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

by Amy Lee Burgess

  “You don’t have to feel sorry, Logan. I don’t see how anyone but me can figure out me. I’ve got to do it. I just wish I had more time.” I glanced at the spell scroll. Logan had rolled it carefully and even retied the black ribbon. “So. Does it say in the scroll whether or not we’ll actually die casting the spell?”

  “Oddly enough, no.” Logan shrugged and the ripple of muscles across his chest and shoulders threatened to completely distract me. What would his arms feel like around my bare body tonight – or whenever we made love for the first time to begin charging the talisman? Would he be gentle or rough? I shivered and refocused on what we were talking about.

  “Then why haven’t any other sea-cursed witches returned to Galveteen after casting this spell?”

  Logan frowned. “I’m sure some of them have. I’m betting it’s just since non-magicals took over the Regency that the witches marked by Othala haven’t returned.”

  I winced. I’d said “sea cursed” forgetting how much Logan resented that term. Had all the boats made for the Othala-marked witches been named Sea Cursed or was this a dig at us – at Logan? The Lord Regent never missed a trick. Was even the name of our boat a calculated insult?

  What Logan said abruptly penetrated. “Are you saying other regents have done something like ours has? Imprisoned family members and promised they’d be released as long as the witches never returned?”

  “Maybe,” Logan said. “Or offered to help out their families in some way. Put them in better paying jobs or something positive. Even though they’ve all been Trumbulls, hopefully not all the regents have been bastards like ours.”

  “But why don’t they want us to come back? You just said witches don’t harm. They protect, so the regents can’t have been thinking we’d hurt them.”

  “No.” Logan rubbed at the skin between his eyes as if his head ached. “The spell says we’re the ones who load magic into the lightning bolts that will bestow the mark on the next two witches fifty years from now. I thought perhaps we transferred our extra magic into the lightning bolts and passed it on, but that’s not how it works. Instead, there’s a vast pool of power we tap into when we cast the spell, and we use that to charge the lightning.” He took a deep breath and held it. “That means we get to keep our extra magic. I think the regents don’t like the idea of having two incredibly powerful witches on Galveteen, and that’s why we’re sent away.”

  “How much more powerful are we?” I flashed back to Mother collapsing into unconsciousness after killing only half a dozen ravagers. Logan and I had easily killed two dozen apiece. Maybe more.

  As if he could read my mind, Logan said, “You saw what happened to your mother after she used her power to kill four or five ravagers. I’m pretty confident that what she did was above and beyond what most witches in Seawall South could have managed. She’s strong. Witches usually work in teams of two or three to cast all but the smallest spells. What we did, Dem, to those ravagers? Eight, maybe ten witches combined might have pulled off what we did on our own. And I don’t think their magic would have lasted as long as ours did before depleting.

  I expelled the breath I’d been holding. Eight to ten? Other witches had only a tenth of the magic I had? I’d known Logan and I had extra power, but not as much as we apparently had.

  “But we’ll know how to tap into that pool after this,” I said slowly as the idea formed in my head. Nobody would look down on witches as strong as we were. Non-magicals were already scared of us. Imagine what they’d feel if every witch on Galveteen possessed immense power?

  “Couldn’t we bring that knowledge back to Galveteen and empower the other witches? Make them as potent as we are?” I smiled grimly as I pictured the Lord Regent’s terrified fury when faced with an army of witches who knew him for the petty tyrant he was.

  “For what purpose?”

  “To topple everything around the non-magicals without hurting them. To take over the Regency,” I said, and every word I spoke seemed to crackle in the air as I spoke it.

  Logan stared at me. “Dem, you’re talking treason.”

  I shook my head so my braid bounced on my back. “The Regency was ours first, remember? They stole it from us.”

  “What if we deplete the pool to empower witches? What if there’s not enough left for the next witches fifty years from now to use in the spell of Reutterance? We’ll doom Galveteen.”

  “You said this pool was vast. How vast? Doesn’t it say in the spell?”

