Cursed Fae (Dark Thirst Series Book 1)

by Sarah Tobias

  Five minutes later, Asher’s pick-up drove up, and I sprinted out, hiding my stained face behind my hair. My movements were stiff with drying, crusted over black sludge and I cringed as I entered the car.

  “Sorry,” I said as I buckled my seatbelt. “I can pay for the car cleaning. Of both vehicles.”

  “Least of our problems,” he replied, flicking on the turn signal and merging. “I’m glad you’re all right.”

  I fell back against the headrest, content to just look at him for a while, our small haven of quiet before reality seeped in. Licorice-scented solace. “I’m okay as I can be.”

  We paused at a red light.

  “Understand,” Asher said. “The less you know, the better. For you.” He paused. “We may appear callous and cold. My sister, though, she cares.”

  I snorted. “I’d believe you more if you said she was a shape-shifting tarantula.”

  He smiled tiredly. “Gwyn fronts with bitterness, but her heart beats, I promise you. But it’s too fast. She’s too emotional. And it’s my job to take that away from her.” For a terrible instant, he slumped, his burdens digging its pincers into his shoulders. “We can’t run hot. I ... can’t.”

  “To conquer the supernatural, you have to think like them.” I shook my head, wondering how young they had to be to start training for this. To go cold. I traced random patterns on the chilled glass of my window. My heated skin steamed against the pane, and I yanked my finger away, curled my hand into my chest. “Are you forced to do a lot of bad things?”

  “My world’s treacherous,” Asher answered. The car started forward, turning smoothly onto 6th Avenue. “My world’s also a secret.”

  Clearly, I thought. I studied his arms as his hands rested on the wheel, sifting through the tattooed images, black mixing with colors of red, green and blue as they spiraled over his skin. There was some lettering, but it blended so seamlessly with the rest it was difficult to understand what any of it meant.

  After a few beats of silence, I voiced what had been a source of conflict ever since realizing blood could boil underneath my skin.

  “There’s no such thing as good versus evil, is there?” I asked.

  Asher’s brows drew together and he frowned. “There’s a line that’s drawn, one side versus the other. We all do what we have to in order to survive.”

  “Which includes killing people. Innocent people.”

  I was good, but evil. I murdered. Rob. The girl. The cop. All three of them were a constant mantra. Deserted souls, forfeited by my hand.

  “There’s a balance that has to be set,” Asher said. “If people knew what we were, what we really were, it’d be catastrophic. Chaos. Look at them.”

  He tipped his chin to the crowds of people on the sidewalk, oblivious and laughing as they passed storefronts. A couple were holding hands, one girl leaning her head on a boy’s shoulder as they crossed the street. Someone dropped an empty coffee cup on the ground and a person behind him picked it up and threw it in the trashcan on the corner.

  “They’re like this because they don’t know,” Asher said.

  I had to concede his point, but still, the truth nagged at me. “You think they don’t deserve to? They’re surrounded by bloodlust. People shouldn’t be made into prey in their own homes. They should be able to fight. Have some expectation.”

  Three young kids jumped through the crowds, chasing each other. The glint of red in the boy’s eyes caught in the overhead streetlights as he ran beside the car, incongruous with his cherub face. Two girls, dressed in identical outfits, followed. My dark flame writhed at the sight.

  Keep thinking that, sister, my dark flame said. And recall it again when I’m sinking my teeth into your man’s spine.

  “What good would it do to let people in on the fact there’s another realm that’s broken through?” Asher asked. “It’s been this way for centuries. Maintained for hundreds of years. Like I said, a symmetry’s in place.” We stopped again at a light. “Don’t upset it, Emily.”

  The gold in my eyes warmed. “I’m only trying to understand.”

  “I’m not a savior.”

  Asher sounded so sure. My fingers itched to touch him, but I slammed my other hand over them, keeping them in place.

  “Understand that I’ll keep you safe,” he continued, his voice quiet. “I won’t let anything hurt you.”

  But who’s going to protect people from me?

