Cursed

by Shawntelle Madison

  To keep myself in check, I spoke. “You have a lot of books, Mike. Do you have to study magic?”

  “Not as much as I should,” he replied. “I want to study in NYC someday and go to school like other warlocks.”

  My hackles were raised further. Did that mean…?

  “Do you go to school?” I asked Carrie.

  “No, we’re homeschooled,” Mike said for her.

  Which means no. “Who teaches you?”

  Mike shrugged. “Mom used to teach us, but now Dad does it.”

  I snorted. “When does that happen?”

  “When he finds time…” Mike’s voice faded a bit. “I’m the one who teaches now.”

  Oh, God, that’s why these kids couldn’t cast a spell. “Umm, Mike, no more spellcasting on the food. Sooner or later you’re gonna create something you can’t handle.”

  He shrugged. “We try our best.”

  “I know you do—which is why I’m offering a hand while I’m here. Your dad has an important story to finish.” I motioned for him to keep drawing.

  While he worked on the sketch of his family, I couldn’t help thinking about growing up with my parents. No matter how many crazy things went down, my loud overwhelming Russian family was somewhat stable. They were also present.

  Even with my brief shunning from the pack last year, I managed to get my life back on track.

  What chance did these kids have now? Would they grow up and not know their father since he was determined to find oblivion with his words? Watching their father hard at work unnerved me in other ways: Was this what I was like when I was obsessed with something? Would I be like this if my mental illness worsened?

  For the rest of the day, I followed Carrie around. Abby never left the office. Even when I brought a tray of two bowls of soup and two coffees, only one person had touched the food. My friend never moved from her place by his side, which meant her author had eaten.

  I mean, who would want working conditions like this. The last time I’d checked on them, Betsy Lee had been working on a flashback scene where the hero’s wife had been murdered.

  Okay, I will admit the writing was vivid with details that shoved me headfirst into the story, but Abby had to see the scene before Betsy Lee put it down on paper.

  Like a good friend, I left some of the pot roast dinner I cooked the kids on a tray outside the door. I didn’t expect Abby to eat again.

  I spent the night in Carrie’s Pepto-Bismol pink room. That way I could at least make sure she took a bath and changed clothes. The little kid couldn’t cast spells to save her life, but she was quite talented at building blanket forts. And, well, if you have a werewolf who can lift heavy stuff, you can make some pretty cool structures.

  The next morning I woke up with Carrie lying next to me. The house was quiet and the sounds of kids snoring in other rooms reached my ears. The whole scene was serene—until something moved across my foot. I leaned my head up to peek.

  The slimy green salad thing was nibbling on my toes.

  And there was more than one of them.

  I sucked in a very long breath. At least today was Sunday.

  How many times had Carrie tried to fix her food? There had to be five of those things wiggling on me. After I made a few good kicks, the creatures ended up hiding among the toys in her room.

  I looked into the fort at Carrie. I couldn’t go without saying goodbye to the sleepy-eyed kiddo. She stirred a bit after I got up.

  “It was great meeting you,” I whispered to her. “I have to take your dad’s assistant…back to New York.”

  “Okay.” She smiled a bit and then turned off to go back to sleep.

  That gesture she made saddened me even further.

  The poor girl was used to not having anyone stay for long. I wanted to hug her—something I rarely did with strangers—but I didn’t. She needed her dad to take care of her.

  I lingered at the door. That was the most I could do.

  Chapter 5

  The full moon loomed and it was time for me to go home and hunt with my pack tonight.

  When I approached the office, the room was dead quiet. The typing had ceased and only Betsy Lee’s even breaths could be heard.

  I found the muse crouched in the corner, her eyes glassy and distant. Her once glossy brown hair was now dull and disheveled.

  Had she rested at all?

  Betsy Lee was fast asleep with his head resting on the keyboard. The words, ‘The End’ lay at the end of a beautiful page.

  I stooped in front of Abby as Betsy Lee began to snore.

