Cursed Witch

by September Stone

  I turn each page gingerly. The paper is stiff, but brittle, and I’m afraid too much pressure will cause it to disintegrate against my fingers. About halfway through the book, the content changes from a series of spells to a list of meditations invoking the different elemental magics. I read each of them, paying special attention to the one about the earth affinity. I make a mental note of the approximate place in the book so I can show Taj the fire meditation during our next break.

  My mind lingers on the prayer-like words as I continue through the book, but nothing catches my eye until I’m nearly to the end. I turn the page to find an entry unlike any I’ve seen so far: a portrait. While there have been sketches in several of the other books, those have been limited to detailed drawings of a particular herb or flower. The image staring back at me is of a man. The long, fluid pen strokes suggest a talented artist created the rendering, and I can’t help tracing my fingers along the lines.

  The man in the sketch is slender and tall, with light hair hanging past his shoulders. Everything about him exudes power. I check the preceding page, but there’s no mention of who the drawing depicts.

  I turn to the next page, hoping to find the answer there. Instead, I’m met with a second portrait. This man is broader in the shoulders, with dark hair and a heavy brow.

  Frustration bubbles in my stomach. Did the author of this book decide to pursue a career in art halfway through? Why add such detailed images without any context?

  I flip another page and grit my teeth when I’m greeted with another drawing—until I realize the woman depicted looks familiar. Her ink-black hair flows in sheets around her shoulders, giving her a distinguished and mysterious appearance.

  It’s not a perfect rendering, but I would recognize the woman anywhere. It’s Elowen. Does that mean one of the men is Rahn? I turn to the next page, hoping for some clarification and read the half-page scrawling eagerly.

  Few are called to be mages, and fewer still possess the strength of will to attain the mantle. But one may increase his powers by meditating on each elemental magic in its time. Even now, I am writing what is necessary to broaden one’s control over the natural world. Continue on in due course.

  I flip the page, but nothing else is written. “Dammit.” I bang my fist onto the tabletop for emphasis.

  Taj’s eyebrows hike as he glances up. “What’s up, love?”

  “This book.” I point at it like it’s offended me. “A billion pages about spells for removing warts and warding off bad crops and the evil eye, and the last few pages finally start talking about something useful. Now the book’s ended and the author left a big ‘to be continued’ at the end.”

  “So?” Silas asks, his eyes still on the book in front of him. “Find part two and get on with it.”

  I gesture at the mess of books in front of us. “It doesn’t look like there’s any kind of organization to all this. Besides, we don’t even know if Elowen has the second book. There’s no telling where she got these to begin with. Maybe she only took this one because this guy did a nice drawing of her.”

  Taj’s back straightens. “A drawing?”

  “Yeah. One of Elowen, and two more drawings of men I don’t recognize.”

  At this, even Silas perks up at his end of the table.

  My skin prickles as the two of them exchange a glance. “Am I missing something?”

  “Three mages?” Silas asks, his tone indicating the reason for their fascination should be obvious.

  “Maybe they’re mages,” I mutter. “It doesn’t say specifically.”

  Taj offers a gentle half smile. “Mages are hard enough to come by, but great mages are even more rare. There have been three great mages throughout history. Rahn was the first. Elowen, clearly, is the most recent.”

  I turn to the middle portrait and study the man’s brooding face. “Who’s the second, then?”

  Taj trades a look with Silas, who answers. “The second great mage was Elowen’s teacher. Casek.”

  The name pings a memory in the back of my mind and it takes a few moments to root it out. “Poe mentioned the name when we were talking about the second river of Twin Rivers.”

  Taj nods. “The Lost River is in the Darklands with Casek now. It has been since Elowen defeated him a century ago.”

  Unbidden, a short humph of laughter bubbles out of me. “What chance did it really have with a name like the Lost River?”

  Silas shakes his head. “Thaumaturgic River.”

  Taj’s brow draws together. “Thauma-what-now?”