  “Just please, don’t push for more answers. I don’t—” Asher stopped, frustrated. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

  My hand hovered close to his as he clutched the gearshift. I clenched my hand and pulled it back.

  “This is my street,” I said, glancing through my window. “You can drop me off here.”

  He pulled the car over on the corner of Second Avenue, and I slid out, my clothes sticking to the leather seats. Outside the car, I held the door open.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  He nodded, his knuckles white against the steering wheel. “Be careful, Emily.”

  I gave him a quick smile. “I’m always careful,” I said, and shut the door. Our electric thread thinned and snapped the farther I walked away from him.

  The sound of Asher’s engine roared away, but I didn’t turn to wave.

  It hurt to keep looking at him. And I wasn’t sure why.

  * * *

  The next two weeks passed by in a restless blur. I kept strong and in control, though the dark flame ricocheted against me in agitation. Because of the power I’d received from the goo octopus, I could temper her for now.

  While Derek stayed absent, he wasn’t missed, because I took it upon myself to test my strengths and weaknesses. I was surprised and pleased to find that my energy wasn’t leeching out as quickly. In those two weeks, faes survived, as there was no need for me to munch on them.

  Trust me, I’d keep destroying them if I could, if it weren’t for the fact I only knew how to eat to kill.

  I was so absorbed in testing my newfound physical and mental abilities that Liz and Amanda’s party fell upon me like a cartoon anvil, meaning I couldn’t avoid Macy any longer. She’d sensed my distress and kept herself separate from me for days on end, and I was both thankful and hurt. Macy didn't belong in my creature cosmos, but at the same time, I missed her so truly my throat went thick every time she entered the coffee shop. Because of my abysmal presence, she’d become closer to Liz and Amanda, the three of them constantly putting their heads together in deep discussion. That worried me.

  I awoke the morning of the party cold and shaking. The dreary day matched my mood. Clouds formed overnight, gray, somber and silent as they stubbornly blocked the sun from stretching its rays.

  I didn’t sleep well. When I managed to, the dream stirred emotions like a burning campfire left untended, and I wrenched awake, sobbing and smothered with angst.

  The dream became worse. It spun clearer each night that passed, its haunting pain polluting my days, joining the dark flame in their possession. My body buzzed with power begging to be let loose.

  If only there were a way for this energy to exit my body other than time. I was coming apart like pulled sugar. At any minute, I would harden and crack.

  I rose out of bed, graceful with silent movement despite the humming power underneath, and dressed in my usual loose tee and jeans.

  Asher and Gwyn seemed happy to keep me at a distance as well. Asher was polite when he picked up his coffee, but never went any further than “black coffee,” and “thanks”. He’d shut down, as if I’d inadvertently flipped an internal power switch. I missed my name on his tongue. His contemplation of me. Asher’s presence was daunting, but something good, something positive and pure emerged from my inky depths when I had his attention.

  Happiness? Hopefulness? These were foreign substances sloshing around in my gut.

  Follow him one night, the dark flame whispered. See what he does for yourself.

  There was no Derek for me to learn from
. No additional fae Mentors were raising their hand to assist a fellow fae who picked her teeth with their bones. Yet it was imperative to understand what I was dealing with. Were Asher and Gwyn part of Tryne? If so, where was the third?

  Then there was the big question, the one that nagged at my conscience, always popping up to the surface. Was the third…

  Me?

  Chapter 26

  Macy wasn’t completely rid of my presence. She was coming over today so we could get ready for Liz and Amanda’s party. Macy even replied with six applause emojis when I texted her yesterday to come by, and I’ve never felt like a worse jerk.

  Ems, I thought you’d never ask! she texted back. I would love for you to be my date! But one thing—we don’t really know each other anymore, so am I safe with you? Shouldn't you meet my parents first?

  Macy was playing around, but it wasn't difficult to detect the hurt underneath the typed words. Guilt squirmed like slippery worms in my stomach as I replied, I promise to make a good impression.

  She responded with a smile emoji, forgiving my nonexistence in her life as of late. I counted myself lucky to have such a forgiving friend.

