Cursed Luck, Book 1

by Kelley Armstrong

  As advertised, it’s a hunting shack. A single room with walls that waffle in the wind. Bone wind chimes and decorative animal skulls give it a nice Texas Chainsaw Massacre touch.

  “People live here?” Connolly says.

  “If they’re lucky,” I say. “Do you know how much these cottages cost? We used to dream about getting a summer place like this, watching the stars through the holes in the roof, playing with the families of mice living under the floorboards. It’s only a ten-mile walk to the ocean. Paradise.”

  Silence.

  “She’s kidding,” Ani says. “And the fact that I need to clarify that says so much. No one lives here, Aiden. It’s a hunting shack.”

  “For hunters, yes?” he says. “They live here while they hunt.”

  “That’s not how a hunting shack works,” I say. “See, a place like this has been passed down, generation to generation. When the weekend comes and the wife gives you a list of chores, you say you’re going hunting with the guys. You come out here, shoot a grouse or two and then head inside. Light the fireplace. Pull out the lawn chairs. Drink beer until it’s safe to go home again.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You know the men’s lounge at your country club?” Ani says.

  He perks up. “Yes.”

  “Think of it as that.”

  He nods. “When we were growing up, my father spent a lot of Saturday afternoons there. And your father went to places like this, right?”

  “Our father was a small-town doctor,” I say. “If he got an actual weekend off, he spent it at home with us. Now, we’re supposed to be scouting for clues, right? There’s a path over there with broken undergrowth and twigs. That shows where they carried Ani through. We can follow it back later and see where it goes, look for any clues along the way.”

  “You’re quite good at this,” Connolly says. “Do you watch a lot of crime shows?”

  “She reads books,” Ani says.

  I shrug. “Small town. Big library. We didn’t have cable growing up, and the internet’s too crappy to stream. I read a lot.”

  “Your parents encouraged you to read,” Connolly says. “That’s good.”

  “And very middle class?” I say.

  “No, I just meant that it’s good you picked up the hobby. Reading expands the mind, and literacy of any sort, even mystery novels . . .” He catches my look. “That’s condescending, isn’t it?”

  “Yep. Good catch, though. Now, let’s split up and look around. We’ll save the cabin for last.”

  I’ve examined as much of the surrounding forest as I can. Now I’m standing at the front door, studying it. I step forward and—

  A figure leaps from the bushes, slamming into my side and knocking me to the ground. I jab up, my elbow making contact. The figure grunts, and I try to shove him aside, but he’s holding me down, his back arched over me, arms out as if to shield us. I’m about to slam my elbow into him again when I catch a flash of red-gold hair.

  “Connolly?” I say. “What the hell?”

  A throat clears behind us. “That’s my question,” Ani says. “Perhaps even more strongly worded. Please tell me there’s a valid reason why you’re lying on my sister. I have no idea what that reason could be, but I’m hopeful.”

  “Get away from the door!” he says, waving. “It’s armed.”

  “Uh-huh,” Ani says. “Try again, Mr. Connolly.”

  He rises as I push up to my feet.

  “The door is armed,” he says coolly. “Your sister was about to open it when I saw the device.”

  “You mean the one in the top right corner?” I ask. “The black box that’ll trigger when the door opens?”

  “Er, yes. So you saw it? And you were still opening the door?”

  “Did you see my hand anywhere near the knob?” I shake my head as I walk over. “I was getting a closer look. It’s like the entry alert on my showroom. Not triggering a bomb or a shotgun but a signal, one that tells someone—in this case the kidnappers—that the door has been opened.”

  Ani stands on tiptoes to peer at the trigger. “Huh, she’s right. It’s a battery-operated signal device.”

  “Presumably operating on cellular service,” I say.

  “So you triggered it when you left,” Connolly says to Ani. “Meaning your kidnappers know you’re free and could be combing the forest right now.”

  “I crawled out a window.”

  I nod. “If you’re being held captive in a cabin, you aren’t going to waltz out the front door. You could walk right into your kidnappers, having a nice cup of tea. Or you could trip an alarm. The sensible answer is to find another way out.”

