaky, but it kind of looks like she’s in Shreveport. Do you know where that is?”
“More or less.” Pushing himself up against the headboard, Max’s face twists and he grunts. “That’s a weird place for her to be. Something about that doesn’t feel right. Then again, she might be there for a guy.”
“That tracks.” I rest my elbows on the back of the chair. “With how hard she’s been for other hunters to find, could she be blocking me though? Or confusing the spell?”
Using a family member’s vibrations is never super accurate, but the fact that no one else has been able to track her down makes me wonder if she’s charmed herself against scrying, or something like that. She would have to be incredibly powerful if that’s what she’s doing. Very few paranormals have that capacity.
Charming an object against a location spell is one thing. My cuffs merely confuse that magic. With enough power and concentration, a witch could easily unscramble it and find me. If Aline Avila is charming her entire body? That’s next level.
Max scratches his cheek. “She might be able to confuse a spell. My mom was, is, always finding new ways to amp her magic.”
Tapping the chair back with my nails, I worry my lower lip between my teeth. We don’t have a lot of time to waste. If we go to Shreveport, and that turns out to be a false positive, then we won’t have any more leads.
“This is probably a stupid question,” I say. “But you don’t have any other family who could help, do you?”
Max’s nostrils flare. “Nah, they’re all more dysfunctional than the cast of a telenovela.”
I wave a hand. “Okay. Then let’s start in Shreveport. Hopefully she’s there. Otherwise, we’ll have to figure out something else before the guild catches up with us. Or we get ambushed by another rogue hunter.”
“So, what exactly is our plan?” Max asks, rubbing his eyes. “Because there’s no way she’s going to give herself up. Not even to protect me.”
I grimace and straighten to pace in front of the bed. That, unfortunately, would make a lot of sense. If she’s been killing and hiding and ignoring her son for this long, convincing her to help clear Max’s name is going to take some epic levels of persuasion.
Or magic.
Those kinds of spells are difficult, but doable. If I could somehow slap Max’s bounty cuff on Aline, I could just take her straight to Iris, no problem. Obviously, her deciding to go quiet like for the sake of her son would be great, but I’m not dumb enough to hope for something so ideal.
In the end, sometimes justice has to be forced, no two ways about it.
“We’ll figure it out when we’re a little closer,” I say. “I do have another idea. Only it’s a little ... disturbing.”
Max makes a face like he just ate a swamp pixie. “What is it? I ask with much hesitation.”
“Do you still have the cookbook Joel gave you?”
“Not on me,” Max says. “It’s back at the restaurant I worked at in Houston. Why?”
I scratch my hairline with a thumbnail. “Two reasons. One, there is an extremely slim chance we could scry on him if he’s alive. And two, if he’s dead, we might be able to find a much more powerful witch who could use it to speak with him. I know it’s not great, and other bounty hunters have probably already tried it, but it’s another option.”
If Yaritza has already tried this, then we’re retre
ading already worn paths. Under other circumstances I could ask her but right now that’s not an option. With more rest and a clear head, I could come up with a good lie as to why I need to know but breaking the contract has left me on a tightrope I have no idea how to walk. It will be easier to simply test out this theory on my own.
“Ooof, no, it’s not great,” Max says, scraping hair out of his eyes. “You’re right about that. But it might be a better option than trying to do anything with my mom. We should definitely attempt that first. I might even know someone who could do that. Use the book to talk with him, I mean.”
It’s a huge risk. If we go to Houston, we might have to deal with his people, and they might delay us. But if we can somehow get in contact with Joel’s spirit, we’ll be in a much better position. And I might have more answers.
Tapping the toe of my shoe on the carpet, I slide my hands into my back pockets. “Okay. We’ll meet your friend first and see if she can help us talk to Joel. No matter what happens, I swear I’ll do whatever I can to make sure no other hunter will ever come after you again.”
11.