  And an enterprising one. While Macy’d been coming up with her own costume, she’d also been mischievously creating mine. I think Macy knew deep down I'd attempt to ditch. She decreed to force me into a dress and wrangle me to the party whether or not I liked it, “if I have to roll you up in carpet and drop-kick you over there.”

  “I’m not telling you what you’re wearing until I glue the dress to your body,” Macy said that morning at the coffee shop before class, but thawed at my panicked reaction. “You’ll like it, I promise. No corpse bride for you.”

  The dark flame bristled.

  Ignoring the sting and the stomach cramp that followed, I went home after my shift and waited for Macy.

  “Ems!” Macy said once I opened my apartment door, her arms laden with gowns and what looked suspiciously like multiple pink cosmetic bags. “Good lord, help me. Those stairs … this stuff. I’ve died.” She fell into the apartment. “You’re looking at the Ghost of Macy Past right now.”

  “What, that was hard?” I asked her, laughing as I assisted with her bundle of clothing. “You should’ve texted. I would’ve come down and helped.”

  “I can never be too sure of you these days.” Macy dumped the clothing and bags on the bed before melting down beside the pile and sighing heavily. “Seriously, I’m pooped. I was just at the Upper West Side with Liz and Amanda. They freaking rented out a ballroom in a hotel. Went all out with the decorations. You will die when you see the place.”

  I nodded as enthusiastically as I could and made room for myself on the bed. “You guys worked hard.”

  I poked through the pile of lace and ruffles. “So, what’s my outfit? Dead prom queen?”

  “Oh!”

  Feeling less fatigued now that she had the business of beauty to attend to, Macy hopped to her feet and sifted through the glittery lumps. “I told you I wouldn’t make you a corpse or anything that could otherwise pass as awesomely gory. I saw the look on your face when I mentioned being a dead lady in a fancy ball gown.”

  Macy’s face flickered with an emotion I couldn’t place, but before I could study her further, she continued, “So, I thought of the next best thing.”

  She held up what originally looked like a white satin strapless dress. Gold trimming glittered along the bust and circled into an empire waist. The embellishments came alive in the lamplight as Macy moved the dress back and forth in her hands and the soft, cool fabric slid between my fingers. Macy had dipped the bottom of the gown in scarlet dye, giving it a dark, blood-red gleam that blended into the white, the color rising like smoke in hazy, curling tendrils.

  “Macy, it’s beautiful, but … I don’t know what I’m supposed to be.”

  Macy smiled. “It was the best I could think of for you.”

  She turned to the bed, her face pinched in concentration until she found what she was looking for. She plucked something round and red from the scraps and held it out to me.

  “It’s a pomegranate,” she said, mistaking my look of wonder for confusion. “For Persephone.”

  At my continued silence, she added, “I read all about her in Mythology class. She reminded me of you, somehow. And hey, she is Queen of the Underworld, right? So it goes perfectly with the Dark Masquerade theme.”

  “Macy…” I managed to say, my mouth dry. “I don’t know what to say. I can’t believe you thought of this.”

  To compare me to a girl, sucked into the black depths against her will, pushed to turn into something she couldn’t control, before finally accepting what she was: a Queen who loved her King, a woman who accepted her darkness and her light, was an intuition that inspired all-consuming awe.

  Macy’s understanding of me had more layers than I could have fathomed.

  I imagined Macy these past few weeks, filing Persephone away and researching her story to create the perfect dress, all the while without me at her side. Feelings of guilt and love swelled while she stood at the foot of the bed, holding out a gown that was absolutely, utterly made for me.

  “Emily, I know you’ve been through something. Something bad,” Macy said. “You don’t have to talk about it. You don’t ever have to divulge your past with me. But I get you, okay? I understand, and I’m always here. I really want you to know that.”

  I had to busy myself sorting through her cosmetic bags to hide my brimming tears.

  “Thank you,” I said. I cleared my throat before adding, “It's perfect.”

