Serpent Cursed (Lost Souls Series Book 2)

by Bree Moore

  “This drink is a gift. It is made from caribou milk, and we brew it ourselves for many moons. If Raven chooses, you will receive a vision of your future when you drink it. We hope it will help you make a decision.”

  “Do I have to drink it?”

  “No. It is your choice. But we hope you will choose it.”

  Bathed in the sea of dark stares, Quinn lifted his hand and took the cup. His grandmother bowed and took the tray away. Quinn lifted the clay cup to his lips and sipped. The drink was sour with a note of caramel. He rubbed his tongue against the roof of his mouth and tried not to make a face. The flavor blossomed in his mouth and the fire blossomed into a detailed image before him, a soaring figure that reminded Quinn of himself.

  His hair was cut short, clear to the top of his head. He had a strap across his chest and the handle of some a blade stuck out from over one shoulder. He wore human clothes, and his face and arms were covered with grime. Quinn stood and walked closer to the vision of himself, walking around it. He hardly recognized the hard expression. He looked ready for war.

  A woman with red hair walked up and took his vision’s hand. His hard expression softened and they kissed. The woman transformed into a fox. Together they ran forward. Quinn watched as the space beyond them filled with soldiers wearing the uniform of the United States Military. A war cry rang out from the battlefield, and Quinn heard it rattle in his own throat, his fist raised as if he held a sword, rather than the vision of himself that ran forward. His forehead burned like it had been branded, burned with a word that echoed in his mind. Vengeance. A flash of white light tore through the image.

  Quinn stopped himself before he ran straight into Chief Aguta, who watched him with an unnerving calm. Quinn’s eyes were wide, his throat hurt from the scream he’d given. He shook his head and licked his lips. “Is it a true vision?”

  The chief nodded. “It is what will happen if you make the decision in your heart. If your decision changes, the future will also change. This glimpse is given to you so that you might understand and be better equipped to decide.”

  Quinn cast his eyes down, looking at his hands. Would they wield a sword? Would he go to war? Vengeance for whom? His vision hadn’t shown Becca. Would she die here, after all? He turned, blinking his eyes against the water filling them. It was the smoke from the fire, no doubt.

  A figure descended from the sky. A woman with raven wings and no clothes. She soared overhead and back again, eliciting a gasp from the crowd. The woman circled back and landed on light feet, grinning and waving to everyone, completely unashamed of her naked form. Another woman—Quinn thought it was his grandmother, but he couldn't be sure—ran forward with a blanket and draped it over the younger woman’s shoulders.

  Quinn moved closer, disbelieving what he was seeing.

  It was Harper.

  ⇺ ⇻

  Chapter Twelve

  Tyson

  Mal. It was her smell that made the woman’s name leap into Tyson’s head. She smelled of sage, an herb witches used often for their healing salves and different spells. Mal’s scent was unique, however, in that she combined it with patchouli. Woody and spicy, it made Tyson’s head spin, like it had back when he’d first met her. He leaned back, forcing a smile onto his face.

  “Mal, of course. How could I forget? You were my first.” Harper’s nostrils visibly flared, and Tyson realized what it sounded like. He had to backpedal, and fast. “First one I worked on with Tom. You went through Naturalization, if I remember correctly.”

  Mal laughed, tossing her head back and patting Tyson on the shoulder. “It’s all right. I know you had a crush on me. Not that you’d ever admit it, Mr. By-the-Books. Not what you expected to find of a former camp resident? It took me eight months and a bit of help, but I shook off that Reformation agent assigned to me and found me a sponsor and a job. Free as a bird, now, and couldn’t be happier. I bet you’re disappointed, though.”

  Harper stiffened. Tyson wondered why her reactions were so obvious. She was normally more closed off. But the bird comment, that one made sense. If Mal had been a bird shifter rather than a witch, she wouldn’t have made it through Naturalization with her abilities intact. Harper had to be thinking about Fletcher, and that wouldn’t do anything good for this conversation.

  Tyson cleared his throat. “Disappointed? No. I’ve learned a few things since then.”