KNOWING MAX NEEDS A full night's sleep before he can water travel us any further, we bunker down for the evening, ordering in soup since he’s still not feeling up for anything too heavy. We sit across from each other, plastic containers resting precariously in our laps as we shovel noodles into our mouths with chopsticks and slurping broth.
Most of the dry cracks in Max’s skin have healed up, and natural color has returned to his face, but his hands still shake faintly. We’ll have to be more careful in the future, take more breaks or trade off transporting each other. Though I can’t carry him too far in phoenix form, I can at least take a bit of the burden off him.
My stomach tumbles when he smiles up at me. “So back to the question I asked before,” he says.
Food halfway to my mouth, I lift my brows. “Question?”
“The one I asked when we were in the car. What made you change your mind about breaking the contract?”
Sticking my chopsticks back into my soup, I drop my gaze, debating just how honest I can be. While at this point, I’ve basically thrown all professionalism to the wind, I still need to tread carefully. Falling for the mark will only complicate things. And opening up will definitely be a step toward at least some level of intimacy.
Then again, refusing to be honest will just be plain awkward.
Stuffing my face with noodles, I lift my shoulders, then let them drop again. “Your plight hit me right in the personal feels,” I say around my food. “I couldn’t stomach the idea of letting somebody else suffer for their parents’ crap choices. I had Hank confirm your story, and you know the rest. It was just pure logic after that.”
Max presses a hand to his chest. “Aw, it wasn’t because you started to get a little sweet on me, mama?”
I wad up my napkin and chuck it at him. It bounces off his forehead, then rolls onto the floor. He laughs as I try to give him a legitimate glare. “If you weren’t physically compromised...” I then jab my chopsticks toward his face. “Also, you better be careful, I might start to think you lied about using your water spirit powers on me.”
Max grins, but the tendons along his jaw go taut, and my hackles rise in anticipation of a confession. “Mama, I promise never to use my magic on you, at least as far as I can help it.”
This statement, along with the intense seriousness adding weight to his voice, startles me so that I flinch back slightly. For a moment, I can’t look anywhere but his darkened gaze. Something I can only read as either desperation or sincerity wrinkles his forehead. I curl my hand tightly around my chopsticks and take a slow breath.
“How can I know that for sure?”
Max bites the corner of his lip, then tilts toward me. A wave of pleasant energy washes over my body. As it does, Max’s features shift before my eyes, smoothing out to near perfection. Desire boils out from my chest, warming my gut and everything down below, and drawing me to him with such power I find myself leaning in.
Then, all at once, it dies out.
Again, Max looks as he always has. My brain clears and I drop my chopsticks into the soup. “Wow. That was...” I fan myself as the heat cools. “Obvious. Very obvious. Is there a way to defend against it?”
Max hugs one of his knees to his chest. “Most magic can’t block it, though I have no idea why, but pain can. So, if we ever do find my mom and she uses it on you, I promise to pinch you, or something like that.”
“Gee, thanks.” I snicker. “Does it always feel so intense?”
“Only when I’m concentrating,” Max says, rocking back against the headboard again. “Like I said, it’s always kind of on — generally making me a little more persuasive than I might otherwise be — but I have to actively use it for that level of influence. It also takes a lot out of me. Though not quite as much as traveling does.”
I take another bite of noodles, chewing over this information. This magic is terrifying. A powerful water spirit could topple countries, which makes me wonder about some politicians I’ve seen in this world along with its history. How certain individuals have won their seats is baffling unless you take magic into consideration.
“If you practiced, would it be as exhausting?”
Max shakes his head, then tilts it side to side. “Yes and no. If a water spirit does it a lot — like my mom — they get better and better at sustaining it. But this is also one reason why they ... suck the life force out of their victims. It’s basically the only way they can keep going if they want to play the long game.”
I shiver and Max hums.
“Yeah, it’s not great.”