  “Then why put that on the front door?” Connolly asks.

  “Because they didn’t expect Ani to be sensible. The trigger was to notify them when she escaped. Which means there’s only one thing to do.”

  Connolly nods. “Stay far away from—”

  “Open the front door.”

  I reach for it. Both Ani and Connolly jump to stop me.

  I pause. “You’re right. We should go in the window, take a look around and then open the front door.”

  “Or not open it at all,” Ani says.

  “But if it brings them running, isn’t that what we want? They still have Hope.”

  After a moment, Connolly says, “That’s actually a good idea.”

  “One of these times, you will stop sounding so shocked when you say that. Now, Ani, show us how you got out, and then we’ll summon the demons who stole our sister.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Ani had crawled out through a window after prying off rotted boards, which cost her two fingernails and earned her three splinters. Meanwhile, from up close, we can see that the front door is both unlocked and not quite shut, a literally open invitation to escape. She’d sensed a trap and taken the hard way.

  There’s nothing inside the shack. I’d joked about hunters bringing lawn chairs, but that must be exactly what they do. Ani’s captors dumped her on the floor without even a bottle of water. As she points out, her bonds were obviously loose on purpose, and the front door is unlocked, so she wasn’t in mortal danger. I can still be furious on her behalf.

  Ani and I check the interior while I ask Connolly to scope the exterior, mostly so he doesn’t need to squeeze through a filthy window and I don’t need to endure his silently palpable agony as he ruins a second shirt in one day.

  Once outside, we stand ten feet from the front door.

  “I’ll open it,” Connolly says. “I’d like you both to take cover. While it certainly seems to only activate a signal, we can’t take chances. You two—”

  I pitch a rock at the front door, hitting at the right angle to swing it open. A light on the black box flashes red.

  “Or we could do that,” Connolly says.

  “Nice throw,” Ani says. “The Unstable Unicorns miss you.”

  To Connolly’s raised brows, I say. “Softball team. Also the name of the local soccer team, the bowling team and the knitting club. The unicorn is kind of the town mascot.” I look around. “We should withdraw to a safe spot to watch—”

  My phone vibrates. I lift it to see a blocked number. Connolly reaches out.

  “I can handle my own spam calls,” I say.

  “I was thinking it might have something to do with the necklace. Another potential buyer looking for a curse weaver.”

  “All the more reason for me to take the call myself.”

  I hit Answer. “Hello?”

  “Miss Bennett?”

  The voice sets my teeth on edge. It’s mechanically distorted, which is creepy, but the tone still comes through, and that’s the part I react to. A rough, patronizing growl that no filter can mask.

  “It’s Ms.,” I say.

  Silence. Then, “What?”

  “You called me Miss. I prefer Ms. Just establishing that right away since this seems to be a first contact. I’m Ms. Bennett, and you are . . . ?”

 
; It’s a moment before he responds.

  “You don’t know what’s happened to your sisters, do you?” he says. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t be quite so impudent.”

  Impudent? Something tells me that by the time I finish this call, Connolly’s condescension will feel positively heartwarming.

  “You mean because my sisters are missing,” I say.

  More silence, and I get far too much satisfaction from throwing him off-kilter again. Then I realize Connolly can overhear, and I expect him to wave wildly, telling me to take it down a notch. He’s only listening, though, same as Ani. I ease the phone from my ear to make that easier.

  “You seem less concerned than one might expect,” the man says.

  “Oh, I’m concerned. They’re my sisters. I’m presuming you know something about their disappearance, and if so, you’ll tell me, because that’s why you called. But bear in mind, please, that there’s a reason you’re calling me. I’m the one who doesn’t live at home. The one who left. I love my sisters, but we don’t get along.”

  Ani looks confused. Connolly nods, as if he understands what I’m doing.

  When the man doesn’t answer, I say, “I know something’s stirring in the magical world. People keep trying to hire me to undo a curse. Something about an auction? A necklace? I never listen long enough to get the details. I’m not for hire. Neither is Turani, and if someone came waving a blank check, she’d still send them packing. Hope, though? Hope’s a little different.”

