Sea Cursed: An Adult Dystopian Paranormal Romance: Sector 13 (The Othala Witch Collection)

by Amy Lee Burgess

  “No thanks.” I counted out her money from my purse, and she received it avidly, tucking most of it down her sweaty blouse. I tried not to grimace.

  Thunder boomed overhead, but the rain had tapered off into a slow sprinkle. In the stall opposite Mrs. Boleyn’s, yellow sunflowers and gladioli shone bright against the gray backdrop of the stormy day. Mother did so love sunflowers.

  I could tuck a bouquet under my arm and still manage the food basket. I hurried across the dirt lot to the flower vendor, fumbling in my purse for the coins.

  A woman bundled in a shawl that covered her head paid for a bouquet of roses. I got in line behind her.

  The vendor acknowledged me as she made change for her other customer. “Beautiful today, aren’t they? Who needs the sun when we have fresh flowers?” The vendor wasn’t someone I knew by name, just by face. Father said the flowers in our own backyard were good enough and not to waste money at the market, but with luck he wouldn’t notice me smuggling these lovelies inside.

  “They’re gorgeous,” I said. The woman ahead of me stiffened, then turned slowly, pulling back the shawl fringe from her face. “Dem,” she said, an awkward smile edging across her lips. “I haven’t seen you for ages.”

  Kelly. A year ago I would have told everyone she was my best friend. We’d grown up on the same street, gone to school together, and despite Mother’s unpredictable feelings that forced me to stay inside, she’d managed to sneak over to my yard to play or, as we got older, hang out and talk.

  All that changed after Amanda’s wedding shower. When – No. I wouldn’t think about that. It had no relevance, and thinking about it wouldn’t change the fact that Kelly never talked to me anymore unless social niceties forced her.

  “Hi, Kelly.” The words came grudgingly, but I said them as the flower vendor watched us over the counter, her nose all but twitching with curiosity. I lowered my gaze to Kelly’s protruding stomach. Six or seven months along judging from the rounded swell. “I ran into Amanda last week. She told me you were expecting. Congratulations. Brad must be over the moon.”

  Kelly placed one hand on her belly – an instinctively protective gesture that cut into my heart like a whip.

  “Guess things have changed between us, huh? Once upon a time you would have the first one I told. Next to Brad, of course.” Kelly stared at me, her blue eyes filled with a baffling hunger. Was this an olive branch? Could she possibly want to forget that day at Amanda’s? Chalk it up to a coincidence?

  Hope surged through me. It would be so good to have a friend again. Mother did her best, but she wasn’t my generation. The loneliness of the last few months had hollowed me out. Would Kelly fill the emptiness back up again?

  “I wish things could be like they were,” I blurted, perhaps too impulsively, but Kelly’s smile lit the drab day like sunshine through clouds.

  “Me too,” she said. Another smile. “Want to go for coffee after you buy your flowers?”

  “Yes. I’d like that.” Eagerly, I turned to the vendor. “I’d like this one.” I pointed to the bouquet with the most sunflowers, and the vender took it out of its jug of water and wrapped it for me. She held the bouquet out to me, smiling, and I reached for it as a tremendous blast of thunder ripped through the sky.

  The world lit up like fireworks as lightning sizzled down. The bolt hit me on the back of my right hand, sparking a weird electricity throughout my nerve endings, shorting out the ability to think clearly.

  Someone screamed – Kelly perhaps. Clutching my numb wrist, I fell to the muddy dirt. No pain precisely, just a massive jolt of energy bounced through my body making me jerk and twist on the ground. Stunned, I couldn’t quite process what had happened, nor why I couldn’t control my own body.

  “Did you see that? Lightning hit Demetria. Are you all right?” Unmindful of her swollen belly, Kelly flung herself down beside me. She grimaced when she touched my shoulder and one of my muscles bunched and contorted beneath her fingers.

  “Where’d it hit her? Is she still breathing?” A man knelt beside me. “I’m a healer. Tell me where it hit you.” His round, concerned eyes stared into mine, but I couldn’t quite focus.

  “Her wrist. Just here.” Kelly moved my hand aside to show him, then a shrill scream burst from her lips. Had residual lightning shocked her when she touched me?

