The Love Curse

by Rebecca Sky

  He’s deep in thought, too deep. The muscle on his jaw contracts, the same way it does when he’s angry.

  Say something, please, Ben.

  He opens the bridge-room door, and walks over to the rails. A gust of salty wind pushes strands out of my ponytail. I raise a shaky hand, trying to brush them from my eyes, but they keep slipping through my gloved fingers. After a few more tries I give up, pulling the elastic from my hair so I can start over. Ben leans against the railing, arms crossed over his chest, watching me standing in the doorway to the bridge.

  The tight feeling in my stomach returns. I hold my hair back, trying to get it under control. There’s a twinkle in his eyes that I’ve never seen before. He walks to me, slow, cautious steps, stopping an arm’s length away. All my nerves start firing. It’s the most intense I’ve ever felt. I might explode at any moment.

  I ache to kiss him, to test if reality is better than my dream. I put the elastic in my mouth, hoping to distract my lips, and I work to contain every stray strand of hair.

  In a last act of defiance, the desire in me takes control. I look back at Ben, hoping to catch that strange look one last time. It’s gone. His face is blank, void of emotion. He steps closer.

  ‘Don’t do that,’ he says.

  I freeze.

  ‘Your hair.’ He steps closer, so close I could lean forward and touch his lips with my own. ‘You look really …’ For the first time since we met, Ben sounds unsure, stumbling over his words. ‘… pretty when it’s down.’

  I gasp, dropping both hands to press my flipping stomach.

  Between blowing strands, his eyes fixate on me – my hair, my skin, my neck, my lips. His eyes burn a trail everywhere they go.

  Suddenly, I’m doubting everything. Having him, being able to touch him freely, feel his skin under my hands – it’s better than never being able to look at him again. Or looking and not remembering. Maybe Ma was right in turning Dad. Maybe being selfish is the only way to find happiness as a Hedoness. I could make Ben mine for ever. It’s what I’m made to do – it’s my gift.

  I push back the niggling doubt and let myself fully absorb the pleasure coursing through me. I close my eyes, concentrate on my tight muscles, on the tingle of anticipation on my lips. My gift moves me from deep within. A symphony of pleasure and power. I open my eyes, locking on Ben. I can take him.

  But then he smiles.

  And I feel so wrong.

  More than I want to be happy, I want Ben to be happy.

  I’m about to return to the bridge room when he steps so close I can feel his breath on my skin.

  ‘I think you seriously need to reconsider Mexico,’ he says. His eyes flick to my lips. ‘The idea of you in jail … it splits me up, Rach.’

  I want to, I so badly want to my entire body hurts. I take in large mouthfuls of the salty air, trying to calm the buzz inside. I have to shut off my gift, before I do something I’ll regret. The only thing I need to focus on is getting to New York, and ending this curse once and for all. Then future girls can be with the boys they love.

  ‘We’re almost there,’ I say, turning to grab a blanket and pillow and heading below deck.

  I’ll protect Ben from everything. Even myself.

  I lean against the railing, watching New York come into view.

  We’ve only had a few hours of sleep. Ben tossed and turned and finally lifted anchor early morning. The roaring engine woke me up.

  We pass Staten Island and Jersey City in the still quiet darkness. But as we near the blue-green Statue of Liberty the sun begins to rise over the buildings, waking the sleepy city. A blazing glow falls over the water, turning the buildings black in its shadow. It’s a beautiful sight to see, especially the way the shadow of the statue stretches and wakes with the sun.

  Something about the giant statue is comforting. After all, I’m about to do just that – sacrifice my life for a greater liberty. If everything goes as planned, I’ll be freeing countless men like Dad. Men who forgot the simple joys of choosing love, caring for their children, or living life to the fullest for themselves.

  I glance back at Ben. His eyes are hard in front as he guides us deeper into the bay.

  There’s a chopping noise overhead and I look up to see a helicopter. I head into the bridge room. Ben stiffens as I come up behind him.

  ‘Almost there,’ I say.

  ‘Yeah. Almost.’

  I glance through the skylight to see the helicopter flying lower. ‘Is that the helicopter from Outlet Bay?’ I ask.