  “Well, of course! Or you wouldn’t have taken out those government lapdogs in charge of Silver Lake. Petrov, right?” Mal laughed. “It’s about time. I’ve been itching to find myself a rebellion and start taking out those torture camps, but my contract isn’t done here.”

  One of her companions stepped closer. “Mal, you aren’t seriously saying you know these two?”

  “Just my buddy Tyson here,” Mal said, wrapping an arm around Tyson’s shoulders and squeezing. “He helped make me who I am today.” Her grin was entirely feral, and made Tyson’s heart thud. She’d been a model resident back at Camp Silver Lake. A few piercings, sure, and a tendency to prank the other residents with spells and the like, but all in good fun. Everyone liked her, except Violet and James. And as the Coven Leaders of Camp Silver Lake, they hadn’t made it easy for Mal to get her Naturalization approved. Looking at her now, Tyson realized she had planned this all along. Get Naturalized and get out of the camp as soon as possible. She’d succeeded just six short months after coming to Camp Silver Lake, an almost unheard-of record. Everyone had patted Tom on the back and called it “hope for the future.”

  “Why didn’t we hear about your truancy?” Tyson asked. “The system usually flags Naturalized individuals from our camp when a violation of the terms is made.”

  The feral grin slid off Mal’s face, and the shadows around her eyes deepened. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want to hear the answers to, little counselor.” Her expression lightened a second later. Tyson shivered. Violet could do the same thing, and he’d learned it was an ability most witches had. That terrifying stare seemed to come from the depths of hell. He could inquire further at his peril.

  “So,” Mal said, “tell me about you. A bit has changed in a year and a half. Running around with a rogue shifter.” She jutted her chin out at Harper, whose suspicious expression hadn’t changed. “Leaving your job. Something happened to inspire that.”

  “Well…” Tyson trailed off. She assumed he had something to do with the Petrovs’ deaths. But that had been all Harper. It wasn’t anything he wanted to be associated with, no matter how ‘cool’ it made him in anyone's eyes. He glanced at Harper, but she didn’t offer him any help, her eyes still locked on Mal.

  “It’s complicated,” Tyson finally said. “Things weren’t as they seemed. It wasn’t a good fit any more.” He swallowed, still gazing at Harper. To his surprise, he didn’t feel the pang of regret he expected at the thought of leaving Camp Silver Lake.

  Mal chuckled. “‘Not a good fit’ and you tear the place apart? Wow. Remind me never to hire you.”

  Tyson ran a hand through his hair, looking away from Harper. “There’s more to it, but…” It dawned on him what would make the most sense to say, even if he didn’t know what was going on entirely yet. “It turns out I’m not exactly 100% human.”

  “Sweet justice,” Mal said, pumping her fist. She glanced at her crew. “The tormentor has become the tormented. How do you like that?” They whooped together. Two clapped. Tyson felt like he was in another world altogether as Mal clapped his shoulder and squeezed him in a friendly way.

  “Welcome to the freak club. I think you’ll like it here. Now,” she continued without waiting for his response, “why did you want to use our portal?”

  “We need to get to Alaska, fast.” Harper said. Her arms had relaxed by her sides, but her fingers still flexed, and her gaze kept darting to the rest of the gang members. Always on guard.

  “What sort of shifter are you, anyway?” Mal asked, eyeing Harper. “You don’t feel like a werewolf.�
��

  “R—” Tyson started. Harper cut him off.

  “None of your business. Are you going to let us through or not?”

  Mal clicked her tongue. “Our instructions are clear. The only ones to use the portal have a passport.”

  “What does that take to get?” Tyson asked, eager to break the tension building in the air.

  “A meeting with our boss. And a whole lotta dough.” Mal rubbed her fingers together.

  “We might have time for that. When can we see him?”

  “She might have an opening next Thursday.”

  Tyson’s heart sank. They’d get there faster driving. “Look, is there anything you can do—”

  “For an old friend? Sure,” Mal patted his cheek, then stepped away from him, rejoining her crew. “But there’s a price. For two trips through, one for each of you, you’ll have to reveal your paranormal forms.”