  Logan shook his head. “No.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “Of course, it’s not the original spell. Maybe it’s made plain in the original. Or perhaps it was knowledge once so common nobody ever wrote it down, and it’s since been lost.”

  “Not the original spell? What are you talking about? What are we casting then?”

  Logan gestured at the scroll. “It’s a copy. Someone copied it down for us. Obviously they have to do it that way. If the witches marked by Othala aren’t allowed back, the spell would be lost forever if we didn’t use a copy.”

  “Where’s the original spell?” I asked.

  “The Regent must have it somewhere in his damned mansion.” Logan’s lip curled in disgust. “Probably in his archives somewhere.”

  “Archives?” I straightened from my slumped position. “Regina tried to tell me something about the archives before she died. I couldn’t understand much of what she said. But she did say something about looking in the archives and the Regent’s journal. And she mentioned the word ‘original’. Maybe she meant the spell. ” I squeezed my eyes closed as if that could help me think better. “Did she say regent or regents plural? I can’t remember.”

  When I mentioned Regina’s name, Logan’s expression closed off into neutral blankness.

  “Don’t feel guilty about her,” I whispered, stricken.

  He grimaced. “That’s like telling me not to breathe. I should have protected her and I didn’t.”

  Impulsively, I reached across the table to place my hand over his. He sucked in his breath, then turned his hand over so he could intertwine his fingers with mine. As always when he touched me, something electric sparked between us.

  I licked my lips. His eyes turned so blue, they almost blazed.

  “Dem,” he said, his voice choked with longing. My heart sped up, crashing against my ribcage. The rich smell of coffee burned my throat as all the colors around me sharpened into exquisite focus. I couldn’t breathe or move save for my galloping heart.

  The boat dipped into the trough between two waves hard enough to rattle the silverware in the drawer next to the sink.

  Logan turned away toward the ladder leading above deck.

  “I’m going to go check on my spell,” he said after a moment. “Maybe I’ll stay in the wheelhouse for a while. Okay?” He turned back to me as if I had the right to veto his decision. I wanted to ask him to stay with me, but more of me was frightened we’d be lost at sea if he didn’t guide the boat, so I nodded.

  He let go of my hand, pulling his fingers away from mine slowly, as if reluctant. I watched him ascend the ladder, nimble as goat, and disappear into the wheelhouse.

  I looked at the dishes. I reached out to gather them, but at the last moment I switched and took hold of the spell scroll. Maybe I would understand more of it than I thought, and even if I didn’t, I would surely understand more after I read it than I did at this moment. The dishes could wait.

  Chapter 15

  The boat dipped and rocked, breaking apart my hazy sleep. I lifted up on one elbow, disoriented. After I’d read the spell and understood very little of it since my grasp on the mechanics of magic was weak at best, I’d sunk into apathy. Rather than seek out Logan and share the misery, I’d retreated to the cabin and the spacious – for a boat – bed. The mattress took up most of the cabin, but it had built-in drawers for storage, and on the right-hand side I’d discovered an entire wardrobe in my size. I’d be terribly out of luck if I ever put on a lot of weight. That thought had d
epressed me, and I’d crawled onto the bed, clutched a pillow to my chest and closed my eyes against the futility.

  A glance out the porthole showed me it was twilight. The sky had changed from cerulean blue to deep lavender. Waves lapped against the hull, and the sound both comforted and scared me. Was it time to begin the sex magic ritual? All traces of sleep and lethargy melted away. Excitement tinged with alarm tasted metallic in my mouth. I’d allowed fear to overwhelm me earlier, but the night erased all that. Things appeared possible now. Especially since I had Logan. I wasn’t alone in this.

  During sleep my braid had come partway undone, so I combed my fingers through my hair undoing the braid all the way. Brushing dark strands out of my eyes, I opened the cabin door and peered out. No sign of Logan in the galley/sitting room. He’d done the dishes.

  Heart beating uncomfortably hard, I climbed up the ladder into the deserted wheelhouse. Eerily, the wheel moved by itself, presumably making minute course corrections influenced by Logan’s magic. Staring at it too long made me jumpy, so I opened the wheelhouse door and walked on deck.