  Crossing his arms over his chest, Silas leans back in his chair. “I get why Bryn doesn’t know all this, but what’s your excuse? This is basic history one-oh-one stuff.”

  Taj opens his mouth, presumably to defend himself, but Silas speaks over him.

  “The river Elowen keeps watch over is the Healing River. It can cure physical ailments—as long as they don’t have a magical source. The Thaumaturgic River is the one that could heal magical injuries or curses. Legend says it could also strengthen a person’s magic under the right circumstances.”

  I look back down at the portrait. “And this Casek guy managed to take that with him when he got sent to the Darklands? Does anyone else find that a little… unsettling?”

  Silas shrugs. “There’s no telling what kind of power the Thaumaturgic River has in the Darklands. They say it’s a place where no magic can thrive. Besides, contrary to legend, there’s no way to know that the river is down there with him at all. Maybe it ended up somewhere completely different. It’s not like someone can pick up a phone and have a chat with ole Casek.”

  A shiver courses down my spine and I close the book. While I know Casek can’t see me through a drawing, something about the formerly innocuous portrait now feels threatening. “I guess I should start looking for book two.”

  As I start digging through the piles, Silas and Taj return to their own research. But as I open tome after tome in hope of finding of the same handwriting as the first book, my mind drifts to the Thaumaturgic River. If it were still in this realm, would its magic be strong enough to break the curse the guys and I are under? I imagine approaching the riverbank, feeling the magic rolling off the water as it surges along its path. In my mind’s eye, the river is broad, but not so deep or swift as to be dangerous.

  How did the river work? Would a person just have to touch the water to be healed? Drink it? Or would the type of contact depend on the kind of ailment?

  For something as strong as the death mark, we probably would have to bathe in the water. The scene unfolds in my mind. Calder removes his t-shirt to reveal his long, lithe torso. Taj’s sculpted abs glisten in the sunlight. Poe’s muscles cord as he pulls his shirt over his head, revealing his powerful body underneath. My mind fills in tiny details for Silas—the taut stomach with a few curls of dark hair around the navel, the V of his hips. And when the four of us descend into the water, they form a circle around me to make sure I’m not whisked away. While it’s not necessary, I don’t object, taking the opportunity to brush against each of them, to steady myself against their chests. I slip on a slick rock and Poe catches me from behind. My skin tingles at his touch and against my backside presses the heat of his…

  “I think I found something.”

  Taj’s voice pulls me out of my reverie, and I squeeze my thighs together to quell the buzz building in my core. “What is it?”

  He tilts his head to the side. “Are you all right? You look flushed.”

  Every atom of my body feels flushed. As much as I know I should be focused on finding information about the staff, my body and mind seem to have different needs altogether. Maybe it’s because of what happened in the forest with Calder this morning. Or what started to happen in the kitchen with Taj and Calder. That must be why I got carried away imaging a scenario with the five of us all naked together. Why I could almost feel Poe’s hardness…

  I bite the inside of my lip and press my legs tighter together, wanting to stem the f
low of the wetness gathering there. What is going on with me? I’ve loved Calder for so long, and I care about Taj so deeply. The fact that the two of them are okay with sharing me between them should be more than enough to satisfy me.

  “Do you need some water?”

  Taj is still looking at me with his adorable confused expression. I shake myself and force a smile. “I’m fine. I was just… still thinking about the Lost River. What did you find?”

  While Taj’s brow is still knit, he passes a book across the table to me. “This is a locating spell.”

  I spin the book and set it down. “I made one this morning. It won’t be ready to use for a week.”

  Taj shakes his head. “Not that kind. This one is specific for finding information. It looks pretty complex, but I was thinking if we tried to cast it together, we might have a shot.”

  “Oh.” I glance down at the book, but none of the words register. While I’ve crafted countless potions in the past and created more than my fair share of charms, I’ve cast precious few spells in my life—and never with another person. I blink a few times and force my eyes to scan the page. There are no herbs or gems involved. Just an incantation.

