Cursed Seer

by J. A. Culican

  He sounds more hopeful than convinced, but I'll take it. "Good. Now, enough of that. We have time to figure that out later. And if it turns out that we've done something horribly wrong, at least we did it for the right reasons. We can deal with the repercussions then, if that ever happens."

  "Deal." Talon lays back into his pillow, the effort of looking at me taking its toll on him. "Now then."

  I cocked my head at him. "Now, what?"

  "Now that you reassured me about my worst fears in the world, we have some more immediate issues to deal with, don't you think?"

  "Dawson."

  Talon nods.

  "I can't ever get away from this, can I?" I can hear the bitterness in my own voice, and immediately regret it.

  Talon at least pretends to ignore it, however. "No, it seems not. It is, after all, the biggest event in both worlds, even if the mortals have no idea it even happened. It will affect them at least as deeply as it has already affected our kind, especially if Dawson is allowed to make the moves he's planning."

  I bite my lip a moment, then ask, "How do you know what he's up to? I wanted to ask this earlier, when you first came out of your stupor, but it didn't seem the time. You seem very convinced of all of this, and you have me half convinced, too."

  "You should be convinced. It's not my opinion, but a fact. How I know, I couldn't explain. Maybe it has something to do with the machine he had me hooked up to, I don't know, but I feel it in my very bones. I know what he's up to, I know what his plans are. They aren't good for us, that's for sure."

  I want to tell him not to belabor the obvious, but even the mere sound of Talon's voice sends a tingle down into the pit of my stomach that I quite enjoy. I have no wish to say anything that makes him stop talking.

  Instead, I shift the topic. "Okay, so what can we do about all of this? Obviously, we have to stop him before he can take over the United States and the rest of North America. Once he has that, he'll have the physical power he needs to go along with the raw magical power now under his control. The world would be his oyster, and no one wants that. Maybe Luna, though I have my doubts about that."

  In truth, we both know Luna is an opportunist who is merely using Dawson for what he can give to her. Those two deserve each other, and if they aren't careful, their jockeying for power will be both their undoing. We can only hope.

  The wistful expression that crosses Talon's face is hard to decipher. After a pause, he says, "He's going to make a terrible world leader. He always was a tad paranoid, and everything I've seen says that's only getting worse. Heavy lies the head that wears the crown, as they say. Those two will crush any dissent in the name of order, petrifying all the social progress we've been making. But I think the worst would be yet to come."

  He has my attention. "What could be worse than those two ruling the world?"

  He pulls his hand out from mine. "Whether they die of old age or from the infighting that must certainly follow them like a plague, they will die eventually. And when it happens, the whole conquered world will suffer the fate of all cults of personality when the personality moves along to the next life, or whatever. It'll be ugly beyond anything we've ever seen, I promise you that."

  An involuntary shudder travels up my spine, between my shoulders, and spreads out to cover my scalp in tingles. "Both our worlds could splinter into a thousand different groups... All vying for control."

  "At best," he says, agreeing. "Some of those splinters won't want to rejoin the others, though. Many people would rather be the big fish in a small pond, if the alternative is to give up their own power. I fear a new Dark Age would hit both our worlds, mortal and magic alike. Those two dictators have tipped dominoes that could end with the undoing of two thousand years of civilization and growth."

  If I had any doubts about the necessity of our mission, before, I don't now. I love Talon—and yes, Luka, too—but suddenly, my problems seem very small indeed. He must feel the same way, because we don't talk much after that, and soon, he begins to snore faintly once again.

  I pad quietly from the room, closing the door as carefully as I can on my way out, my thoughts much more troubled than when I had come in.

  Chapter 11

  I grab the man's arm and swing him around so that his back is against the wall and, in answer to his surprised and somewhat outraged expression, I lean in and kiss him passionately but briefly. The rush of adrenaline is exhilarating, but even more exciting, the bubblecar streaks by harmlessly. My experiment never even sees it.