  The bow had been transformed – both by the dusk and by Logan. Solar-powered fairy lights entwined around the mast glowed. More fairy lights twirled around the deck rails. The bench in the center back of the bow had pulled out into a queen-sized bed, which Logan had made up with white sheets printed with purple stars. A matching comforter was folded over the bottom half. A small table with sunken circles to hold dishes and cups held a wine bottle and two wine glasses. Battery-powered tea lights gleamed from inside purple and white votive holders.

  Logan, still shirtless, wore the Before Times souvenir coin talisman around his neck. I stopped dead by the mast, reaching out one hand to steady myself against the roll of the waves, which was more pronounced topside. Tingling anticipation spiced with trepidation sizzled down my spine and zapped my cheeks with warmth.

  In the deepening dusk, Logan looked otherworldly and so beautiful my skin seemed somehow too tight to contain my soul, which fought to fly free from the bonds of physical boundaries. What strange mysteries would I be initiated into tonight?

  He stared at me as if I were a piece of precious artwork. Me with my sleep-tousled hair and wrinkled dress. Was he as apprehensive, yet weirdly attracted, as I? He held out his hand, and I was powerless to resist his invitation. I stepped forward, letting go of the mast, and placed my hand in his. Sensual electricity sparked through me, invigorating me. I felt so incredibly alive.

  He smiled then, changing him from an otherworldly alien back to human. My heart raced, and I could barely catch my breath. Would he kiss me now? Make love to me without words so only our bodies communicated? Half of me wanted just that, but another half was relieved when he merely guided me to the bench next to the table.

  “Have some wine.” He poured some into a glass and handed it to me. “Are you hungry?”

  I noticed a small plate of fruit and cheese next to the wine bottle. I picked up a strawberry and bit into it. Juice spurted down my chin, but before I could grab for a napkin, Logan wiped it off with his fingers, then licked them clean. My heart jolted in an uneven rhythm, and I stared at him, shocked.

  He grinned and plucked the strawberry from my paralyzed fingers. “Eat,” he said, holding the berry to my lips. I tentatively opened my mouth so I could take a small bite. The fresh, sweet zing of strawberry juice coated my tongue. I never dreamed being fed by a man would be so strangely erotic.

  Logan took a bite of the strawberry, then held it back to my mouth. We shared that one, and two more, without speaking. When he brushed the berry across my mouth, the seeds stuck to my lips, and a hunger for something I couldn’t define swelled. Keeping pace with the sensual hunger was my fear of the unknown.

  “Are you scared?” he asked when we’d finished the third strawberry.

  “Not of you. Precisely.” I licked juice from my lips, and he took a deep breath.

  “Good.” He handed me my wine and poured himself some.

  “Is there also a five-year supply of wine in the hold?” I asked, and he laughed.

  “There’s a decent collection,” he said. “But there’s also magic on this boat, Dem. Most bottles and pitchers have been enchanted to refill. Sea witches spent two years casting the auto-refill spell over and over again on the bottles. I cast it quite a few times myself.”

  “You?” I stared at him in surprise even as I was captivated by the thought of witches casting the refill spell over and over again to make sure we never ran out of wine, milk, or orange juice. Somehow I didn’t believe they’d merely been doing their job. They’d cared, these witches, about us. About me.

  “Building and magically enhancing this boat was my main job for the past two years. Only the most talented and hardworking earth and sea witches were chosen to work on it. Even though I’d only worked at the docks for six years, I was picked to join the crew assigned to prepare the Sea Cursed. My family was so proud of me. I was proud of myself. I never suspected I’d be sailing on her, though.” Logan shook his head, a wry smile twisting his lips. “In fact, I was working on her when the lightning bolt struck me. Ironic, huh?”

  I’d been buying Mother flowers. That bolt of lightning seemed a lifetime ago, not only a few days. Just as it seemed as though I’d known Logan far longer than I had. Perhaps crisis and danger erased time or twisted it somehow, making it race by for some things, elongate and stand still for others.