“Can...” I trail to chew the inside of my cheek before finding the right words. “Can you take life the way a vampire sucks blood? In small amounts without hurting the victim?”
“Oh sure.” Max waves his chopsticks, then takes another bite. “There are even similar donors out there who work at Healing Centers. They just have to rest for a few days, then they’re back to normal.”
Absently, I trace the pointed tip of my ear, realizing how little I know about water spirits. Yaritza taught me a little when I first arrived in the human realm, but only things that might help me hunt them better. As with everything, she gave me simple, easy to remember rules: Do not listen to them and keep your distance.
Which is probably why she wouldn’t let Max speak when he was with her.
In spite of his display, worry still eats at me. If his magic is a constant, it might still be influencing me. I remind myself that this doesn’t change the facts about his mom. Max is still innocent in terms of what happened to Joel and the bounty on him is still wrong. My propensity to distrust, however, won’t shut up.
Hopefully, we’ll be able to speak to Joel, and he can add a little confirmation.
We end the evening in relative quiet. I bounce back and forth between researching Max’s mom and my own curse on my phone. Though the internet connection isn’t too terribly slow, Google is really only good for human mythology, clickbait, and political drama. All stories related to Joel are limited to his disappearance. Most barely even touch on his cooking career, and none mention his sister.
Humans have no concept of our Tribunal, of any world beyond the one they can see beyond the ends of their noses.
Even the PNN app is a dead end. Most of the stories surrounding Joel’s’ disappearance are, at bare minimum, three years old. After that, none of the paranormal news outlets mention him. Iris still makes headlines, but these are all focused on her political contributions. Even these are bland as she takes a middle of the road stance on most policies. Including the current debates on whether or not our community should reveal ourselves to the humans.
When Max almost falls asleep in his soup, I toss our trash, shut off my cell, and — leaving him curled up on the bed — spend a moment in the shower, hoping to clear my head and lamenting the fact that we’re all out of liquor.
A small voice i
n my mind suggests asking Max to charm me again. Like an addict, I crave the experience even after a single hit. That feeling far surpassed any alcoholic buzz or drug induced high I’ve ever had. If I could have bottled it up to sell, I’d make a fortune, but would probably hoard it all for myself.
I crank the water temperature to cold, shivering under the downpour until I trust myself to walk back out there and not beg Max for another dose of his magic. Sharing a bed after that is going to be complicated.
Stay professional. Whether or not you broke the contract doesn’t make it less stupid to get tangled up with Max.
As I throw on a clean t-shirt and a pair of cloth shorts, I repeat this in my head. At least I don’t have to die tonight. Thank the Fates for small favors. Waking up at midnight is inevitable, but it’s far better than sleeping in the bathtub to avoid setting the hotel sheets on fire.
Pulse beating in my neck, I turn out the lights, then shuffle to the right side of the bed. Max doesn’t stir when I slip under the covers. Even with my back to him, I can feel his warmth, and again my body begs me to scoot closer to him.
Stay professional.
I fall asleep with that mantra echoing through my mind.
WARM LIGHT NUDGES ME from sleep. It thins the darkness behind my closed eyes, a gentle call back to consciousness. As my thoughts slowly climb out of the sluggishness of dreams, shock cuts sharp through my chest, kicking my pulse into overdrive. Gasping, I shove up onto my elbows, eyes foggy, mouth tasting like death. Sunshine filters through the part in the curtains on the other side of the motel room.
Mouth hanging open, I stare. The last time I slept through the whole night was before my curse. How...? A gentle weight on my back registers as the shock fades. I look down to find Max’s hand resting gently there. He squints up at me, removing it to cover a yawn.
“Sorry,” he says in a mutter. “You started whimpering and I thought it might help.”
“Thought what might help?” My words snap in my panic.
“Rubbing your back. I know I should’ve asked, but under the circumstances...” He shrugs a shoulder. “Sorry.”
Cursed: Out of Ash and Flame Page 10