by Nicole Marsh
Bound
The Curse Trilogy Book 2
Nicole Marsh
Copyright © 2020 by Nicole Marsh. All rights reserved.
Cover Design: OA Book Covers.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used simply for the purpose of furthering the storyline and do not represent the institutions or places of business in any way. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental or used for fictional purposes.
This book is the continuation of a series and cannot be read as a standalone. It does contain some material that may be triggering to some readers.
If you have not read the first book in the series:
Cursed: The Curse Trilogy Book 1
It can be found here.
Contents
1. The Mistake
2. The Surprise
3. The Dinner
4. The Daily
5. The Bully
6. The Canadian
7. The Potion
8. The Warning
9. The Toad
10. The Gift
11. The Offer
12. The Countdown
13. The Exams
14. The Celebration
15. The Return
16. The Savior
17. The Recovery
18. The Roadtrip
19. The Room
20. The Spring
21. The Threat
22. The Reveal
23. The Portal
24. The City
Acknowledgments
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Mirabella Love
Last month my mom went all “Yer a Wizard, Harry.”
Except her exact words were “You’re a Witch, Mira.”
Same, diff.
After dropping earth shattering news casually on a Saturday, my parents encourage me to start practicing our family’s magic, potions, in order to begin my apprenticeship at their coven.
Next thing I know, my spare grandmother pops out of the woodwork as wolf shifters are losing their humanity. She tells me of a Curse, and indicates I’m the key to finding a cure for the wolves. Nothing is ever as simple as finding a magical cure to save a breed of shifters though.
First I have to pass my witches exams, then the elders are willing to attempt to help me save my town. On top of everything else, Vlad has decided to channel his inner Houdini and pulls a disappearing act.
Now I’m juggling my missing rude, but hot ex-best friend (who’s now kind of my boyfriend), practicing magic to try to get my witches license, and holding down a full time job with a boss that I think is crushing on me.
No pressure right?
1
The Mistake
Mirabella
One pinch of blan-something leaves,” I mutter to myself, reading the instructions from a potion’s manual. I pull the jar of blan… something leaves closer, reading the name off the front. Blancara leaves. I repeat the words a few times trying to remember it, then grab what I estimate to be one pinch. Dropping the leaves into my cauldron with one hand, I cross the fingers on my other hoping the spell works. A small popping noise echoes across the chamber.
Then nothing.
I stir a few more times, watching as the golden colored liquid begins changing colors. This is it! I’m mastering my first potion! I clap my hands together giddily, then pull my potions manual towards me to quadruple check that I haven’t missed any steps. I’m mentally checking off each direction as I read. My distraction keeps me from noticing the green smoke billowing out of the cauldron.
A light tickle hits my throat and I let out a small cough. The movement provides only a brief reprieve from the itchy feeling crawling through my esophagus. Next thing I know, it feels like I’ve swallowed a furball.
Suddenly, I can’t breathe, I’m gasping for air through the thick feeling in my throat. I’m choking and coughing, attempting to clear my throat from the terrible feeling.
My eyes are watering from my choking fit. I need to find some water, but I can’t see clearly. When I’m finally able to fully open my eyes between gasps for breath, I intend to look for said water, but take a sharp inhale of breath at the scene before me instead.
Green smoke is seeping out of the cauldron at a rapid pace, already covering the ground with a murky layer. It’s swirling around my ankles as it starts to fill the room.
I frantically flip through the pages of my manual, looking for anything that can help me undo… whatever I did. I cover my mouth with my fist, coughing into it as I frantically wave my arm in the air near the cauldron. I try to dissipate some of the green smoke oozing into the room from the source while my eyes rapidly skim potion names.
I’m panicking by the time the smoke reaches my knees with no sign of letting up. I’m still gasping for breath, my eyes watering as the smoke becomes a thick wall, coating every surface in the room, with no solution in sight.
Abandoning my attempts to fix the problem I’ve created, I push through the green tinged air blindly, searching for the wooden door I know is nearby. I clutch my manual to my chest with my left hand, sliding my right along the wall looking for the door handle. Smiling in victory once my hand reaches the cool metal, I push it down and open the door just enough for me to slip out and quickly exit the room.
My victorious feeling is short lived as I slam the door shut behind me, leaning against it as I resume hacking up a lung. A puff of green smoke appears in the air before me at the tail end of the coughing fit and my eyes widen in shock.
Did I swallow some of the smoke or is this going to become a permanent issue?
I cough a few more times, thankful when no more green smoke appears. When I’m finally able to catch my breath, disappointment seeps into my bones.
I didn’t realize this witch thing was going to be so hard. When my mom brought me down here a month ago, on my eighteenth birthday, I was filled with wonder and excitement. “I’m a witch! A real witch!” played on repeat in my mind. But I never realized it was going to be this difficult.