  “I know every inch of the Sea Cursed,” Logan said with such affection I had to smile. “Despite what the Regent forced us to name her, this boat was a labor of love. Every witch who worked on her gave their all. Grateful for the two who would sail her. So don’t worry, Dem, about running out of things. Of starving. The witches of Seawall South made sure you never would.”

  He took my chin between his fingers and forced me to look at him. He bent forward so our foreheads pressed together, and my breath stuttered at the shock of his touch. “Tell me you understand.”

  His lips were an inch from mine. “I understand.” I could barely breathe.

  When he kissed me, I closed my eyes so I could drift into the experience. The waves slapped against the hull, and the scent of salty water filled my senses, but nothing overrode the electric spark of Logan’s mouth against mine.

  I wrapped my arms around him, molding myself to his body. He plunged his hands into my hair as he deepened the kiss. I met his tongue with mine, sliding my hands along the muscles of his bare arms. His skin burned beneath my fingers.

  When he broke our kiss and got to his feet, shock exploded in my gut as if I’d been kicked.

  “Help me draw the circle.” It took a moment for Logan’s words to penetrate, and when they did I suffered a panicked moment of incomprehension until I recalled words from the spell scroll.

  Part of the sex magic ritual to charge the talisman was drawing a circle around the altar bed.

  Logan extended his hand revealing two pieces of chalk on his palm. Through the gloom of deepening twilight, I made out the chalk colors – one bright red, the other pale pink. I chose the pink. Logan lit a stick of incense and the spicy scent of cinnamon rose into the air.

  We passed our chalk sticks through the smoke.

  “Cinnamon is good for raising energy – especially passion,” Logan told me.

  My knees turned to jelly, and it was all I could do to keep upright.

  Logan smiled at me as if he sensed the effect he had on me. “When we draw the circle, we’ll create a sacred space to contain the energy we raise together so we can direct it into the talisman. As the earth witch, you’ll draw half the circle and call out earth and fire, however you want to do it. As the sea witch, I’ll invoke water and air. I’ll start at the top of the circle with water, then I’ll call upon air as I reach the bottom of the circle. You’ll start at the bottom of the circle and invoke fire and end with earth as you reach the top. It’ll be a sort of lopsided circle since we’ll have to trace on the railing and over the benc
hes next to the bed as well the deck, but it’ll work.”

  My imaginative flights of fancy crashed with a thud. Oh, Othala. I knew nothing about rituals and invoking things. My expression must have revealed my anxiety because he leaned through the smoke to kiss my forehead.

  “You’ll be fine, Dem. I have to go first, so you can get a feel for it from me.”

  I nodded because I was too afraid if I spoke, my voice would quaver. We were doing this. Drawing a sacred circle, and then we’d have sex. I had to do this for Galveteen and for everyone who lived there, but I so glad I wanted to be with Logan. I only wished things didn’t have to be so ritualistic and formal. What if I didn’t know what to do when we were making love? Maybe I would cry. I knew it would hurt, at least at first, and that part scared me almost as much as the ritual itself did.

  Logan had me kneel on the deck a few feet away from the bottom of the bed. Where I knelt marked the bottom of the circle. He set the incense near me and moved to the bench to the left of the bed. He had to climb on it to reach the railing where he wanted to start the circle.

  I thought he might say something start the ritual, but he didn’t.

  “Waves upon the sea,” he said, drawing with his red chalk. When he reached the center of the circle, he said, “Wind to rush them along.” His shoulder brushed mine as he stopped drawing at the bottom of the circle.

  My fingers shook as I forced them to drag the chalk. Logan’s line was sure and strong. I feared mine would be thin and straggly.

  “Lightning brightens their way,” I whispered, not sure whether that would be all right, but Logan had started the waves along a journey, and I thought I could continue it. I traced the circle up and over the bench, then knelt on the cushions so I could reach to join my pink line to Logan’s red one.