Cursed Witch

by September Stone

  I roll over and close my eyes, not bothering to say goodnight to any of them.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Silas

  No matter how hard I try to shut off my brain, my thoughts keep spinning like they’re on a carnival ride from hell.

  When we left the healing ward after Calder’s insistence he needed rest, Poe ruled we would leave the Temple as soon as the healers released the guys. I went back to my room to clean up, but there was no need. Everything I brought fits in a backpack, and I’ve avoided settling in because I knew we wouldn’t be staying long.

  Although, if I’m honest, even if we’d been planning to live out the rest of our lives here, I probably still wouldn’t have unpacked. I never do.

  I know I should get to bed because there’s every likelihood we’ll be heading back to Twin Rivers tomorrow, but instead I’m out in the night air, wandering the grounds like a lost animal.

  The staff isn’t here. I’ve tried my best not to think about the implications of that fact, but out here in the stillness, the thoughts will stay at bay no longer.

  This was our best lead. Our only lead. We’ve got less than two weeks before the full moon, a fact the ominous sliver of waxing crescent moon boasts through a smattering of clouds. Going back to Thalassa is out of the question. Even if Bryn hadn’t busted a hole in the side of the undine’s cave, it’s not safe to return after our last encounter. Besides, there’s nothing saying she knows anything more than she already told us. We could try our luck with the Shadow Sisters again, but I’m betting they won’t give us the time of day. As far as they’re concerned, they’ve squared their debt with Taj already.

  The Temple library has proven no more fruitful than the trove of books Elowen gave us to search through. Maybe Bryn can try whatever spell she used to find our first clue, but there’s no guarantee this library has any hints for us.

  We don’t have a next move, and the thought of sitting around, just waiting to die, makes my skin crawl.

  There’s nothing like staring down your own mortality to bring things into sharp relief. I realize I’ve never really had a life. When I was a kid, I could do what I wanted and go where I pleased, but that changed two weeks before my fourteenth birthday when I was bound for the first time. Since then, I’ve been tethered to master after master—always forced to do what they say and never allowed to cultivate desires of my own.

  It’s bullshit, and I’ve never let myself dwell on it before now. I always figured that eventually something would happen and I’d stop being bound. I never thought the something that happened would be the precursor to my death.

  When I pass a large, decorative fountain, movement catches my eye. I freeze before recognizing Bryn’s graceful form.

  On instinct, I scan the garden around her, but she’s alone. I almost turn and head back the way I came to give her some privacy—after all, earth is her element, so maybe she’s recharging or something. But the slump of her shoulders and her shuffling pace tell a different story.

  Before I make the conscious decision to go to her, my feet are on the move. She’s changed out of her Order-issued tunic dress into a baby blue tee-shirt and a pair of cotton shorts with tiny butterflies scattered at intervals. She must have been getting changed for bed when she realized she wouldn’t be able to sleep.

  I know the feeling.

  I’m less than two yards from her and she still hasn’t given any sign she sees me. She walks in a gentle arc, her fingertips skating across the blooms of a hyssop plant as she goes.

  “Hey.”

  Bryn stills, but she doesn’t jump at the sound of my voice. When she turns, her lips twitch, but whatever expression she’s going for doesn’t stick. “Hey.”

  I swing my arms, waiting for her to go on, but she simply gazes at me. I’m the one who interrupted her alone time, so I’m the one who must have something to say. Except I don’t have a reason for being here. I’ve got no news, no plan, no hope.

  The first thought that pops into my head comes out of my mouth. “Are Taj and Calder asleep?”

  She lifts a shoulder. “I haven’t been back since we all left. Calder said he needed rest.”

  I get the feeling there’s more she wants to say about the topic, but she keeps it to herself.

  I take a step closer, our distance feeling more awkward by the moment. “And how about Poe? I thought the two of you… might have some talking to do.”

  Bryn flinches at Poe’s name, and I press my lips together, silently cursing myself for bringing him up at all. I’m not an idiot. Even before what went down in the healing ward, I knew the two of them screwed in the woods. I saw it coming for days, even if the two of them didn’t. And I’ll bet she realized I figured out what happened the second I found them on the trail, but the fact didn’t seem to bother her. It’s one of the traits I admire most about her—she doesn’t give a shit what other people think of her. I suppose that comes from a lifetime of having your free will stripped away. When you get it back, you’ll suffer no fool who tries to tell you what to do with it.

  She settles on a stone bench and pats the spot beside her. I accept the invitation and settle down on the chilly slab. “The truth is, I’m feeling lost.”

  I nod. “Understandable. I mean, we were so sure the staff was here, and now we don’t have any…”

  She shakes her head, and I pause, waiting for her to go on.

  “I don’t know what I’m doing.” She laces her fingers and twists them. “I thought I did. I thought I had it all figured out, but…” She lifts her shoulders. “I met Calder back when we were both parts of Mona’s collection.”

  “Yeah, I figured that out. And I’m guessing the two of you were more than just acquaintances.”

  The corner of her mouth quirks into a half smile. “He was my first boyfriend. And after Mona separated us, I thought I’d never feel the same way about another person, ever.”