  What if I can’t do it? It’s possible this kind of magic is beyond me.

  “Maybe you should try it by yourself,” I say, pushing the book back toward him.

  “Nonsense. It’ll go faster and be more accurate with the two of us.”

  Instead of looking at Taj, I turn toward Silas. His eyebrows hike and he offers upturned palms. “Not really my area of expertise. I’d go with what he says.”

  I blow out a measured breath before turning back to Taj. I’m not sure what I thought Silas would say, but something in me hoped he could get me out of this.

  “How do we do this?”

  Taj stands and rounds the table. “Joint spells work best when there’s physical contact.”

  “And that’s my cue to leave,” Silas grumbles, springing from his seat and heading toward the front door. “I’ve seen enough physical contact from you two already today to last a lifetime.”

  Taj watches him as he goes. He doesn’t sit until the front door is firmly closed behind Silas. “He’s a bit prudish for a daemon.”

  I turn on my spot until I’m facing Taj. Our knees brush, sending sparks up my legs and straight to my traitorous center, which warms at his nearness. “Are daemons notoriously un-prudish or something?”

  Taj opens his mouth to answer before closing it. After a beat, he exhales, his mouth curving. “You know, I’m actually not sure. But on to the matter at hand.” He settles his hands in the space between us, palms up, and I take my cue. When our skin touches, an electric current shoots up my arms.

  The corner of his mouth twitches. “This should work nicely.”

  “What do you mean?”

  His fingers twitch against my wrist. “Nothing. But I’ve done joint spells before, and it usually takes some time to connect one person’s magic to another’s. But I can feel your magic already. I suppose that’s the benefit of casting a spell with someone you…” He stops short, pressing his lips together. “Someone you have a strong connection to.”

  My stomach swoops. I have the distinct impression that isn’t the way he intended to end his sentence, and my heart hammers at the obvious alternative. After our first time together, Taj called me his love, putting a possessive in front of the nickname that comes as easily to his lips as does “mate” when he’s talking with Calder or the other guys.

  I’m not sure whether he’s not ready to use the word as a verb or if he’s not sure I’m ready to hear it. I squeeze his hands. “I have a strong connection to you, too.”

  A smile stretches across his face and the tension drains from his shoulders. “That’s good.”

  I take in a deep breath. “So, how do we do this?”

  “Focus on the staff while we speak the incantation.” He glances at the book and reads the words out loud. I don’t join in until his fourth time through. Although I don’t recognize the language, the cadence of the words feels familiar on my tongue. My confidence grows with each recitation.

  A wind rushes through the cabin, lifting and twirling my hair. I hold tighter to Taj’s hands and fight the urge to open my eyes. The staff. We need to locate the Staff of Rahn. We need to find any information about its whereabouts.

  As abruptly as the wind began, it disappears, leaving an unsettling stillness in its wake. Taj’s fingers pulse mine, and I take the signal to open my eyes.

  An open book hovers two feet above the tabletop, bathed in an iridescent blue glow. Taj stands and puts his hands out below the tome, which drops into his palms like an offering.

  I can barely contain my excitement as he draws the book close enough for us to read. We did it. We actually did it. This book will lead us to the staff, and then we can bring it back to Elowen and be healed.

  But my excitement quickly evaporates as I read the words on the page. The entry says nothing about Rahn or his staff. Instead, there are words like sisterhood and reclusive.

  “It didn’t work.”

  But instead of responding, Taj puts the book down and streaks for the door. He’s probably so disappointed in my lack of spellwork prowess that he can’t handle being around me. But he leaves the door open, and when he calls for the other guys to come to him, my curiosity gets the best of me, and I follow him.

  “You find the staff?” Poe calls, striding in from the center of the clearing. His sweat-slicked skin glistens like diamonds in the fading sunlight and it takes more effort than I’d like to admit to pull my gaze away. Calder’s face is flushed and there’s a streak of mud on his side, but he doesn’t seem to be wincing or favoring one leg over the other as he walks, so I guess he was holding his own against Poe.