  “Why would you want that?”

  Mal shrugged, the off-shoulder shirt she wore dropping further down her arm. “Call it curiosity. Can’t hurt, can it?”

  Tyson looked at Harper, whose face remained impassive. She dropped the pack she carried onto the ground and tugged off her jacket. Ebony wings sprouted from her back in a flurry of feathers. She had to bend them to keep from striking the edges of the cage-like fence around them.

  Even the scowling man who had addressed them, Yonks, looked stunned. Several of the others gasped. Harper did look incredible, with her fierce scowl and those majestic wings. Though Tyson knew she looked even better in flight.

  Mal’s eyebrows raised, but she otherwise didn’t react. She turned to Tyson.

  “Your turn.”

  “I don’t have a form to shift into.” He spread his arms.

  “Get out your knife,” Harper urged him, her wings already withdrawn. She shrugged back into her jacket.

  Tyson slid his pack off his back and located the outer pocket where he’d hidden the knife. He drew it out, the curved handle fitting easily into his hand now. Nothing happened. It felt warm to the touch, and he wondered if it would be like the goblins, where it would show its ability only if he was threatened.

  “Throw a spell at me.”

  Mal’s eyes narrowed, but she raised a hand, gesturing to the four directions with her fingers in a specific configuration, then clapping. A tiger appeared in front of her, orange and black pelt gleaming, larger than any real tiger Tyson had seen in a zoo. It roared, and his knees literally knocked together, but the knife at his side grew hot and blazed with crimson light.

  Mal’s eyes widened as Tyson raised it, and the tiger lay on the ground, head in paws, reminiscent of a dog. Tyson glanced at Harper, whose eyes had widened. She’d seen him use the knife before, but apparently it hadn’t lost its novelty. She looked amazed, almost admiring, and a fluttery sensation started in Tyson’s chest.

  The tiger purred, bringing him back to the situation at hand. “That’s just an illusion, right?” Tyson asked. The heat of the knife pulsed through him and its light remained trained on the tiger.

  “In a way. But its teeth would have felt like the real thing.” Mal banished the spell with an intricate wave of her hand. “You’ve held up your end. Follow me.”

  “I still don’t understand what you get out of seeing our forms,” Harper said.

  “You’re a suspicious one. Don’t worry, nothing will come of it.”

  Tyson crouched down to put away the ulu knife.

  “The boss won’t like this.” Yonks muttered. The other girl, the one with green hair, murmured in agreement.

  “Let me deal with the boss,” Mal snapped. “Wait outside if you don’t want anything to do with this.” The others fell into line behind Tyson and Harper as they passed through the weed hologram and into the dark tunnel. There were no further complaints.

  “Without a passport they’ll never get through the portal.”

  “I’ll use mine to open it.” Mal stopped in the dark center of the tunnel. There was a faint blue light at the far end, and behind them the daylight came filtering through the weed hologram almost as if the plants were real. It was impressively done. Tyson had only seen that quality of hologram done by James, and even his weren’t this good. Mal certainly had a gift.

  Mal raised her arm and Tyson caught a flash of purple light from the palm of her hand. Harper startled next to him as the silvery portal whirred into existence. Tyson hadn’t had much time to think about traveling by portal, but as soon as he saw it he groaned internally. Portal travel. Ugh. His stomach clenched, and he swallowed.

  “Remember, this portal is omni-directional. Whatever you think about, you’ll be taken to it.”

  “Whatever you do, don’t think about how hungry you are.” Harper sounded as if she were quoting someone.

  Tyson’s stomach flip-flopped a few times. He had to stop thinking about his stomach.

  Alaska. He tried to picture the mountain range Harper had shown him on her phone. Not the phone itself. The mountains. He pictured breathing the fresh air, standing in the grass in between the two mountains. He took a step toward the portal at the same time as Harper.

  Mal stopped them. “One at a time.”

  Harper moved ahead of Tyson, passing through the silvery disc of light without hesitation. She vanished and the portal made a slight sucking sound, warping in the center in her wake. Then the surface smoothed.

