Dark Curse

by Kim Richardson

  Relax, Rowyn. Gritting my teeth, I forced myself to stay calm. No need to freak out and alarm the others. This was obviously one of the side effects from Lucian’s gift. Somehow I could channel demon energies at a super level. What else was this gift doing to me? Once again my baal demon friend had been right.

  This gift, this curse, was changing me. This was proof. A cold little feeling shuddered through my guts.

  “Rowyn?” Tyrius’s hot breath tickled my ear. “You okay? You’re all tense.”

  Gareth’s head snapped my way as he walked next to me on the street, his tread silent like the fae whereas I had never learned that stealthy skill. The clank of my boots echoed loudly like a three-hundred-pound man.

  “I just can’t wait to see the look on the old witch’s face when she sees me,” I lied, knowing all too well that the cat knew I was lying, but I was glad he kept his mouth shut so that Gareth wouldn’t worry about me too. “I might even snap a few pictures. They’ll look great on my wall.”

  Tyrius laughed. “I have an idea. After the photoshoot, why not exchange cauldron recipes, compare your warts and the sizes of your broomsticks... that kind of thing? I’m feeling some witch-love in the air.”

  I smiled bitterly. “I stole her grimoire... she stole my blood. I don’t think that makes us even. Not by a longshot.” No, the bitch was going to pay for that. Payment in full, in the means of me kicking her bony ass.

  Tyrius’s whiskers tickled the skin around my neck as I felt him shake his head. “Especially not after she used your blood to create a miscreant like Ethan,” grumbled the cat. “The dude’s got no originality. Total evil villain douchebag trope. I would have given him some points if he’d worn a cape or a mask. Tights would have been my first choice.” He was silent for a moment. “You think she still has some?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Maybe she didn’t have to use it all,” said the cat, and I felt my shoulder brush up against Gareth’s as he fell into step with me, listening. “Maybe she kept some of your blood for her next science project.” Tyrius shifted his weight on my shoulders. “Face it, your blood’s worth a lot. The witch knows this. And seeing as she might never get the chance to get her wart-infested hands on more... I’m willing to bet she still has some.”

  Of course she did. Because that’s what I would have done too.

  “Tyrius is right,” said Gareth and I turned to look at him. His face was so close to mine that if I leaned just a little I could kiss him. “We should search her place. Just in case. It’s not something we should leave behind.”

  I clenched my jaw, anger stirring in my gut. “If she does, we can use that as proof too.” The idea that the witch had used my blood to corrupt innocent babies left a bitter taste in my mouth and made me feel nauseated. But to think now that she still had some made my throat burn with bile. Oh, I’m coming for you, Evanora. Get ready, witch.

  My legs moved faster, my boots loud as I felt a nervous energy slip into me. “She better be there.”

  Rumor was, Evanora Crow had moved back into Mystic Quarter after my sentence. The old bat had balls. I’d give her that. I didn’t care how old she was. She’d stolen my blood. That deserved a good ol’ ass-whooping.

  “I’m sure she is,” said Tyrius. “Danto’s spies haven’t been wrong yet. If he says she’s here, then she is. Get ready to pluck the feathers off of that crow.”

  I laughed and let myself relax a little. This feeling, this overdrive of demon energies, wasn’t so bad. And once I relaxed, it was easier to let them go, like turning down the volume inside my head.

  Besides, I had this under control. I was in control of me. Not this gift.

  The street slanted downward, showing more muddled buildings, structures and shops, all squeezed together as though from lack of space.

  Danto and Layla were waiting by his black BMW sedan. The two of them were leaning against the car, sharing a private conversation—Layla slowly moving her hand up and down his arm and Danto letting her. Seeing Danto smiling all the time made my heart swell. He’d been ominous for so long after losing Cindy. I knew he’d never forget Cindy, nor should he. I also knew him well enough to know that Layla was not her replacement. He hadn’t been looking for anything. Layla had just sort of happened. The heart wants what the heart wants.

  I was truly happy for my friend. If anyone deserved another shot at love, it was my vampire buddy. He would love her fiercely. He’d adore her, and Layla deserved that too.