  Laughing, I let go and walk away, leaving the man to his confusion and his wry grin, and his altered fate.

  Luka, catching up alongside Glenn and Ida, is clenching and unclenching his fists and his jaw at the same time, though. "What the hell, Mirella?"

  It's not a question, but a demand. I'm still giddy, though, so I smile openly at him. "I changed his fate. I saw what was coming just by brushing against him, and then I changed it. He was meant to get splattered across that bubblecar that went by."

  "He'll just die another way, and soon." Luka sounds less convinced than he's pretending, though, and for good reason.

  "No, he won't. I changed it. I figured it out. It's not just a matter of changing his circumstances. I have to concentrate on it. I will it, and if I do it just right, his fate is altered."

  "You can do that, now?"

  "No..." I pause mid-step to consider how to describe it best. "No, it's more like I'm channeling some power that does it. I direct it, I don't create it. But I haven't figured out where that energy comes from."

  Ida, to my right, nudges me with her elbow. "I've never heard of that before. Death seers like you don't change Fate, you just see it. That's why you can't change it."

  "Not until now." I smile, though my adrenaline rush is fading. "Maybe I have two Gifts."

  Glenn snorts. "Hardly. Keep dreaming, though. I want two, while you're doling out fantasies."

  Ida purses her lips together and pushes them out like a duck's bill, and her eyebrows furrow. Her eyes seem unfocused.

  "What's up?"

  She looks up, jerking as though startled. "What? Oh. I was just thinking about what Glenn said. He's right, you know. No one has ever done what you say you're doing. It should be impossible, in fact."

  "Of course you would agree with him."

  She doesn't break a smile, though.

  I hear myself sigh. "Just because it hasn't been done before doesn't mean it can't be done. Maybe no one ever tried the right combination of things. It's a rare gift, after all, so I doubt there has been a lot of practice at it."

  Ida peers at me from the corner of her eye as we walk and shakes her head. "No, that's not really true. There used to be many of your kind. In fact, the Roman rulers in the days of the Republic had a whole program set up, like a Guild. Its purpose was to raise funds for the throne by charging ridiculous prices to tell Patricians how they would die, but its secondary purpose was to try to find a way to alter those whose death was fated—if they had the coin."

  My jaw drops. Had we not always been hidden? "So what happened?"

  Glenn interjects, "I remember reading about this. The mortals had no idea about the rest of us, but members of that 'Guild' were declared traitors for refusing to alter some Emperor's death. As if they could. Most were wiped out before we could get a handle on the situation. Your Gift was never common, even then, but it has been truly scarce ever since. Call it a failed experiment in social engineering."

  I don't really care about all those people who died two thousand years ago. History is full of such tragedies. But the impact of what they tell me hits hard. "I see. So even with the Roman legendary organization skills thrown at it, no one ever altered Fate before now."

  "Yep." Glenn shrugs, then goes back to scanning the streets ahead of us and I catch the hint.

  I've gone back to doing the same when Ida says, "Have you realized that, every time you mess with Fate, there's a ripple effect?"

  I raise one eyebrow.
That thought had not occurred to me. From anyone else, I would likely have become defensive, but from Ida, I know it's a sincere question. "Do you think it's important, somehow?"

  She doesn't answer.

  The rest of this little outing on my behalf is spent in an uncomfortable silence, and after only a few experiments—all of which were successful, for the first time—I cut it short and we head home.

  When did I start thinking of our temporary hideout as home? A question for another time.

  Talon stares at me, and I can see the doubt in his eyes. "You have to be careful. Those ripple effects... You have no idea how big they might become. It's like the old story about how a butterfly flaps its wings in one place and a tsunami forms halfway around the world as a result of the chain reaction."

  Luka chuckles. "It's just the law of unintended consequences. That's a much simpler way of putting it."

  Talon frowns at him, but then he is all business again. "Ella, promise me you'll be careful. I don't even know what that means, but you can't use this ability randomly. What you did with that guy on the street earlier today, the one Luka says you kissed,"—he pauses half a heartbeat before continuing—"was reckless, to say the least."