  “How you doing?” I touched the side of her face and found her skin was cold.

  “The story is done.” She smiled weakly. “The hero got revenge for his murdered wife and now he can make a new start with the woman who helped him. My author finished her book on time.”

  “Looks like he did.”

  I helped Abby up. She was exhausted, but the next step wasn’t mine to take. “You’re not done yet, kiddo.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “I’m not giving you a ride home until you help your author fix his life.”

  Her eyebrow furrowed. “His life is fine. This next story will be amazing.”

  “Oh, wake up…”

  She crossed her arms. “I have boundaries, Nat.”

  “Yes, let’s pretend nothing’s wrong and do nothing. Like you said a few days ago, you can’t change anything. You’re going to see the same horrible shit over and over again.” I advanced on her to make my frustration clear. “Heidi has let you do these little gigs like this because it’s easy. It’s easy to walk in, do your job, and leave. What if you could really use your gift to do more?”

  “What do you want me to do?” A tear slid down her cheek. “I’m in pieces here.”

  I wiped it away. She wasn’t gonna get a hug like a pup. “You said your gift is that you can be at the right place at the right time for your authors. I know you’re shaken up right now, but you can do even more than Betsy Lee. What you saw in his head isn’t real. This room, this man, those kids. They’re real. Believe in that.”

  I squeezed her arm, and then left the house. It was up to Abby to make this next choice. That was one of the first things Dr. Frank had taught us: we had the power to do more with our lives and not repeat the same undesired behaviors.

  I wasn’t sure how long I waited for Abby, but it was long enough for me to advance through five levels of Candy Crush. And I somehow managed to run out of time and made the candy bombs go off without trying.

  While I waited I also made a decision. If Abby couldn’t help them, I would call Child Protective Services. I wasn’t sure how they’d react showing up to a supernatural home, but that wasn’t for me to decide.

  I was in the middle of my sixth game when I saw Abby through the living room window. Squinting to the point my forehead hurt, I watched the muse place something in her hand on the floor next to the couch.

  She left the house, and then turned to face the doorway. A moment later she picked up the doormat and flipped it on its side. What the heck was she doing?

  My game long forgotten, I stared her down until she smiled at me. A sly, slow grin from the woman who hopefully did me proud.

  “You did it?” I asked.

  She nodded. “I did.”

  I started the car. We drove for a bit and the gooey feeling inside of me increased. Carrie’s life would be better now—but in what way?

  We were a half hour into the ride when I gave in. “I gotta know. What the hell were you doing?”

  “I usually depend on the gods to guide my path, but this time I helped a bit. You ever heard of a Rube Goldberg machine?”

  “Yeah, aren’t those contraptions fit together to do a task? A bunch of unnecessary contraptions to do one simple thing?”

  She nodded.

  “So you setup one?” I asked.

  She rolled down the window and a gentle breeze brought the forest to my nose. Tonight wou
ld be a good run. A good day to be a werewolf.

  Her expression turned wistful. “On a sunny day like this one, the kitchen window will be open. A bird will lightly land on the piece of bread left on the windowsill. As it takes the food, it will knock over a small cup. That cup will roll across the kitchen and bump into this little slimy thing crawling across the floor…”

  I chuckled, thinking of these events taking place.

  Abby continued. “Now that Betsy Lee is done with her book, she will go to sleep for a while, but when she wakes up she’ll walk across the living room and see the gift I left for her there. A picture of her family her eldest drew for her. Betsy Lee thinks about pictures when she misses...When he misses his wife. That photo was taken in front of his house and is now a painting on his wall.” She paused. “If that bird falls in just the right place, soon enough Betsy Lee will be standing outside with his face in the sun and his mind on his family instead of his work.”

  Wonderful. “Good job, Abby.”

  “Thanks.”

  I had to ask. “So, umm, what happens if a bird doesn’t take the bread?”