  The healer’s horrified indrawn breath was nearly drowned out by Kelly’s and the flower vendor’s screaming.

  Kelly stared down at me, horror stretching the skin tight across her pale face. Every freckle she had stood out against the milky whiteness of her cheeks.

  “It did happen at Amanda’s! You did do it! It wasn’t an earth tremor, Demetria Adams, it was you!”

  Shame boiled across me, worse than the blast of lightning. I drew in an agonized breath, searching for words to defend myself. Why had she changed her mind about me? I’d been struck by lightning. Surely, she hadn’t thought the bolt had seared me on purpose?

  No. Oh, no. Sea-cursed witches were marked by Othala through a magical lightning strike. Everything around me shuddered to a horrible stop for a moment. My jaw dropped, and I sucked in a frantic breath. No. That was not what had just happened. A freak lightning bolt, yes, but not a magical one. Please.

  “Sea cursed!” Kelly shrieked, bursting the terrible stillness in my head. She forked the sign of the evil eye at me, and scrambled backward away from me, her skirts twitching up past her knees. “Sea cursed! The mark of Othala! Witch!”

  “No!” I struggled to breathe against the heavy pressure of her panicked accusation. No matter what had happened at Amanda’s, I was no witch! This was all a mistake. A horrible, wretched mistake. The lightning hadn’t been meant for me! It couldn’t have been.

  “Call the guards!” The healer’s grim expression scared me almost as much as his words. Guards? Why should I be arrested? I’d been struck by lightning. I’d broken no laws.

  The wicked spasming stopped, leaving my body spent and exhausted. Steeling myself, I looked at my hand, hoping against hope to be able to deny Kelly’s shrill accusation. When I saw the mark, terror robbed me of all reason.

  Three silver bands encircled my wrist – etched into my skin as if the lightning had been ink. Above the bands, the mark of Othala covered the back of my hand almost to my fingers. A diamond shape with the bottom edges drawn out merged with the topmost silver band.

  Horror and bitter denial engulfed me. For a moment I stared blankly at the mark. Only sea-cursed witches bore this mark. Once every fifty years an earth witch and a sea witch were marked like this and forced into an alliance to renew the spell that kept Galveteen Island safe from the ravagers. They were banished out to sea and never seen again by anyone. People said they died out there. The force of their own power killed them. Their spell protected Galveteen for fifty years until it faded and the cycle began again.

  A death sentence, that was what this mark was.

  “No!” This time I shrieked the word, and before the healer could grab me, I scrambled to my feet and ran.

  “Stop her! Stop Demetria! She’s sea cursed! Witch!” screamed Kelly, hatred and revulsion twisting her pretty face into terrible ugliness. People lunged for me, but desperation lent me agility, and I dodged them all. I pelted for the street. If I could make it home, my mother would protect me. She would tell me this was all a nightmare, and I was safe. All I’d wanted to do was bring her some flowers to brighten up her life.

  A torrential downpour cascaded from the sky, blinding me, but I kept running. My scarf snagged on a low hanging branch and ripped away, taking some of my hair with it. I shrieked in pain, flailed, and kept running.

  A stitch developed in my side, burning like wildfire. I clutched at myself, gulping down air, and ran.

  After what seemed forever, I rounded the corner and came within sight of my home.

  “Mother!” The wind whipped the word from my lips and flung it away. She stood outside on the porch steps, drenched to the skin, her black hair s
treaming. Her face drained of blood as her lips moved soundlessly. Sobs wrenched her body, forcing her to cling to the railing to keep from falling. My father stood on the porch, aghast. He stared at the Regent’s guards gathered in a protective phalanx in the front yard. They had swords drawn, pointed straight at me.

  “Witch, do not resist!” The one with the most gold braid on his uniform yelled above the whipping wind.

  I came to a dead stop far enough away that I had to strain to hear. I had little strength left, but I gathered myself to run again. Only, where would I go?

  “I’m not a witch!” I gasped the words out, each one a battle to pronounce because I couldn’t catch my breath.

  “Demetria!” I couldn’t hear my mother’s voice, but I saw her mouth open, recognized my name on her lips. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so, sorry!”