  But it was also weird how perfectly they fit. Seeing them now, their easy, intimate demeanors, you’d think they’d been together for years. It was almost like they were meant to be.

  Fate? Nah. I didn’t believe in all that stuff. I made my own fate.

  “Those two look mighty comfy,” whispered Tyrius in my ear, his tail wrapped around my neck like a scarf as he perched on my shoulder. “Think they’ve done it already?”

  “Tyrius,” I hissed, hoping they hadn’t heard, though from Gareth’s snort I knew he had. “Don’t make me regret bringing you.”

  The cat exhaled. “What? Look at them. They’re practically dripping with sex. I bet they have.”

  Gareth gave a short laugh. I turned and our eyes met. The elf’s smile turned wicked, and my pulse hammered. Damn. He had to stop smiling at me like that.

  Tyrius perked up, encouraged by the elf’s laugh. “How does that expression go again? An orgasm a day keeps the doctor away?”

  I rolled my eyes, feeling my face flush. “Tyrius. I mean it. Shut it.”

  Tyrius gave a tut. “I’m just voicing what you’re both thinking. Admit it.”

  I smirked. True. But he didn’t have to know that.

  “What would Kora say if she heard you,” I tried.

  The cat laughed. “If you think I’m bad, you should hear her sometimes.”

  Not feeling great about leaving Gran alone, I’d convinced Kora to stay behind to watch over her. It hadn’t really taken any convincing. The pristine cat had smiled and accepted even before I’d finished. She said she’d had a feeling I would ask, and she seemed happy to be of help.

  Feeling much better, and after the longest shower in shower history, the five of us made it back to Manhattan.

  I couldn’t have been happier riding in Gareth’s truck—me, smelling like soap and with clean clothes, him looking perfectly content, confident, and incredibly sexy while driving. There was nothing sexier than a confident man. Gareth was the most self-assured male I’d ever met, and that pushed all my hormone buttons.

  We reached Danto and Layla, and both of them turned towards us. Layla pushed off the BMW grinning, her eyes wide and gleaming with a wild excitement. Her lean, leather-clad body looked fabulous next to Danto’s polished refinement. She was wearing her signature leather pants, knee-high boots, a fitted leather bodice and had finished the look with a new, drool-worthy short black leather jacket, which I had a feeling was a gift from Danto. Again I could almost imagine a whip at her hip, and I smiled just thinking about it.

  Layla misinterpreted my smile as she moved up to me. “Can I have a go at her first? I’m dying to cut a few holes into that old witch,” she said and yanked two curved double-edge blades from her waist. “Or maybe I’ll just take her one good eye out,” she said as she gestured with one of her blades.

  “Don’t forget the tongue,” informed Tyrius. “If she can’t see or speak... she can’t do magic.”

  Interesting. Never thought of that.

  I pursed my lips. “Totally understandable, Layla,” I said, sympathetic to the mental torment she must be going through. “And under different circumstances, I’d let you go all Rambo on her ass. But I need the witch alive. She’s the only one that can clear my name.”

  “And you still think you can make her talk?” Gareth stood next to me, his eyes glittering in the dimness as he met my gaze in a kind of relaxed, confident stare. “Evanora is ancient, cunning, knowledgeable, and probably the most powerful dark witch alive.”

/>   “Not to mention a stinker,” snickered Tyrius.

  I raised my brows. “I can handle her,” I answered.

  “How?” chorused Tyrius and Gareth together.

  “I know what I’m doing.”

  The elf let out a sharp sigh, his shoulders going stiff. “Really? What?” His face was screwed up with irritation, and his eyes almost seemed to glow in frustration.

  “I have something she can’t refuse.”

  Gareth’s expression tightened. “Like what?” His voice was harsh, and he looked ready to elf-dust someone.

  I took a breath and held it. I said nothing, as he watched me, his stance stiff. If I opened my mouth now, he might try and stop me.

  Gareth huffed and grasped my shoulders, forcing me to stand beside him. “What are you going to offer her, Rowyn? What are you not telling me?”

  My heart clenched at the misery and fear I saw on his face. I opened my mouth to answer, but Tyrius beat me too it.