  “I found a lead,” Taj says. “Bryn and I did an information locating spell, and it pointed to a group known to deal in secrets. The Shadow Sisters.”

  The words send a tingle down my spine. That name was nowhere on the page. How does Taj know that’s who the author was talking about?

  Poe doesn’t disguise a snort of laughter. “The Shadow Sisters? We might as well write a letter to Santa and hope for the best.”

  Silas sighs. “As much as it pains me to agree with the feline, he’s right. The Shadow Sisters are a myth.”

  The pinprick of hope that had begun to blossom in my chest is blotted out. So I was right after all. The spell didn’t work.

  Except Taj doesn’t seem dissuaded by the news that our only lead is fictional. I keep my eyes fixed on his face as I walk around to join the others. “What do you know that we don’t?”

  A smile curves his full lips. “The Shadow Sisters are very real indeed. And I happen to know just where to find them. It’s a bit of a drive from here, but even with a few hours of sleep, I could make it there by morning.”

  Calder scoops his shirt off the grass and dabs his forehead with it. “Excellent. I’ll head out with you.”

  I bounce on the balls of my feet. “Me, too.”

  “Oh, no you don’t,” Poe says quickly. “Silas, you go with them as backup. Bryn, you stay here.”

  I cross my arms over my chest. “You’re not the boss of me, Poe.”

  Poe mimics my posture, the move no doubt more impressive on him than on me. He seems to double in size, and part of me wants to give in to whatever he wants just to make him stop looking at me with such a piercing gaze.

  “You’re right. I’m not. But I do have a little more experience in the outside world than you.” He glances at Taj. “Now, I only know stories about the Shadow Sisters, but it doesn’t seem to me they’d be the kind of people to keep something like the staff.”

  Taj nods. “I think that’s an accurate assessment. They deal more in information. It’s not their way to keep something like that in their midst. It would make them a target.”

  Poe turns back to me. “And since there might still be a target on your ass, it’s best if you lie low.”


  I drop my hands to my sides, knowing I’ve lost the battle. “What am I supposed to do, then? Just sit around? Keep researching in case this lead doesn’t pan out?”

  “Of course not,” Poe says as if it should be obvious. “You’re going to start training.”

  Chapter Four

  Taj

  With each hour that passes, I regret leaving Bryn behind with Poe. Not because I think he’ll harm her in training or that he’ll take advantage of her. And despite the unconventional arrangement between me, Bryn, and Calder, I’m not worried about something consensual happening between Bryn and Poe. Although it’s not ideal, I haven’t set myself up in a position to be upset if Bryn makes that choice.

  No, my regret stems from the simple fact that I miss her.

  She’s only been a constant presence in my life for the last couple of days. Before that, I would sometimes go almost a week without being put on her rotation at Mona’s compound. And although I would miss her in those times, it’s nothing compared to the ache permeating my chest now.

  But Poe was right—bringing Bryn on this mission would put her at risk unnecessarily. And since there’s no telling what our next step in finding the staff will be, it’s best to keep Bryn safe for as long as possible.

  I check the map on my phone as the car we rented in Twin Rivers cruises down the pine-lined two-lane highway. “Good news, mates. We’re nearly there.”

  “Good,” Silas grumbles from the back seat. “My ass is completely numb.”

  “Thanks for that little nugget of information,” Calder says drily. “Just stick to the plan, okay?”

  Silas doesn’t bother responding. We’ve gone over the plan in painstaking detail over the last four hours. Since I’m the one with the connection to the Sisters, I’ll do the talking. Calder and Silas aren’t to speak unless asked a direct question. As a general rule, the Sisters distrust men until they’ve proven themselves. Not that women outside their ranks fare much better. The Sisters can be sweet as honey to a strange female, but if that woman gives any indication that she isn’t interested in joining their ranks, they can turn vicious. My last partner in the Liberation Front almost lost his cousin to the Sisters several years back.