  ‘I doubt it,’ Ben says, nodding to the wheel. He slows us down and switches places.

  I focus on the water. There are more boats and buoys everywhere here – it’s not as easy as driving in open ocean.

  ‘I don’t think so. You’re just being paranoid.’ He smiles and steps beside me, grabbing the wheel and bringing us back up to speed. He’s probably right. I have so much I have to do before the turning. My mind’s inventing problems.

  We manoeuvre through the straits and slip into one of the water taxi docks.

  ‘Help me with the dock lines,’ Ben says, his muscles tighten under the heavy coils of rope. ‘We have to hurry before someone asks for a permit.’ He nods to the ropes by the stern.

  I try to lift the pile and barely get it an inch off the deck. Ben’s already secured the front of Betsy, and heads my way. I’m no help to him so I hop over the rails, lowering myself to the dock. ‘I’ll go find us a taxi.’

  He stands, uncoiling the next pile. ‘Maybe we should stick together.’

  ‘I won’t be long.’ It’s a lie, but I can’t risk Ben trying to stop me.

  I slip through the dock gate and head to the street. I’ve lived in New York City my entire life and I’ve never felt more pride for it as I do now. The city comes alive before me. Steam rising from grates, the honking of horns, the clanging of bike bells, the smell of people, garbage, cars, fresh coffee. It brings back a familiarity that I desperately missed.

  I stand on the corner, waving at every taxi that passes. Some drivers smile and continue on, some don’t even make eye contact. This part of getting a cab used to be annoying, and now it’s as welcome as an old friend. Finally, one pulls over and I pop my head in the front. ‘Morning.’

  ‘Morning, miss. Where to?’

  ‘The office of the Chief Medical Examiner, please.’

  It feels good to be back in my city. I find myself smiling as we pass familiar places, almost forgetting what I’ve come home to do. I plunk my Olympus credit card info into the touchscreen, paying to access the Internet, and bring up Quiver. Surrender2Love is online – I open our chat thread and type.

  ME: I’m in New York. Heading to complete my plan. See you soon.

  S2L: Roger that, I’ll get in position.

  I bring up my chat history with Marissa, and even though she’s offline I type a quick message.

  ME: I hope you and Kyle are OK.

  I want to say more, to tell her about meeting Eros and all that. But she wouldn’t understand why I’m about to do what I’m about to do, and I don’t even know if she’ll see it.

  The cab pulls up to the stop. ‘Keep the meter running, please.’ The big glass building presses down on me. This is it. This is where everything changes. I tug on my gloves and step towards it.

  The doorman ushers me in with a smile and motions to the reception desk.

  ‘Can I help you?’ a lady asks.

  ‘I’m here to see the Chief Medical Examiner.’

  She directs me down the hall to a large empty waiting room. There’s a man sitting behind a desk and he looks up from his file as I enter.

  ‘Do you have an appointment?’ he asks.

  ‘I’d like to see the Chief Medical Examiner, if possible. Is he in?’

  He sets the file down, an annoyed look crossing his face. ‘Yes, but he’s not available. What’s the reason for your visit?’

  He’s rude – that should make this easier. But it doesn’t. I’m fighting
back the urge to run as he frowns at me, teetering in place before the desk.

  I can do this, I’m a fighter.

  ‘I just wanted to ask a few questions for a class project. But thank you for your time.’ I take off my glove and offer him my hand. He does a half eye roll and reaches forward. The closer we come, the more my outstretched arm shakes. Just as we’re about to touch, a tear trickles down my cheek. His eyes register something’s wrong. He pulls back, but my fingertips brush his. Power pushes against my skin, and for the first time in my life, I let it free.

  The man’s eyes roll back and his body convulses as the strength pounds through me, cutting me up, stabbing and stinging and burning me alive. I force my lips shut and smother the urge to scream. Then it shifts, and the pain falls away, and my nerves tingle with a satisfying sensation that calms my entire body. Still, I refuse to savour this moment. I’ve become the person I hate. ‘Take me to the Chief Medical Examiner,’ I say.

  The taxi pulls up to the kerb by the dock. It’s been almost an hour – Ben’s going to be furious. I pay for my fare and give a fifty-dollar tip. ‘Can you wait for me? I have somewhere else to go. I’ll just get my friend. Keep the meter running, I’ll make it worth your time.’