  One of the guards broke formation and marched over to me. Paralyzed by guilt and confusion, I stood still, even when he grabbed my hand and yanked me forward.

  “Is it there?” shouted Gold Braid. “The mark of the sea-cursed witch?”

  For an answer, the guard thrust my arm out, showcasing the silvery, accusing mark on my hand.

  “I don’t understand what’s happening here!” shouted my father. He lurched down the stairs, knocking my mother against the porch railing, but he didn’t seem to notice.

  He tried to shove aside the guards, but they resisted.

  “Go inside or we’ll arrest you!” threatened Gold Braid.

  “You don’t understand. That’s my daughter. Not a witch. Only witches receive the mark of Othala. This is some sort of mistake. She’s no witch.”

  “The mark is never false.” Gold Braid looked straight at the guard holding me captive. “Get her in the carriage.”

  The earth rumbled and shook, causing the guard holding my arm to stagger and lose his grip.

  “Witch, control yourself!” shouted Gold Braid. “Hold your magic!”

  “I have no magic,” I whispered, as the earth shook and rolled around me. I somehow managed to stand straight without stumbling. Everything around me gyrated, but I stayed perfectly still. The earth I stood upon didn’t move. Just like that afternoon at Amanda’s, only worse. Much, much worse.

  Chapter 2

  The carriage wheels rumbled against cobblestones. I slumped against the back of the seat, shivering, covered in mud, drenched with rain. Opposite, one of the guards eyed me with confusing compassion. Maybe he believed I wasn’t what they said I was?

  “Whoa.” Outside, the carriage and procession of guards halted. Someone’s voice – high up – demanded to know our business.

  “Regiment Thirteen reporting in with the sea-cursed earth witch.” I recognized Gold Braid’s arrogant tones.

  Regiment Thirteen? I straightened against the seat. The Regent’s elite guard? Where were we? The carriage had no windows, no doubt used exclusively for prisoners. What sounded like a large gate creaked open. Cobblestones, a guard post, and a gate? Why, they must be bringing me to Regents Row, the most exclusive section of Galveteen where all the most important people on the Council lived – including the Regent himself in Moody Mansion.

  Long ago, after the coup led by the non-magicals to oust the witch co-regents, this section of the island had been walled off, and no one was allowed inside who didn’t reside there or have official business.

  The reality of my situation sank in. An ominous feeling of dread settled in the pit of my stomach. The roll and sway of the carriage had lulled me into a semi-stupor, but my previous panic awakened. I wanted to scratch off the guard’s face, find the key to the carriage door and bolt. But I had nowhere to go.

  “I’m not a witch,” I whispered, mostly to myself. I balled my hands into fists, but they were so puny. Useless.

  “The mark on your hand and wrist proves otherwise,” the guard said, but his voice held no contempt.

  “I can’t do magic. I don’t know how to do magic. How can I be a witch if I can’t do magic?” I put a hand to my throat in a vain attempt to stop my voice from coming out so weak and frightened.

  The guard took a measured breath. “You were doing a pretty decent job of it at your house. Nearly knocked me off my feet, remember? And you? Stood there just as straight as could be.”

  “I didn’t do that!” I shouted, squeezing myself against the back of the seat as the carriage lurched through the gate and continued to draw me to my doom.

  “Maybe you didn’t realize you did it, but it was you.” The guard gave me a compassionate smile that made me want to cry. What did he care? Witches were menial. Beneath contempt. They harnessed the sea and renewed the earth, but they were freaks. I wasn’t a freak!

  I shook my head, covering my ears with my hands. Nothing made sense. Everything was wrong. Portents and my mother’s strange, superstitious feelings be damned.

  “Where are you taking me? There are no prisons in Regents Row. That’s where we are, isn’t it?”

  “Prison? The guard gaped at me. “There will be no prison cell for you, witch.” The way he said the word didn’t make it sound like a slur. He pronounced it with the sort of reverence people reserved for words like “lady” or even “princess”.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Obviously.” The guard smiled at me. “You are one half of a duo that will save us all, Demetria.” He paused a moment, still smiling. “I may call you that, can’t I?”

  “It’s my name,” I said, confused. “Why do you look at me like that? Your regiment just hunted me down in the street. Screamed at me.”