I thought convincing the shifter council to let me go would be the biggest challenge that I would have to face. Then, my grandmother appeared and determined it’s a priority for me to earn my witching license as soon as possible. Since then, I’ve been plugging away, trying to channel a talent that is supposed to be innate—brewing potions—but the more I try, the more I think maybe the witch gene skipped a generation.
Maybe I’m not cut out for this.
Interrupting my own morbid thoughts, I push off the door and head towards the stone steps leading into my parent’s room. I need to find my mom so she can help me clear out the chaos that I unintentionally caused.
I trudge upstairs, taking my time and holding the wall out of caution. Last week I slipped and the stone in the secret portion of my home is very unforgiving to land on. After I wind my way through the hall, I emerge into my parents’ bedroom and replace the bookshelf.
Wandering around the top floor, I quickly realize its empty and jog downstairs, hoping my parents are in the kitchen. I barrel through the doorway only to pull up short when I realize my parents and the Morts are sitting at the table in the kitchen nook and look to be having a serious, deep conversation. Mr. Mort’s eyes slide to me then back to my dad and he makes a huge, fak
e-sounding cough into his fist. Suddenly four pairs of eyes are on me and every face that was serious turns into a beaming smile.
I’m instantly suspicious.
“Are you here about Vlad? Is he back yet?” I demand, skipping pleasantries and delving right into the most important question that I have for the Morts.
Tricia slides out of the bench and comes to wrap me in a tight hug. “Mira, love. We haven’t heard from Vlad yet, but I’m sure we will soon. This is typical of young wolves, to run for a while and blow off steam. There’s no reason to worry…”
The yet is silent, but I hear the way her sentence lingers as if she left it off in a last second decision. I squeeze her back tightly before pulling away. “Okay, can you have him call me as soon as you hear from him?” I ask, more gently than before, taking in her tired eyes and messy ponytail.
“Of course, dear. Of course.” She pats my shoulder consolingly before moving to slide back into the booth next to her husband. “Are you hungry? You came barreling down here like you were being chased by a rabid raccoon!”
I chuckle before memories of the green smoke sober me. Shuffling my feet, I mutter, “I actually need some help in the witching chamber.”
My mom’s smile dims immediately, “What is it this time?”
My hackles raise a little at her tone. Normally my parents don’t get snippy with me, but I guess the fact that I’ve flooded the witching chamber, set three curtains on fire with some wayward liquid, and turned the neighbor’s cat into a goldfish—all in the past week—has everyone a bit on edge about my current witching abilities. “I don’t think it’s TOO big of a deal,” I start.
In response to my hedging, all of the adults at the table immediately stand and briskly head for the entrance of the kitchen that leads to the stairs. I rush forward to catch up, shouting, “We might need some masks or something!”
A chorus of groans sounds out in response.
“I have some supplies in the garage,” My Dad announces breaking away from the group to grab what he thinks we’ll need to clean up my mess.
I trail along behind the rest of the adults, slowly trudging up the steps, embarrassed for causing such a big issue, again. When I finally place my feet on the top step a couple dozen feet behind everyone else, my dad appears below. He has some weird cross body backpack on, an icepick, three fire extinguishers, a slew of gas masks, and a canister of some sort of glowing liquid strapped to his body.
I let out a deep exhale, bordering a sigh, waiting to see if he needs help carrying anything. When he reaches the top of the stairs, he pats my shoulder. “You’ll get better, kiddo.”
I’m sure he meant to be reassuring, but the end of his statement comes out like a question. I ignore the defeat that’s bubbling up in my belly over the distress that I’m causing my parents by sucking so bad at something that’s supposed to be in my blood. Pushing all the feelings down, I reply, “It just takes time, I know Dad. Can I help you carry anything?”
My dad begins to pull one of the canisters off his body, then appears to second guess his decision. “You know what, kiddo? I think you can just watch this time and help next time.” He hands me a mask to soften the blow of his words and then turns to follow the rest of the parents into his bedroom.
Gripping the mask, I follow slowly behind.
Sylvia lets out another chuckle, “How long did it take for them to clear out the smoke?”
“Almost five hours,” I groan as I swirl my brush across the canvas, blending pink and purple hues until I’m satisfied with the shading.
“And now you’re banned from the witching chamber?” She continues.
“Only unsupervised,” I mumble. “How did you pass your test? It seems so impossible. I’m pretty sure I’m the worst witch that’s ever existed,” I gripe. Sylvia passed her witches exams with flying colors, just last week. This isn’t the first time I’ve asked her how she passed, but she hasn’t given me a direct answer. She told me she can’t talk about the specifics, I guess the coven thinks of that as cheating.