  He’s quiet. I could think he’s hung up, but whatever is distorting his voice is also amplifying his breathing. He’s listening. Learning. I’m making a point here with my lies, and I must spin them to Hope’s advantage.

  “Hope’s a kid,” I say. “Twenty years old. Never lived outside Unstable. She was going away to college, but then our mom died, and there wasn’t any money.”

  Not true. Hope had been on a gap year to help with Mom, and she extended that to rethink her future.

  I continue. “She’s desperate to get out of Unstable, but Turani holds the purse strings tight, and curse weaving is the only job Hope’s ever had. So if someone tried to hire her, she’d have gone for it. But they’d need to get past Turani first. Anyway, that’s neither here nor there since you have them both. But I’m guessing you’re calling me because I’m the curse weaver you actually want.”

  He’s going to tell me that Ani is free—as he knows from that door signal—but if I want my other sister, I need to uncurse the necklace.

  So when he says, “No, Ms. Bennett, I don’t want to hire you,” I’m the one thrown off-kilter.

  I manage a strained. “All right.”

  “You aren’t part of the family business,” he says. “You can call that a choice, but from what I hear, it’s a lack of ability.”

  I open my mouth to protest and wisely snap it shut just as both Connolly and Ani turn warning looks on me.

  “Don’t fall for it,” Ani mouths.

  She means he’s trying to get a rise from me and make me eager to prove my worth. I pretended I wasn’t freaked out by my sisters disappearing, and he’s pretending he doesn’t really want to hire me.

  “What’s your specialty again?” he says. “The jester’s joke?”

  “Joker’s jinx,” I say before I can stop myself.

  He snorts. “Pranks. This is the most famous cursed object of all. The Necklace of Harmonia. It’s not a child’s hex.”

  Connolly’s sharp look warns me not to share his theory. My responding look politely asks him to give me more credit.

  The man’s insults remind me of one of our neighbors in Unstable. She writes children’s books, and people are always asking when she’ll “graduate” to adult fiction. Same goes for the joker’s jinx. As curses go, it’s usually the most benign. Playful. Lighthearted. Even childlike. That does not mean it’s easy to weave. It also doesn’t mean it can’t be wicked, like granting the “blessing” of eternal youth while punishing you for your vanity.

  “It’s obviously a lover’s lament,” the man says.

  “An ex-hex?”

  He sniffs. “The fact you even use that phrase betrays you as an amateur, Miss Bennett. The proper name is lover’s lament for a reason. It’s a category of hexes designed to punish an inconstant lover. That may be an ex. It may also be a current partner. All that matters is that the party requesting the curse feels betrayed by a lover.”

  Connolly is definitely benefiting from this conversation. In comparison, it’s going to be so much harder to accuse him of treating me like an idiot.

  “I’m sure you aren’t familiar with the background of the necklace,” the man says.

  I clamp my jaw against a rejoinder. Or worse, sarcasm. That would feel good. So would reciting the entire history of the necklace—or the origins of the term lover’s lament and the full breadth of the curses both it and the joker’s jinx cover. But I’m quickly realizing this will go better if he feels he has the advantage.

  He proceeds to blah-blah about the background of the necklace. I roll my eyes, and Ani rubs my back, telling me I’m doing fine. Connolly could leap into the silence to pantomime a new plan. But he just listens, and their tacit approval helps.

  “Fine,” I say when he finishes. “You’re right that it sounds like an ex—a lover’s lament, and you’re right that it’s Hope’s specialty. I presume then that you’re calling to negotiate for Ani’s release?”

  “No, your sister is already free. I’m sure you’ll hear from her soon. This is about you.”

  “I . . .” I glance from Ani to Connolly. Both shrug their confusion. “I thought you didn’t need my skills.”

  “I don’t, but as you said, you’ve been contacted by other interested parties. I believe one is Aiden Connolly. Yes?”

  Connolly snaps upright, his face tensing. I motion to ask whether I can admit it. He considers and then nods.