  “The only thing that would interest Evanora would be Rowyn, more of Rowyn’s blood, or power,” declared the cat. “In that order. Pick one.”

  I frowned. It was like that cat lived inside my head, reading my mind like it was written on cue cards. It was freaky at times.

  The elf narrowed his eyes. “Is that true?” he asked, concern heavy in his voice. “Rowyn, you can’t be serious? You’re not going to offer her some of your blood? Look at what she did with it? Think of Ethan. Think of Layla.”

  “I am thinking of Layla,” I answered, slightly irritated, my hands on my hips. “It’s one of the reasons why I’m here. To stop Lisbeth.”

  “By giving the witch on her payroll more of your blood?” the elf’s voice was rough, as if he’d been yelling. “That’s not stopping her. That’s aiding her.”

  A puff of breath escaped me along with my irritation. I loved that he was worried about me. It touched me deeply, like tiny hands wrapped around my heart, squeezing. I pressed into him, giving his arm a squeeze and breathing in his musky scent. “Don’t worry about me. I know how to handle her.”

  “She can’t be trusted.” Gareth’s face went tight and he exhaled. “She’s dangerous.”

  “I’m dangerouser.”

  “That’s not a word,” said the elf, smiling.

  I smiled back, my smile winning. “It should be.” Cause that’s exactly how I feel.

  Giving the elf one last squeeze, I scanned the rows of dingy buildings, thrown together without a thought on design, structure or purpose.

  I turned to Danto. “You sure this is the place?”

  “This is the place,” said the vampire, gesturing at a building that I would have never noticed if he hadn’t been pointing at it. His bare feet slapped the pavement as he pivoted his body. “It has her name on it.”

  I moved towards the opposite side of the street where he’d been pointing and stood facing the next strip of brownstone buildings. It was a three-story brown-brick building. A modest sign on the first floor over the front door proclaimed:

  EVANORA CROW. DARK WITCH EXTRAORDINAIRE.

  SPECIALIST IN THE DART ARTS.

  MANAGEMENT.

  “Management?” scoffed Tyrius. “What dumbass put her in charge? She can barely manage to take a bath.”

  I had to agree. This sounded strange. Stranger still was that she had her name written in bold letters for everyone to see. An invitation?

  “She must really think you’re dead if she’s willing to put herself out like that,” commented Tyrius.

  In the windows of the darkened shop, I could see my reflection. I saw Gareth, Danto and Layla come forward to stand next to me, but there was no movement inside, no light.

  “Maybe she’s not open for business yet,” I muttered, my eyes moving to the top floors and seeing only darkness. “The lights are off.”

  “Better yet,” said the cat. “We could break in, wait for her inside, and jump the bitch.”

  “Hmmmm.” I’d broken into her place before. It had been her apartment back then, not her shop, and I had the nasty feeling this place was crawling with curses to keep thieves away.

  As usual, I didn’t have much of a plan. The plan was to sneak into her shop, use the element of surprise to keep her from throwing some nasty dark magic at us, and then neutralize her with a blade to her throat so we could have our chat.

  I didn’t want to hurt the old witch too badly. I needed her on my side. I needed her to listen to my offer, and for that, I needed to be somewhat civil with the witch. She had to agree to testify on my behalf, and for that, I couldn’t force her. An impossible task, maybe. Still, I had to try. Evanora was the key to my freedom.

  But if that didn’t work, I would definitely resort to torture.

  “I’m in the mood for broomstick soup,” I declared. “Who’s with me.”

  And then I stormed towards the witch’s shop.

  14

  If I had to describe Evanora Crow, I would say she was a cross between one of the Weird Sisters from Shakespeare’s play Macbeth and a Dementor from the Harry Potter books. Yes, the witch was as old as dirt, bent with age, her lose skin riddled with sores and wrinkles, but her thirst for dark power had her ranking high on my creep-o-meter.

  The fact was, Evanora was unpredictable. Who knew what sort of dark magic she’d been dabbling with all this time? Who knew which demon she’d called upon to gain some of its power? Evanora dipped deep into the cauldron of demonic power, and I hated to think what she’d done to get to the level of dark magic she desired.