  He looks at the tip amount on the receipt, then back at me, and nods.

  The cab pulls into the bus lot, and I squeeze through the sloppily chained dock gate, rushing down the short ramp, around the corner … I freeze.

  Ben stands on the edge of the wharf a few yards away. His back to the water, his arms raised. A man and woman in black point guns at him. I cover my mouth to keep from screaming. My heart races madly. His eyes flick to me and back to them so quickly they don’t notice. He shakes his head, just enough for me to know the warning.

  I glance around, not sure what I should do. Do I leave Ben and try to break the curse? Or do I do for him what he’s done time and time again for me. Do I save him?

  I spot an oar in a nearby boat. I slink along the dock, quietly, taking careful steps. The red potion around my neck burns in reminder of what I’m risking.

  ‘Where is she?’ the woman yells, shaking her gun.

  Something about her is uncomfortably familiar. I struggle to place it and when I do, ice goes down my spine – she’s the same lady I saw getting out of the helicopter at the church.

  ‘Rachel’s in the boat.’ Ben slowly points to Betsy, and when they look, he takes the chance to caution me with his eyes. He wants me to stop, to run. Instead, I reach up on my tiptoes and grab the oar, careful not to knock the empty cans of beer resting on the wooden rail. I slide it over the side and just as the tip clears the edge, I bump a can and it falls. I take a heavy step forward, managing to catch it, but the oar hits the side of the boat with a smack. The gunmen stiffen, and start to turn.

  I panic and throw the can to the far side of the dock. They follow the splash, and Ben motions his eyes to the guy on the left. No time to hesitate. I charge, oar raised high, and whack him in the back. The wood splinters over his head, and the man falls into the cold Hudson. Behind me there’s a scuffle, then a gun blast. I dive for the dock, rolling to the side to see Ben wrestling the lady. I scramble to my feet, grabbing the broken oar.

  From my angle, it looks like she’s trying to kiss him.

  The Committee.

  Ben pushes her face back with one hand while the other tries to get the gun. My heart races, and I slam the oar over her wrist. She drops the pistol and Ben punches her. She tumbles back. Ben uses the opening and grabs my hand, kicks the gun in the water and drags me after him, the oar still locked in my grip.

  I’m panting so hard my lungs hurt. I’ve never been more thankful for the gloves, because with my heart racing and Ben’s hand in mine, I have no control.

  The woman clambers to her feet behind us. The man pulls himself out of the river. They’re on our tail, shouting at us. Ben pushes me through the gate ahead of him. I stop and turn around.

  ‘Rachel, leave it!’ he shouts.

  I shove the splintered oar through the chains, bolting the door. ‘Over there.’ I point to the cab. And we rush for it, as they climb the gate behind us.

  I dive in the back, Ben behind me. ‘Drive!’ I scream. The driver jolts alert, sitting up and starting the engine.

  ‘Hurry!’ I pat the seat impatiently.

  They’re over the gate, chasing after us.

  The driver’s eyes widen, and he pulls into traffic as the gunmen step into the road. They throw a rock at the cab, shattering the back window. A rain of glass falls over us.

  ‘What the—’ the driver says, ducking, and taking his foot off the accelerator.

  ‘Drive!’ says Ben. ‘Turn left!’

  The driver listens, cutting off a town car, and weaving between buildings at ungodly speeds. I cling to Ben as he watches out the back.

  Finally, we turn on to Bowery and merge with a sea of taxis.

  ‘We lost them,’ Ben says.

  We all let out a long breath.

  I brush glass off my body, realizing I’m bleeding somewhere. My heart still races like crazy.

  The driver spins in his seat. ‘I’m calling the cops and you’re paying for that window.’

  ‘We will,’ I say. ‘I’ll pay for a week of work while you get it repaired too.’

  ‘Yeah?’ He looks to Ben to see if I mean it.

  ‘She’s good for it,’ Ben says.

  ‘No need to call the cops,’ I tell him.

  ‘My insurance says otherwise,’ the driver says.

  I take a deep breath and glance at Ben. It’s time. ‘Just take us to the precinct on East 67th.’