  This time, I do feel defensive. "You don't know. Those consequences you speak of could be for the best. For all you know, what I'm doing is Fate. No one really knows how that works, after all."

  Birka puts a hand on my shoulder as she steps up beside me. "You're right, dear. We have no solid reason to believe you shouldn't do this amazing new thing you're capable of. Especially if it will save my son's life. Don't listen to Talon—he's young and rash, and perhaps a bit gun shy of risk at the moment."

  Luka adds, "It would certainly be understandable, I think."

  Before I have a chance to agree, Birka rounds on him, her expression rigid and her eyes narrowed. "Don't you side with me. I don't need your help."

  Talon tries to reach for her, but doesn't quite make it, so she reaches out and takes his hand. Her expression softens.

  He says, "Don't be hard on Luka. You don't know him like I do. He's one of the good ones. It's not his fault he's in this situation, is it? No, that's Dawson's fault, and Luna's. Leave him alone."

  Luka coughs into his hand and shoots Talon a not-so-subtle grin behind his fist. "Don't worry about me, buddy. I can fight my own arguments."

  "Battles, I think you mean."

  "Those, too." Luka shrugs. "Anyway, it isn't like I have a lot of choice, is it?"

  It occurs to me then that he does indeed have a choice. It's an unpleasant one... I don't bring it up. Instead, I just wait for him to continue.

  "Look, if I have to kill to stay alive, I'm damn well going to make sure it's people who deserve it."

  I shake my head. "Who are we to say who deserves it? People aren't really bad or good, Luka. They do the best they can with the hand they're dealt." Sort of like him murdering strangers to stay alive, if I can even call him that. Alive? Undead?

  Luka takes a step toward me and drives one fist into his other palm. "You think Dawson isn't bad or good? What about Luna? They both had the chance to make right a thousand wrongs in one fell swoop, but instead, they only want more. The world is full of real evil—and I need to find and catch some bad guys so I can be sure I don't have to take out someone I wouldn't want to hurt on a normal day."

  I can only stare. I don't know how to respond to that, in large part because I am not sure he's wrong. Dawson and Luna certainly don't seem to fit my narrative. Maybe it's me who needs to believe that, not the way the world is. "What about their families, then? Are they more deserving of suffering than you are?"

  Luka spins on his heels, but I don't miss the flare of his eyes as he turns away. "You're the one who said it isn't about what people deserve. I'll be busy planning how to deal with the hand I was dealt, if you need me."

  His tone makes me pretty sure that nothing short of an atom bomb would meet his criteria for "needing him." The door slamming shut as he leaves makes me jump, even though I knew it was coming.

  The room is painfully, awkwardly silent after that, until Birka says, "Mirella, dear?"

  "Yeah?"

  "I understand where he's coming from. I'd do almost anything to save Talon, and that is no different than what he's doing. If you really want to settle your conscience, find a cure for your friend. Bring him back for good, so he doesn't have to do what he must to survive."

  A thought hits me, stronger than before, sending a chill from my scalp down to the back of my legs as I realize the impact of the thought. There is a cure. Death. Just let him die, let it all come to its natural end, the end Fate had in store for him when he died at Luna's hand.

  I shake my head to chase away the horrifying thoughts. No, I need to find a different plan, a plan to cure Luka. We also need to figure out a way to heal Talon faster. Something Luna did to him continues to hurt him, draining him, but if we can heal him faster than he is drained, he stands a chance.

  In the back of my mind, another thought boils and bubbles. If we find a way to stop Dawson, find a way to kill Luna, then Talon will be saved along with the rest of the world. She can't keep hurting him if she's dead, and she can't keep using Dawson's resources if we stop him once and for all. Either would work, both would be better—no matter the cost.

  After all, we all just do the best we can with the cards we are dealt, right? I push away the answering doubts and focus on the things I can change. Apparently, that now includes Fate itself, for some. I'm sure going to try to change Dawson and Luna's fate.