  Abby sighed and rolled her eyes. “Betsy Lee will trip on the cup and his kids will call an ambulance. They’ll end up happily ever after because he’ll break his hand.”

  I laughed and smiled for the next mile and a half. Now that story seemed more likely…

  The End

  Chapter 1

  Reader Note: This story takes place before Coveted (Coveted #1)

  “There’s no way in hell I’m letting you walk out of this apartment wearing that.” Not that I could say much since I was a mermaid giving fashion advice to a soul-sucking succubus, but I had to say something. I eyed Lilith’s coat with distaste. “The pimp you stole that coat from wants it back. Now.”

  Lilith’s pale face stretched into a grimace. She clutched the over-sized, fur-bearing lapel closer as if I’d snatch it away. That wasn’t happening. Even if it was a designer label.

  “It’s not that bad…” At my side, my cohort in action, Abby, tried to sound enthusiastic. She wasn’t as convincing since her voice trailed off to a whisper.

  I switched on the overhead lights in Lilith’s cramped living room. A bit smaller than most in New York City’s East Village neighborhood. Maybe a bit more lighting—other than the lamp in the corner—would make Lilith’s outfit look better. I quickly flicked the light back off. Nope. Didn’t help. In the light, Lilith’s features were front and center for the world to see. I’ve met succubi before, and none of them looked as broke down as she did. Instead of long, willowy legs, Lilith had knobby knees and thicker calves. Her bright orange dress, which hardly hit mid-thigh, had a lopsided hemline and fit her like a potato sack. Her curves were non-existent, though based on past experience, I knew she shot straight down like puberty had been an afterthought.

  I had a better chance of taking down a pirate ship during calm weather. I cast a glare at Abby. Why did I place a bet with the muse again?

  “I’m not taking back my bet,” Abby chirped.

  Fuck, I hated when it felt like she read my mind. I’d asked her once if her race was telepathic, and she told me she was good at reading people. “I have to understand what my authors need,” she’d said. “When it comes to everyone else, including other supernatural creatures, it’s all about intuition.” Which meant she saw through my antics like a bad check.

  “In less than twenty-four hours, you need to get her a date or else you have to take a stroll into the Atlantic ocean. At least up to your knees,” Abby said firmly.

  A mean bet to make with someone who hadn’t gone into the ocean in over a decade. All the ladies in the room attended my therapy group. We all had issues. Mine in particular were geographic in nature. I didn’t go near large bodies of water anymore. Looking at the sea or smelling it at times left me anxious and on edge. The muse, Abby, had issues after all the years she’d peered into her authors’ heads. In particular, the thriller and horror authors she constantly had to handle. Today, thanks to working with a motivational author who wrote about his jaunts to Amsterdam to find himself in the cannabis coffee shops, Abby handled herself quite well. I, on the other hand, predicted doom.

  “We need to change her clothes,” I whispered to Abby.

  “You promised you’d let her try to dress herself. Like a big girl.”

  I gestured to the Florida orange in front of us. “I think this is an epic fail here. The Spice Girls are walking around naked right now.”

  “They’re not a band anymore,” Abby pointed out.

  “’Cause Lilith stole their wardrobe!” I said.

  “If this isn’t working,” Lilith said crisply, “then what should I wear? I’m ready and willing to get a good man tonight.”

  Her eagerness made me uneasy. While Abby went through the backup-bag, as I called it, I asked Lilith, “When was the last time you ate?”

  “I had a club sandwich for lunch—”

  “I mean eat. As in a succubus meal?”

  She shrugged. “I had drive-thru a few days ago.”

  Drive-through soul-sucking? When she caught my puzzled expression, she said, “There’s a shop on East 24th where people who want to make a quick buck—”

  “—I don’t want to know,” I sputtered. Why couldn’t people just donate blood like the good ol’ days when they needed a few bucks? “Either way, you’re not allowed to eat anyone. No nibbling, no soul-crunching, driving-throughing, whatever the hell you do, it’s not permitted tonight. You got it?”