  “You were about to level the neighborhood,” the guard said. “Colonel Murgatroyd can be...a little excitable. It’s not every day you get to be the hero who brings in the earth witch for Reutterance. If you’d destroyed the neighborhood, it would have been a blot on his record.” The guard’s green eyes twinkled. “Another one. The sea witch nearly took us all out. The colonel’s pride was wounded. I believe the Regent may have made a remark or two. The colonel hates remarks.”

  The man had charm. I nearly laughed. Me. Covered in mud and rain and bearing the mark of Othala.

  “So you’ve found her? The sea witch?” I asked.

  “Him. It’s always a male/female pairing.” The guard stared at me. “Have you really no education on what happens during Reutterance? Do they not teach you in school?”

  “We don’t cover witch stuff in school.” I stiffened.

  “Not even the Reutterance?” The guard shook his head.

  “Everyone knows the sea-cursed witches are banished out to sea where they renew the spell that keeps Galveteen Island safe from the ravagers. They die out there.” My voice shook with anger and fear. “We don’t need to be taught that in school. Everyone knows.”

  “You mean rumor and hearsay.” The guard blew out his breath.

  “If it isn’t the way I said, why do the sea-cursed witches resist being taken prisoner?” I demanded.

  “You aren’t a prisoner. You are an honored guest of the Regent.”

  I burst into scornful laughter. “Then why are there no windows in this carriage? Why was I shoved into it? Not allowed to say goodbye to...” my voice cracked. “...my mother? Why was she crying so hard if I’m an honored guest?”

  “All I can tell you is that you are a heroine, witch. No matter what anyone might say or how you feel about yourself. There are people on this island who revere you and are grateful for your services. Please know I am proud to be one of them.” His eyes shone with such brightness I wondered if he were struggling against tears. Why would he cry unless I was doomed? Men didn’t cry unless the situation was dire.

  “I don’t even know your name.”

  “John. Captain John Clark. At your service, witch.” He put a hand to his heart.

  I stared at him. Green eyes, gray-streaked red hair, a small moustache. A truly pleasant face. Someone who looked as though he liked to laugh. The small wrinkles around his eyes and mouth attested to that. He was perhaps in his
early forties. I didn’t call men his age by their first names.

  “Captain,” I said. “I’m not a heroine. I’m just me. And I don’t understand how this has happened. I’ve never done magic before in my entire life.” That afternoon at Amanda’s flashed through my mind, but I banished it. Coincidence. Not magic.

  “Well, you’re going to do magic now. The most important magic that can ever be performed on this island,” the captain told me with an earnest glow in his eyes that darkened for a moment. “Or else we’re all doomed, and the ravagers will take us all.”

  Chapter 3

  When the carriage halted, my heart gave a tremendous lurch. Captain Clark’s friendly expression morphed into neutrality as he opened the door so the retractable steps could unspool. He gestured for me to descend first, and, with great reluctance, I stepped down into the wet courtyard. Small puddles lurked in the corners against the mansion. Two palm trees towered above us. I craned my neck to see the topmost fronds, which hung low and dripped with moisture. The sullen gray of the sky matched my mood and the bleak aspect of my shrinking future.

  “Lord Regent!” Gold Braid announced. His name was Colonel Murgatroyd, but I still thought of him as Gold Braid. Dislike washed over me like waves in a cold sea.

  The guards snapped to attention as a tall, darkly bearded man strode into view. Lord Regent David Trumbull was dressed expensively in fabrics that no one in my neighborhood had ever seen let alone could afford. His boots gleamed in the uneven light that managed to pierce through the clouds.

  His penetrating dark gaze measured me from head to toe and back up again. He managed to convey both exultation and disdain. Or maybe I read him wrong because I was so nervous. My palms sweated, and I longed to wipe them on my raincoat, but I forced myself to stand perfectly still.

  “So you are the earth witch,” he remarked with a studied casualness that set my teeth on edge. He circled me, and I wilted under his excruciating examination. He was the Lord Regent of Galveteen, and I wore a muddy raincoat, and my legs and arms bore bruises and scratches from my convulsions on the dirt of the farmers market. The bolt of lightning that had changed the course of my life seemed as though it had struck me a hundred years ago when really it had been perhaps an hour.