  Chapter 12

  Birka stands abruptly from her position on the couch, startling me. "We," she says like some sort of proclamation, looking around the room, "must go to the Emporium."

  From the recliner, which has by some unwritten consensus become mine, I stare at her over a forkful of eggs. "The what?"

  From the corner of my eye, I see Talon, sitting on the other recliner, set down his plate with still-trembling hands. He hasn't gotten much better. "I was not aware you knew of the Emporium."

  Birka lets out a hiss of air, sounding like a snake laughing. "Of course I know about it. Mortals Landing was my realm, and it was my job to know anything and everything that happened there."

  "And yet, you never did anything to close it down?"

  She smiles at her son, and for just a second, an image of her, young and strong, standing over a juvenile Talon superimposes itself over the two of them. "I did close down the first one. Another was up and running within hours. That's when I decided it was better to monitor the place and see who was coming and going than to constantly send my forces to chase ghosts."

  I glance around the room. Glenn looks uncomfortable, shifting in his seat and staring down at his plate of eggs and bacon. That's odd. Whatever this Emporium is, it was obviously illegal, and he doesn't like the fact that it was monitored.

  I’ll have to ask about that, someday, when we’re not all together. I’m sure his involvement will make an interesting tale, and probably reveal much about enigmatic Glenn. Instead of asking him about it, though I really want to, I repeat myself. "What is this 'Emporium'?"

  Luka replies, "Even in Hollows Ground, we’d heard of it. It was one place we could trade information across sides. The Emporium is an underground marketplace, but the only goods bought and sold are the illegal kind—and information."

  I look to Glenn. Will he add anything to that, or will he keep hiding in his eggs?

  "What could we possibly need from that place?” Talon asks. His tone and the wrinkle of his nose, like he smells something rotten, tell me all I need to know about his opinion of the place.

  Birka sets down her plate and lets out a long breath before standing fully upright to look around the room from person to person, meeting everyone's gaze. "Dawson's operation is surely large enough that someone involved is going to try to profit off the information. It's been long enough, and I have no doubt the information is valuable enough. If we can go
there, get in undetected, and then make some discreet inquiries, we may be able to find out where he is. Or where Luna is. They've had time to rebuild, now, so perhaps we can find out to which location the main lab has been moved. Unless, of course, anyone else has a better idea?"

  She waits patiently, looking around the room still, but no one argues the point. Certainly, I don't. I find myself actually kind of eager to see this place. Plus, perhaps I can find out where my family is being held captive, though I'll keep that goal to myself unless I absolutely have to enlist help from one of them.

  I imagine a clock ticking, and after the fifth tick, the room still in silence, I say, "Okay. When do we leave? If we're lucky, I'll be able to use my own magic to find our answers for free."

  Then begins a storm of planning and suggestions, but through it all, Talon looks at me from across the room. Our gazes lock, and I find I can't read his expression. It doesn't look happy, though.

  When one hears of a place with a title like the "Emporium," one might expect it to be lavish. I had envisioned something out of a Roman gladiator movie, full of tapestries and people lounging on pillows. What I get, however, as I step through the portal—one of many around the world, I'm told—doesn't match that image in any way. It resembles nothing so much as a dim and dingy warehouse with no windows, and the only light from row upon row of florescent bulbs on the ceiling. All along the walls, makeshift booths have been erected, while the middle floor is occupied by booths, desks, and chairs. A cacophony of voices fills the space as some people hawk their wares, while others sit silently waiting. I imagine those are the ones with information to sell.

  A slender man wearing a leather jacket and tattered blue jeans, with long, greasy hair and a black eye patch over his left eye—complete with a fake diamond in the center of it—steps up and grabs my arm. "Hey, lady. You shouldn't be in a place like this all alone. You need guards? Buy some of mine. Why pay a salary when you can pay a one-time fee? You need protection, here."