  It was no secret the more you toyed with demons, the more you summoned them, the more they took from you. Demons never gave anything for free. There was always something in it for them.

  Evanora was slowly selling her soul to demons, rendering her a thing of darkness, but it was also making her stronger. More powerful. With a cauldron full of dark magic. Yikes.

  I also knew with that level of dark magic, of dark curses and spells, she was the only one who could lift this curse from me. Evanora didn’t lust for money or beauty. She lusted for power. She’d willingly exchanged one of her eyes for a glimpse, for a taste of more demonic power.

  Evanora Crow was the witch I needed tonight.

  I made for the front door, but I wasn’t sure what to expect once inside. The old witch might not even be there. Or maybe she was, had seen me coming, and was waiting to curse me.

  My boots clanked on the asphalt and I stepped up to the front cement steps. My stomach rolled, and the rising sense of demon energies didn’t help keep it calm. Not waiting for the others, I reached out and tried the door. It opened easily enough, so I went on inside.

  A sudden tingle of demon energies rippled over my skin, making me flinch. “Is it cursed?” I whispered, my posture taut.

  I felt Tyrius moving around my shoulders. “No. I’m just getting the usual dark magic readings. Nothing unpleasant. No dark hexes or curses. All clear.”

  “Good.” I exhaled. That was one less thing to think about.

  “Guess she’s open for business,” mumbled Tyrius, settling his weight around my shoulders, his tail wrapped around my neck like a scarf. “And not in a good way.”

  I smiled, and excitement pulsed through my body as I peered through the doorway. The quiet rustle of clothing told me Gareth was right behind me, followed quickly by a scuffling sound. High-heeled boots on the concrete steps and Layla’s perfume wafted in afterward.

  The scent of incense hit me first followed by the smell of candles, blood, and death. Death had its own distinctive scent—a combination of rotten meat and sewer waste. It piqued my curiosity.

  What are you doing, Evanora?

  Heavy black drapes hung over the two front windows, the only source of light spilling from the six candles splayed above a counter on the far right.

  The thick, metallic odor of blood was heavy in the air mixed in with the faint stench of rot. There was the musty, moldy smell of old rugs as well as a few traces of something spicier, like dirty
old sneakers. The death scent was mixed through it all, sharp and discomforting, like the smell of the city sewers and vinegar.

  Tyrius nudged closer to my ear and said, “Smells like a public bathroom in here.”

  If you removed the smell of death, Tyrius was bang on. It was disgusting, and I couldn’t imagine anyone, let alone a witch, working in conditions like this. But Evanora was a special kind of witch. Or maybe she was just too old to care.

  The shop was small and cramped. Cobwebs stretched out, covering everything coated in dust. Shelves and racks lined the walls, and rows of shelves sat clumped together in the middle of the room. A glass cabinet with a collection of skulls, human and animal, sat in the corner, near an old couch and table littered with mostly empty boxes.

  It looked like a cross between a pawn shop, where thieves traded in their stolen goods for a few extra dollars, and someone’s forgotten basement. Just like Gareth’s shop, there were rows of shelves packed with an assortment of jars with unidentifiable objects, boxes, candles, and bones. But this place was nowhere near as clean and neat as his. There was no organization to the items that I could see, like everything was just thrown on top of the shelves so the customer had to rummaged through it to find what they needed. But unlike his medicinal shop, this one had been splattered with demonic energies and dark magic.

  A chatter of voices thrummed in the air and I halted. There were murmurs, low voices in hushed tones all around us, being repeated over and over, an incantation. The air grew tight and heavy with dark magic, gaining momentum as they chanted in wild, rampant tones. The mumbling came from a back room hidden by a curtain. Bingo.

  I glanced at Gareth, his hands splayed out near his waist, ready to hit Evanora or any witch before they had a chance to invoke a spell. Danto and Layla were suddenly next to me, their expressions cautious and hard, ready to fight. I caught Layla’s stare and she winked.

  I grinned at her, yanking out my dagger. This was going to be fun.

  I was through the curtain barrier in a flash and felt Gareth at my back.