  I have a sense I know where her story is heading. “Until Taj started working there?”

  She bites her lower lip. “Not at first. But he wasn’t like the other guards. It turns out there was a very good reason for that—because he was actually undercover and trying to break me free. And when I did get free and Calder showed up… the feelings I had for Taj didn’t disappear.”

  “You care for both of them.” I’m not sure how the two of us ended up talking about her love life, but now that we’re here, I can’t stop. “And Poe, too?”

  Her gaze drops. “Have you ever heard of focuses—for magic?”

  The shift in topic throws me. Maybe she doesn’t want to talk about whatever’s going on between her and Poe. For all I know, she just wanted to know what it would be like to be with him and she never intended for anyone else to find out. “Yeah. I know a bit about focuses. Like when I’m bound to someone, that connection serves as a kind of focus. I have access to abilities when I’m tethered to a master that I wouldn’t ordinarily. It has a bit to do with the master’s will. And it’s different for different daemons. Typically, powers scale in proportion to how powerful the daemon is to begin with. If someone binds a low-level daemon, they’ll be more powerful than they were before, but some stuff’s still going to be beyond them.” I duck my head. “Sorry. Probably more detail than you wanted.”

  “No—it’s interesting. I don’t know much about daemons—or a billion other things, it seems.” She offers a small smile. “You said powers typically scale based on a daemon’s natural ability. Are you typical?”

  I press my lips together, worried I’ve said too much. I’ve grown accustomed to people not taking notice when I speak. It’s surprising that Bryn picked up on such a small detail. “I’m not,” I begin slowly. “In fact, I’ve never met someone else like me. When I’m bound, my access to power changes based on the abilities of the person controlling me. When that person was Lillian…” I blow out a breath. “I’ve… I’ve never had power like that before.”

  Her brow knits, but I don’t think it’s out of concer
n or judgment about what I’ve said. Something in her eyes turns inward, like she’s receding into her own little world.

  When she emerges, a heaviness clings to her. “What if I’m wrong?”

  I tilt my head. “About what?”

  “About everything,” she breathes. “Calder, Taj… Poe. I thought… I thought it was right—that I was doing the right thing. Not just for me, but for all of them. But it can’t be right if any of them are hurting.”

  Although she doesn’t say his name, I know she’s talking about Calder. He turned frosty as soon as he put together that the woman he so clearly loves was off banging the bounty hunter while he lay unconscious. He’s made his peace with Taj being part of the equation, but apparently inviting someone else into the fold is a stone too far. I want to say something to comfort her, but no words come.

  She sighs. “I used to fantasize about getting out of Mona’s compound. I never had any grand plans—just simple things like taking walks in the forest or by a lake. Being able to do what I want when I want. But since I’ve been out, everything feels like it’s spinning out of control.”

  “I get that,” I murmur. “Do you know how many times I’ve been bound?”

  She shakes her head. “How many?”

  “Fifteen. Only three kept me for the full year. The others had specific jobs they wanted to use me for.”

  “What kind of jobs?”

  Under ordinary circumstances, I’d tell someone to get bent for asking me that question. It’s understood in most supernatural circles that daemons don’t talk about their former masters or the orders they were forced to carry out. But Bryn’s expression is open, curious. There’s no hungry glint in her eyes. She’s not looking for gossip; she simply wants to understand more about the world she spent too much time closed off from.

  “Sometimes theft. There are some people who’ve been burned by crews in the past so they’re looking for someone who’s incapable of betraying them. Daemons are good for that.”

  A cloud seems to pass over her features, but she keeps her eyes steadily on mine. “So, if they tell you to do something, you can’t disobey?”

  The simple question brings with it a gut-churning twist of guilt. It’s the question that keeps me up at night when my mind plays out the dark deeds I’ve committed on an endless loop. “It depends. Like I said, some masters are stronger than others. But even if a weaker supernatural is doing the binding, it hurts like hell to fight against their will. The first couple times I was bound, I tried, but I was only able to break away for minutes at most.”

  I remember those early days vividly. I can still feel the white-hot agony of my attempted rebellion. My muscles didn’t so much turn to jelly as lava beneath my skin. Still, after multiple failures I managed to break out of the house my master was keeping me in and run to the next block before he caught up. He beat me so badly I couldn’t walk, and he was so worried I wouldn’t heal in time to participate in the heist he bound me for that he released me and found himself a different, more compliant daemon.

  He left me on the street in the middle of a city I’d never been in before.

  Bryn’s head bobs and her blonde hair brushes against my arm like the feather-light touch of a spring breeze. “What else would they make you do?”

  I almost don’t answer, but something about saying it aloud to the one person I’m positive won’t judge me is almost freeing. Like maybe my past won’t be such a weight on my shoulders if I’m not the only one who carries it. “Sometimes I was muscle for my master. Sometimes I was a spy. A few times I had to use my persuasion on people to convince them to do things my master wanted done.” I flip my left hand over, resting it palm-up on my leg. “And let’s just say this wasn’t my first death mark.”