  “You’ll have to be more specific,” I say. “I’ve had a few offers.”

  “You couldn’t miss Mr. Connolly. Only a few years older than you but acts like he’s twice that. Thinks very highly of himself and his abilities while forgetting the silver spoon wedged in his mouth from birth.” A pause. “No, in Aiden Connolly’s case, that spoon is definitely wedged up his ass. He’s a sanctimonious prick.”

  With every word the man says, Connolly’s eyes harden. By the end, I have to pedal backward to keep him from grabbing the phone.

  “Right,” I say. “Aiden Connolly. The cute ginger. Kinda uptight, but I’m not sure sanctimonious is the right word if he’s trying to score an infamous cursed necklace.”

  “Which is why young Mr. Connolly doesn’t belong anywhere near this auction. That’s where you come in.”

  “You want me to . . . do what? Convince him not to bid? We’re not exactly drinking buddies. Hell, I’m pretty sure he doesn’t have drinking buddies. Unless you count knocking back single malts at the old-boys’ club.”

  I mouth a “sorry” for Connolly, but he waves it off.

  “I’m not asking you to go out for a beer with him, Miss Bennett. Though I’m sure you have a few seductive wiles to fall back on.”

  Wiles? Now I know why this guy wants the Necklace of Harmonia. He’s almost as old as it is.

  “Hey, now,” I say. “I don’t do that kind of stuff. You have my sister, so I’m willing to negotiate—”

  “Use your charms at your discretion, Miss Bennett. I only pointed out that Mr. Connolly is preoccupied with furthering his business interests. He’ll be susceptible to girls like you.”

  I chomp down on everything I want to say. Ani’s expression says she’s doing the same on my behalf.

  He continues, “Men like Mr. Connolly are so busy scrambling up the corporate ladder that they don’t have time for unpaid companionship.”

  Connolly’s brows furrow, as if he’s heard wrong, unable to put unpaid companionship in context. I see the moment it hits, the horror and then the outrage as he gestures and shakes his head. I bit
e my cheek to keep from laughing. Seems whoever this bastard is, he’s an equal opportunity insult artist.

  “Yeah, no,” I say. “Aiden Connolly doesn’t strike me as a guy who needs to pay for it. But whatever. You’re proposing . . .”

  “That you accept his offer. Promise him the uncursing. Convince him you can do it. And then, when it’s time to bid, back out.”

  “Quit once it’s too late for him to find a replacement. Which forces him out of the auction.”

  “Exactly. Then your sister will unweave the curse, and I’ll release her with adequate payment.”

  Somehow, of everything he’s said, that last bit outrages me the most. Paying her says this is a valid business transaction. Not kidnapping. Not blackmail. Just business.

  “I want to speak to my sister.”

  “I thought you might. Hold on.”

  As I wait, Connolly gets my attention. I pretend to mutter into the phone, “This better be a private line,” and he nods. That’s what he wanted to tell me. That it won’t be. Watch what I say.

  A few clicks and then, “Hello?”

  “Hey, kid,” I say. “Finally got that ticket to a magical school and left us, huh?”

  A hiccup, and then she breaks down like I did when I saw Ani at the gas station.

  “Whoa, sorry. Let’s retry that. What did you get yourself into now, Hopeless?”

  More sobbing, as if my “mean big sister” act only makes her miss me more.

  “It’s okay,” I murmur, channeling Ani. “How are you? That’s what I need to know here, Hope. Are you okay? They want me to back off and let you uncurse this necklace.”

  “You should do what they want,” she says. “I’m fine. Really. They’ve got me in a nice place.” She pauses. “Remember when you took me to New York for my eighteenth birthday, just the two of us, and the guy at the desk thought you were cute so he upgraded us?”

  “Pretty sure I’m not the one he upgraded for.”

  “Pretty sure you were. Anyway, the room’s like that. The windows are boarded up, of course, but I have a bedroom and a sitting area and any food I want. Plus Netflix and an Xbox. They asked if they could bring me anything, and I said I’d like a copy of that book you recommended, the one based on a Russian fairy tale. They said they’ll get it.”