“It will come with time,” Sylvia reassures me. “I was terrible at first too, for a couple of months. Then one day it clicked and all of my potions started to work properly. The more you concoct, the easier it gets. Cut yourself some slack… you’ve been at this, what, a week?”
With a sigh, I throw my paintbrush down and stretch my arms above my head. I’m tired of being terrible at potions, but I know Sylvia’s right and I need to stop having such a defeatist attitude. I hear Sylvia slowly pad over to inspect my completed painting. Instead of turning around, I do the same. In the center of the painting is an onyx black wolf, a wolf I now know to be Vlad, but other than that not much else makes sense. There are dark figures that appear to be floating through the sky on discs, large pink buildings, including a castle with turrets, and an old, cobblestone street running down the center in between.
“Another one with the pink buildings, huh?” Sylvia asks, throwing her arms over my shoulders, sensing my need to change the subject.
“Yeah, I guess so.” I respond, still eyeing the canvas.
“Kind of looks like Candy Land, don’t you think?” She replies.
Before I can respond, a ringing trills through the air. Glancing around, I finally spot my cellphone sitting across the room on my rack of unpainted canvases. I slip out of Sylvia’s arms and dive across the room. Catching the phone on the last ring, I answer without checking the caller ID. “Hello,” I wheeze out, a bit breathless from my ninja like moves to get to the phone.
“Hello dear,” My grandma’s throaty voice floats through the receiver.
I ignore the small pang of disappointment I feel when I realize that it isn’t Vlad and focus my attention on my grandma. “Hey grandma, what’s going on? Any luck yet? Do you need me to come over?” I ask quickly, without waiting for an answer in between.
“Slow down, dear. Slow down. My old lady brain can’t handle your barrage of questions, one at a time. I’m calling because I have a surprise for you. Something that I think you’ll be very excited to… see.”
“A surprise for me?” I ask, my tone rising with my excitement. That small part of my brain is asking, what if she’s found Vlad? “I have Sylvia with me, should we head over right now?”
I can hear the smile in my grandma’s voice, despite the fact that her tone remains basically the same. “No, no. Not tonight. It won’t arrive until tomorrow. How about you come over around eleven?”
What. If. It’s. Vlad? Pushing the thought away, I reply, “Yes. I’ll see you at eleven.”
“Okay dear. Wear some clothes that are easy to move in and bring your potions manual. I think you’ll be very appreciative for what I have in store.”
“Thanks Grandma. See you tomorrow!” I exclaim, my brain already creating a countdown until eleven tomorrow, when I get to maybe see Vlad.
After we hang up, Sylvia quirks a brow at me. “Grams has a surprise for you?”
I shrug, “That’s what she says. I’m trying not to get my hopes up, but I keep thinking it’s going to be Vlad, or related to Vlad. I just don’t want to set myself up for disappointment,” I lament.
Sylvia runs her hands through her short, lime-green hair and purses her lips. “Well, I can’t tell you what your grams surprise is, but I’m sure even if it isn’t Vlad, you’ll appreciate whatever she has in store. She’s a bit of a kook, but a wise kook, ya know?”
I nod at her assessment, thinking of when she met my grandma a few days ago. My grandma was immediately obsessed with Sylvia’s short green locks asked what potion she found to create such vibrant green hair, then put their heads together to see how she would look with a green do.
Sylvia interrupts my thoughts, “How about we rent that new Vampire movie? We can get some ice cream and extra butter popcorn, for a distraction until tomorrow morning.”
A small trickle of ice-cold fear runs down my back. “…Vampires don’t exist, right? Those are still a myth?” I ask tentatively.<
br />
Sylvia laughs, her entire face scrunching and her hands clutching her belly with her mirth. When she finally calms down, she wipes the corners of her eyes and replies, “As far as I know, those were made up by Hollywood to sell gory movies and sappy love stories.”
I try to tame my sigh of relief to prevent another laughing fit at my expense. But in my defense, blood sucking vampires seem so much more terrifying than potions or wolves, which are both things I didn’t know existed until recently. I push thoughts of vampires away to respond to Sylvia, “I think a movie night sounds like just what I need.”
2
The Surprise
Mirabella
My alarm blares jarringly into the morning air. Normally the sound is something I hate hearing, but today I hop out of bed excited to start my day, or more importantly, head over to my grandmas.
Finally.
Eleven cannot come soon enough.
I force myself to take a leisurely shower, and slowly brush out my long, blonde hair. I deliberately apply a bit of mascara to the lashes surrounding my pale gray eyes at a slow pace, then swipe-on a lightly tinted gloss. Acting like I have patience, I peruse my wardrobe, selecting a light blue summer dress with flutter sleeves. I take my time buckling my shoes and find a purse, shoveling in my belongings inside.