  “I promise.” Her smile was smug.

  Thirst tickled my senses. An ever-present need since I lived on land. Time for a refill. As I downed a liter of water I tried to muster up some confidence. I made a promise, and if that meant I had to dress up Lilith and put some make-up on her and strut her around East Village in front of my inebriated friends until she got some digits, I’d do what I had to do. There was no way in hell I was setting a foot in East River or the Hudson either. I’d seen too much weird shit floating around in there.

  Abby tossed Lilith a classic red dress and black pumps. “The color red signifies she’s ready to copulate,” Abby said proudly.

  The dress did help. Compared to the last ensemble, this one showed how tiny her waist was. A plus. She even looked a bit better than the muse, who for some reason tended to stick to the color brown. She wore a pair of fitted brown shorts and a halter top. Her legs were long and slim. She’d have no problems getting attention. The ones who’d be able to see her anyway. Only the authors muses inspired could see them and other supernatural creatures like Lilith and myself.

  “Next, make-up,” I declared.

  “I already have some on,” Lilith said.

  “And now you’re taking that off.”

  After Lilith removed her circus make-up, I added the final touch. A bit of foundation and lip-gloss. After she saw my handy work, Lilith made a face. “We’re getting you a man tonight, right?” I reminded her.

  “A man. One with a pulse.”

  “That’s the spirit!” I added.

  I washed my hands and checked myself in the mirror before we left. The last thing I needed was to go out with make-up smeared all over myself. My camouflage tube dress was fitted in all the right places. Revealing for the twins on top and clingy for the curvy hips down low. If I had to be the fish bait to snag her a man, I’d do it. I was the official wingman tonight.

  “Let’s get me a man,” Lilith cheered.

  By the end of the night, I’d regret her words.

  ###

  “So this is the last place where you got close?” Abby asked. She peered at the flashing lights above a night club entrance off East 9th and 2nd Ave.

  Back when I’d lived in the sea, I’d lived as a soldier so I’d planned this out like any other battle. First step, choose the location wisely. I could head to any of the bars in Soho or the Lower East Side. Shit, there were probably eager men waiting in Brooklyn who wanted to give her a good time.
But, the way I saw it, why not first try the place she got close to scoring last time? Maybe it was a bar full of blind dudes.

  The thumps from the music’s bass inside reverberated into my arms and legs. My kind of place already. The line outside was pretty long. Mostly guys and a few girls hanging out and talking. A nicely dressed black man, with a bouncer standing next to him, took their money as they filed inside. We headed for the end of the line.

  “Hey ladies,” the man called out to us. He didn’t even bother looking into my eyes. Just one long look at my thighs down to my leather boots. If he only knew what my legs really looked like he might be passed out on the floor.

  “What’s up?” I said.

  “You pretty ladies want in?” he asked.

  “Sure.” Abby handed me the cash, and I stepped forward to pay. Her bet, her cash.

  I’d asked her once how muses made money. It wasn’t like she could get a regular job since humans couldn’t see her. All she did was give me a sly wink. “I get tips.”

  I didn’t want to elaborate further. Especially since it led to me thinking my best friend got her pocket change from offering additionalservices to her authors.

  Lilith was all smiles. A much more jovial mood than the times in group therapy where she was trying to cop a feel on the male members while she complained about any and everything.

  If I remembered right, her last complaint was: “The last time I was close to a man in bed was at the hospital during visiting hours.”

  The bouncer opened the door and we rushed inside. It was so packed, there were human bodies practically gyrating in the hallway toward the lit dance floor. Pulse-pounding dub-step music hit my ears. The whole space was decorated like a glitter bomb—filled with streamer guts and balloon innards—had exploded. We’d apparently arrived at a great time. I flashed Abby a grin. We’d be out of here soon. The opposite sex filled every corner. Men in casual clothes to ones in suits and ties. A select few without shirts. Very nice.