  Bryn shifts on the stone bench and my stomach plummets. I’ve gone too far. I’ve shared too much, and she’s realized what a monster I am.

  But instead of standing and stalking off, she scoots closer to me and twists until she covers my left hand with hers, pressing her marked palm against mine. “That’s terrible.”

  I force myself to lift a shoulder. “It is what it is,” I say, trying to keep my tone even. But it’s hard, because no matter how many times I try to brush it off as simply a consequence of what I am, something in me refuses to accept that this is all I’m meant for.

  She squeezes my hand. “We’re a lot alike, aren’t we?”

  Warmth from her touch radiates through my skin and up my arm. I’m acutely aware of every place our bodies touch, and it occurs to me that this is the first time I’ve experienced physical contact like this. This isn’t a display of power, like when Lillian would touch me. Nor is it about control, like some other masters exhibited over the years. It’s not even out of necessity, like when we hid in the curtains earlier. This simple act of comfort begins softening a part of me I assumed would always be solid stone. “We’ve both done some pretty terrible things because someone else made us do it.”

  I wait for her to flinch or disagree, but she just takes in a breath and squares her shoulders. “And we’re both trying to figure out who we are on our own.”

  We sit in silence for the next few minutes, the only sound the nighttime insects performing their usual symphony. It isn’t until Bryn yawns that it strikes me how late it must be getting.

  Wordlessly, we rise from the bench and stroll back toward the temple. Although she’s no longer holding my hand, she sticks close as we walk. When we make it to her room, she doesn’t go in immediately.

  “Well, good night,” she murmurs.

  I’m about nod and turn toward my room when she steps in closer and wraps me in a hug.

  For a moment, I’m too stunned to do anything. But when she doesn’t pull away, my arms find their way around her back and she seems to melt against my chest. Or maybe I’m the one doing the melting. For the life of me, I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that she doesn’t blame me for the mess the five of us are in. Since the moment I returned to the forest to tell her, Taj, and Calder that we might be able to break the curse, she’s given me the benefit of the doubt. She’s searched for any hint of good in me and pulled it to the surface.

  “Thank you,” she whispers, her mouth so close to my ear the words send a shiver through me.

  “For what?” I croak.

  She pulls back, her lips curved in the first genuine smile I’ve seen during our conversation. “For being the closest thing to a best friend I’ve ever had. We’re cut from the same cloth, you and I. And I’m glad you’re here.”

  I’m not sure how to respond, and when I try to force my mouth into an approximation of a smile, I’m not sure it works. But my grimace is enough for Bryn, who bids me goodnight once more before turning and slipping into her bedroom.

  I feel alternately light and dizzy as I make my way toward my door. Best friend? I can’t remember anyone ever using that label on me—not even when I was a kid. The idea fills me with an emotion I can’t name. It’s not happiness. Instead, a dull ache forms in the pit of my stomach.

  It’s not until I’m lying in bed that the right word comes to me. Longing. I want to be what she says I am—a best friend, someone who’s relied on and cared for.

  But it’s foolishness to want something so unattainable. If we manage to break this curse, I won’t be sticking around, going out to lunch with Bryn or whatever shit best friends do. This curse protected me from one binding spell, but there’s no telling when the next one will come. And when it does, I’ll be off spirits-know-where. My life isn’t my own, and I can’t lose sight of that.

  I can’t get attached. These people—Poe, Calder, Taj, and Bryn—especially Bryn—aren’t going to be in my life much longer.

  One way or the other, I’ll lose them.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Bryn

  I knew I shouldn’t have gone down to the healing ward.

  I managed to sleep pretty soundly after my chat with Silas. Something about talking with someone who’s
just as lost as I am made me feel not so alone. And a good night’s sleep lifted my spirits first thing in the morning, so I didn’t even question myself when I thought it would be a good idea to swing by the healing ward on my way to breakfast.

  But whatever optimism that blossomed in my chest overnight was quickly destroyed when Calder refused to make eye contact with me. He was awake—I saw him sitting up and chatting with one of the healers. But before I got more than a few yards away, he lay down on his side and covered his face with his blanket. I had half a mind to stalk over a yank the sheet back down and make him talk to me, but another healer intercepted me.

  Both Calder and Taj have been given the all-clear. The healers want them to have one more specially-prepared meal in the ward for breakfast, but after that, they’re free to go.

  Which means we’re free to go.

  I shut the door to my room with more force than is strictly necessary. The door to my cell in Mona’s compound was too weighty to yank closed, and I probably would have been punished for such theatrics anyway. But slamming this door closed now is cathartic.

  As I begin collecting my scant belongings and stuffing them into my backpack, I try to see things from Calder’s point of view, but attempting to get into his head is just so maddening.

  He knew the night he rescued me that I have feelings for Taj. I thought I explained things to him the night of my escape, but then he got upset after Taj and I spent our first night together at the motel. But he got over it. The three of us spent two blissful nights together in this very room.

  What happened between Poe and me wasn’t designed to hurt Calder. If he’d let me explain, I could tell him that my goal was exactly the opposite—and, based on the timing of Taj and Calder waking from their comas, it worked.