  Ben raises a questioning brow. He’s still panting hard from the fight. But he smiles at me. ‘Thank you for what you did back there.’ He wraps an arm around my shoulder and sinks back in the seat, and I want to lean into him, to let him stay like this, to savour this last time together. But when I touch him now all I feel is the impending loss.

  ‘One last chance,’ he says, nudging my side. ‘Mexico?’

  I smile at his determination and stare out the window. My smile slips when the familiar thump of helicopter propellers drowns out the traffic noise.

  ‘We’re surrounded by taxis,’ Ben says, noticing my sudden shift. ‘We’re fine.’

  ‘As long as they don’t spot the broken window,’ I say. This makes his smile slip too.

  I try not to worry. I’m minutes away from walking into the station, taking a police officer hostage and demanding the release and pardon of my friends. Whoever is in the helicopter, the Committee or police, they won’t be able to stop me then.

  As we drive deeper into the heart of the city, the awkwardness in the cab can be cut with a knife. The cab driver keeps glancing at us, and Ben leans back, watching the helicopter circle above.

  ‘East 67th, eh? You kids going to the protests?’

  Ben sits up. ‘Protests?’

  ‘Mostly about the monsters taking our boys. But some people are protesting that the cops got some Sisters of the cloth locked up. A couple of my buddies who drive the east routes have been complaining about business. Most of the roads are blocked by crowds.’

  I glance at Ben, eyes wide. This is what Paisley was talking about.

  ‘How long have they been in custody?’ Ben asks.

  ‘A couple of weeks. I’m not sure. The cops keep breaking it up, but the protesters just come back. It got bad down there the last couple of days.’

  ‘Maybe we should avoid that area of town,’ Ben says, his words thick with hope.

  ‘No, I’d like to see the protests.’ I sit forward as the driver slows the cab and pulls over.

  ‘Why are we stopped on Lexington?’ Ben asks.

  The man points down the road to a throng of people. ‘This is as close as I get.’

  A group of women hand out picket signs to passerbys that read Save Our Boys, The Vampires are Here, and my personal favourite, GET THE MONSTERS OUT OF NEW YORK.

  ‘You kids be
careful,’ the driver warns as Ben opens his door.

  I hand up the Olympus card. My free hand goes to the vial around my neck, feeling the cool hard glass. My heartbeat quickens again. I’ll have to drink it soon.

  The driver passes back the point-of-sale machine and I enter in a twenty-thousand-dollar tip. That should cover the window and his time off work, with a bit extra for any trauma. When the receipt prints, the driver’s eyes widen.

  ‘Miss, I think you made a mistake.’

  ‘No. Please, you keep it,’ I say, as I hurry from the cab.

  ‘I won’t call the cops,’ he yells after us.

  Ben jogs to catch up and positions himself protectively in front of me, leading the way through the crowd, deep into the heart of the mob. Every once in a while, he turns around and mouths, ‘Mexico?’ Each time I force a smile and push him forward. This is my destiny. Eros said so himself. We were always going to meet, I was always going to be the next one to try and break the curse. That’s how I’ll be remembered – like Lady Liberty or Joan of Arc.

  I feel for the protection of the vial, keeping my hand there, pinning it down for fear it will somehow get bumped off by a passing elbow or a waving sign.

  People push into my back, front, sides. It’s impossible to avoid them. I fight down my gift as it stirs at the contact.

  The large brick building of the police headquarters comes into view over the crowd, and Ben holds up his hand, stopping me. Remnants of burning metal scatter the front stairs, and the crowd-control unit has masks, batons and shields blocking anyone from entering.

  A news helicopter hovers above, filming the scene below. A blue-and-yellow one hovers there too.

  ‘Rach, this isn’t safe. We should come back when this all dies down.’

  ‘It’s never going to be safe,’ I say, pushing past him for a better look.

  I have to find a way into the building. How else will I be able to put on the show of a lifetime? A show. I don’t need to be inside to do that. A new plan starts to formulate and I glance around, looking for where to take my stand. What I’m about to do is dangerous – I need Ben far away. Knowing him, he’ll try to stop me, or protect me, and that won’t do either of us any good.