  Gates. Arctic Gates. Mountains in Alaska. There were a lot of mountains in Alaska. He had to get this right. The Arctic Gates in Alaska. His breath shuddered through his chest, and he gulped past his fear, ignoring the prickling near his heart.

  Mal’s hand slipped into his, passing him a piece of paper. Tyson clenched it, looked into her face and nodded.

  “Thanks.”

  “Stay focused.” Mal pointed at the portal.

  Tyson squared his shoulders, brought the Gates of the Arctic to the forefront of his mind, and stepped through.

  There were no knives, this time. No painful prickling, no sensation like he was being blown to a million astral bits and flung to the far reaches of the universe. For the first time, Tyson traveled through a portal and didn’t feel sick when he landed on the other side. Something had changed.

  He patted his clothes, his chest, and found everything in order, including the folded note in his hand. He looked around for Harper, spotting her a little distance away, farther back from where he stood. The two mountain ranges loomed on either side, like sentinels at a gate.

  They had reached the Gates of the Arctic. He hoped. There weren’t exactly signs, except it was cold despite the high sun.

  Harper shouted a greeting and Tyson raised an arm. She ran toward him. Before she reached him, Tyson unfolded the note.

  Lilith says hello.

  A chill crept up his spine. Harper arrived, barely out of breath even with the enormous pack on her back, and cocked her head to one side.

  “Tyson? What is it?”

  He handed her the note. “I think I know who Mal’s boss is.” And he shivered, realizing the witch might now know where they were.

  “I’m never going to escape her, am I?” Harper muttered. “I thought it was over, after… after what happened at the camp.” She rubbed her palm furiously, as if there were something on her skin that she was trying to get off. Tyson couldn’t see anything, but it unnerved him to see Harper so perturbed.

  “Come on. We made it, I think. Let’s keep going.” Tyson dropped the pack off his shoulders and found the windbreaker he’d packed inside. He tugged it out and pulled it on, immediately cutting the chill by half. He eyed Harper, but she didn’t look cold.

  She glanced around, eyes squinting into the sun. “That soothsayer’s painting said the dreamwalker was next, right? So, we should keep our eyes out for him.”

  “Yeah, I think so. And the second gate, too. Maybe the dreamwalker is through the second gate? I don’t know if we’re supposed to find him or…” Or if h
e’s supposed to find us. And who says it's a he?

  There was too much he didn’t know for certain. He adjusted the pack on his back, stomach growling a bit. He’d eaten that granola bar when Harper had insisted on it, but he would need to eat more soon. First, he wanted to enter that valley ahead and see if they could spot the second gate. The mountains were about half a mile out, with the narrow entrance at their base. Tyson walked alongside the river that trailed out of the valley, watching the burbling water as it rushed over the rocks.

  Harper remained silent. He was getting used to her lack of conversation. She spoke when it mattered. He did wish she’d loosen up and have a regular conversation about something other than magic and hiding and finding those they sought. Something mundane. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye.

  “So, do you have a favorite color?”

  His question made her stop walking. She eyed him. “This sounds like a lame attempt to get to know me.”

  “It is,” Tyson admitted. “No psychology tricks, I promise. Just curiosity.” He swallowed. Dare he admit that he wanted to be friends? If they were going to keep traveling together, he needed more than the tentative trust built on a mutual need to escape a government camp.

  “Purple. Dark purple.” Harper finally said. She faced forward without looking at him, but even that small concession made him smile.

  “Mine’s blue. Or orange. I like both.”

  “It feels like we’re in kindergarten,” Harper muttered.

  Tyson laughed. “In my experience, kids are the best at making friends.”

  Distant bird chirps filled the space between them. Tyson worried he’d taken it too far by saying the ‘f’ word, but it was hard to tell with Harper. She wasn’t used to trusting anyone other than Quinn, and it seemed likely that she hadn’t had much in the way of friends in her life. She’d gotten along with a few people back at camp—Fletcher, for one, and Kamri and Ian. If the events of the past few days hadn’t happened, would Harper have found a reason to stay?