  “Well, obviously,” Macy said, smiling wide. “Let’s see if this fits you. And here.” She pulled something gold out of one bag. It was a hair clip with delicate golden leaves trailing along the edges. She handed it to me, and I held the intricate craftsmanship with both hands.

  “To represent the lighter part of her, you know? To represent her mother,” Macy said.

  My stomach twisted. I took the costume from Macy’s hands and entered the bathroom, not requiring a private change but needing that time to ensure my calm, cheerful mask stayed in place.

  I slipped into the dress, goosebumps pimpling my flesh as the cool fabric caressed heated skin. It fit like a glove, and my chest unclenched as I leveled my gaze at my reflection. The headpiece rested gently around my head, tendrils of hair curling softly above and around the glittering gold leaves. I took long, slow breaths. The dark flame flickered, flaring gold around my pupils.

  I can do this.

  Macy gasped in delight when I exited, but her face sank into one of concern when she said, “Shoot. I’m not sure where you’ll put this pomegranate.”

  I had to laugh, and it sounded so foreign to my tongue but felt so good at the same time. “Let’s just stick it in my purse. I’ll pull it out if people get confused and wonder what I am.”

  “People will know,” Macy said as she took me in, her gaze traveling up and down my outfit. “You look …astonishing.”

  I didn’t allow Macy to dwell too long on my (unnatural) luminous physique. “Enough about the Underworld, what about you?”

  Macy's expression brightened as we pulled out all the necessities for her costume. Hers was much more intricate, and it took us at least an hour to get her perfected as what she named herself, “a Dead Lady-in-Waiting.”

  Once Macy was dressed and finished her ghostly make-up, even I had to raise my brows in approval. She donned a baby blue gown with white lace trailing along the bottom and on the bust, and I was sure, in its original state, the dress would’ve been dazzling. However, true to her craft and her dedication to ghostly glamor, Macy cut strips along the fabric and dotted it with droplets of fake blood and black dye. Her make-up complimented the sooty, stained dress, as she'd painted hollows in her cheeks and underneath her eyes and used white powder over her face, casting her in a pale, deathly glow. She slashed her lips with bright red lipstick and, once she finished, I commented that she was a beautiful dead
person.

  “Almost forgot!” she said as soon as we were at the door, snapping her fingers and retreating into her pink cosmetic bags.

  Macy pulled out two eye-masks, hers in a white Mardi Gras style with a white feather trailing out of one side and eye holes that tilted up like a cat’s. There was a tiny little crevice to fit her nose. She’d also spent craft time on that, using black dye to give it a grisly gray cast.

  For me, she held out a golden mask cut to resemble curling tendrils of lace. The glittering swirls framed the right eye, cresting down over the cheekbone and curving at the corner of the mouth before lifting and framing the nose. The left side of the mask covered only the brow bone, with the fragile twirls of lace arching until the last tendril softly framed the temple. It was the most unique mask I’d ever seen, and my fingers caressed it as it glowed under my dim apartment lights.

  “Found it on eBay,” she said. “Don’t look so forlorn, Ems. Parties are fun things. You’re supposed to enjoy yourself. And look.” She dug into her bag one more time, pulling out strips of gold. “Sandals.”

  I laughed with her, and I hoped that she was right, that I’d be able to enjoy myself for just one night, and most of all, feel safe. I put the sandals on, the gold straps wrapping around my calves, grateful for a friend who knew me so well.

  Feeling a brief burst of anticipation, I stood and settled the golden mask on my face, grinning with her, feeling human, as we left the apartment.

  Chapter 27

  Macy maneuvered her gown around other subway commuters, all without hanging onto poles as the train lurched forward on our way to the Upper West Side. My impossible reflexes caught her a few times, since I’m unable to tame my new instincts, but I brushed it off to her, explaining my strength must come from all the steps I put in walking up to my fifth-floor apartment every day. Macy agreed and hung onto me for the rest of the ride.

  When we arrived at the dance, the hotel ballroom brimmed with both costumed monsters and real-life fae. Macy was right—the decorations were eerie and mysterious.