Dark Curse

by Kim Richardson

  My eyes widened as I felt the curse stretch between me and the witch like a rubber band. Elation filled me as I felt the painful sensation of pinpricks in reverse as the curse left me. The old witch had done it! It was gone!

  But with a snap that made me catch my breath, it pulled from Evanora, linking back to me instead.

  Ah. Hell.

  The force of a massive sledgehammer smashed into me, and my grip on the witch’s hand slipped, the connection between us breaking. In utter agony, I curled my mind around what was left and tried to see past the pain, to form another thought to prove I wasn’t dead yet. Mindless from the pain, I felt my soul start to burn. The sensation of my insides melting grew stronger. I felt the curse wrap around me, my soul, and yet I still burned.

  I blinked, trying to figure out what had happened. I was on my back, looking up at the ceiling. Two thoughts occurred to me at that moment, first that I could see, and then that I was still alive since I could still feel pain. Everywhere hurt.

  Still shaking from the remnants of the blood magic, I pushed myself up on my knees and looked over at Evanora.

  The old witch was on her side. Blood trickled from her mouth and ears, making a small pool next to her chin on the floor. Her eyes were closed and she wasn’t moving.

  With a final gust of wind, the candles went out. The blood magic was spent.

  “Rowyn.”

  I felt hands around my shoulders and looked up to see Gareth’s worried expression, and my heart clenched.

  “I’m fine,” I said, pulling my gaze away before the waterworks started. My voice cracked and sounded a little too high. The room spun as a feeling of dizziness swept over me, a nausea that came so suddenly and violently that I pressed my palms on the floor for support in the effort not to collapse.

  Fur brushed my face as Tyrius sprang onto my lap. “Damn, woman. I think you killed the old witch.”

  “What?” I reached over and grabbed her wrist, searching for a pulse. I sensed the soft tap, tap, tap of a steady heartbeat. “She’s alive,” I said, relieved. Though I didn’t know why. I hated the witch. Still, somewhere for some reason I didn’t want her to die because of me. Because of the curse.

  I let go of her wrist just as Danto and Layla rushed over the fallen witch.

  “Well, if she had croaked and was on her way to the Netherworld, it wouldn’t be your fault,” expressed Tyrius. “She wanted this. She took responsibility for what could happen. Don’t forget she was a greedy stinky witch.”

  Gareth knelt down next to me, his lavender scent a welcome from the sulfur stink of dark magic. “She was willing to sacrifice her life in order for a taste of the archdemon’s gift. This is way beyond greed.” His eyes held a whisper of sorrow as he looked down at the old witch, a deep understanding of what it was like to behold magic and what it entailed.

  The elf was a much better person than I was. I wasn’t sure what I felt now looking at the crumpled old body of the witch. I’m not sure I felt anything for her. But whatever I had felt before, it had changed. It wasn’t the deep, loathing hatred anymore. A mutual dislike? I had no idea.

  I sighed. At least I knew she’d tried. Not for me, of course, for her. Still, the witch had given her all.

  And it hadn’t worked.

  Worse, since Evanora didn’t get her part of the deal, she would never testify on my behalf. I was screwed.

  I slumped in my circle, not caring if I looked sullen to the others. I was sullen. I could still feel the darkness in me, swirling inside my body and my mind. Nothing had changed. It had nearly killed me and the witch Evanora, but it was still there.

  Tyrius cleared his throat, and I started, having forgotten he had been sitting on my lap the entire time. “Don’t worry about it, Rowyn,” he said in a small voice, his blue eyes flashing. “We’ll find another way to remove it. Don’t you worry about that now.”

  “Thanks,” I said. While I appreciated the thought, somehow it didn’t make me feel much better.

  Damn it all to the Netherworld. It hadn’t worked.

  It had nearly killed me to remove it. And we’d failed. The fact that the archdemon hadn’t showed up during the ritual should have been a red flag. He’d known it couldn’t be removed with blood magic.

  Hell. A new fear settled in me when I realized I could never get rid of it. I would have this curse for the rest of my life.

  17

  We waited for another ten minutes while Gareth performed some elf healing magic over the old witch.

  She’d said nothing as Gareth sprinkled her with different colored doses of elf dust, which seemingly helped her regain some of her strength. I was even more surprised that she let the elf help her to a nearby chair. Maybe she was embarrassed that she couldn’t lift the curse. Maybe she was just too tired to care, or maybe she knew she needed it.

  Slumped in the chair, she took a mug in her crooked fingers, which Gareth had been preparing for her, and began sipping from it. Her wrinkled face was a mask of pain, her small eye covered in a thin film-like mucus.

  I was even more surprised that Layla did nothing but watch as Gareth helped heal the witch that had messed her up, literally. If anyone had a good enough reason to kill the witch, it was Layla. But she had stayed back, finding comfort in Danto as she leaned against him.

  Funny how things changed. One day Evanora was my sworn enemy, and the next, she looked like bent old woman, frail and weak, forgotten by her relatives that had just dropped her at a senior home.

  Seeing her like that, I couldn’t help but feel a little pity. Just a little.

  And while Evanora was making horrible sipping sounds, the elf had practically forced me to drink one of his concoctions as well. I only took it after attempting to knock it out of his hands five times and failing. But also because I had taken something similar before and it had replenished my strength.

  When Gareth was finally satisfied that Evanora was going to be okay on her own, we all left her shop together and poured out into the dimly lit street.

  With Tyrius perched on my shoulder, I fell into step beside Gareth. “Why did you do that?”

  He looked at me from under his hat. “You mean, why did I help the dark witch from suffering excruciating amounts of pain after she tried to help you remove that curse?”

  Ouch. “Yeah. That,” I said, feeling some resentment building up. Did he not remember that she’d tried to kill me? Or that she had tampered with dark magic and had infused it in Layla and the other Unmarked?

  Gareth’s face went tight as he looked away. “Because I can.”

  A heavy sigh sifted from me. “She only did it because she wanted it for herself. You do know that, right? She wanted that power.”

  “You sure about that?” said the elf, his eyes on the street.

  I started, not entirely sure what he meant. I opened my mouth to ask him and then paused. A stronger pull of demon energy hit me, roiling beneath my skin. Heart pounding in my ears, I took a step back and turned around.

  From the shadows of the street stepped a mob of lean figures. Taller than most half-breeds, there was a least a dozen. My first thought was that Ethan and the Unmarked had found me. But it wasn’t Ethan.

  Standing in the street, poised to attack, was a gang of Dark Arrows.

  “Oh, goodie. Candy ass faeries,” said Tyrius smugly. “Just when I thought this night couldn’t get any better, it does. Pinch me, Rowyn. I think it’s my birthday. Best night. Ever.”

  It had been a good seven months since I’d seen a faerie, let alone of one the Dark Arrows. After Sylph Tower came down, they all kinda scattered, hidden away like ghosts as though they never really existed. The Gray Council hadn’t been pleased about the dark queen’s mad plans of taking over New York City without telling them. So they took her tower down. Whoop-de-freaking-doo.

  Tyrius growled, matching my hatred for this race of half-breeds. I hated these pointy-eared bastards. But in a twisted kind of way, I was glad they were here.

  I hadn�
��t had a good fae fight in a long time, too long. I was out of shape, soft, losing my touch. Fresh challenges kept me on my toes. It was important in my line of work. I loved kicking fae ass, especially the smug Dark Arrows.

  Echoes of rich voices reached us, and the distant sound of a mocking laugh carried on the wind along with the aroma of candy canes and with an underlying hint of rotten eggs—the scent of faeries.

  “You think they know who you are?” mewed Tyrius, his nails biting into my shoulders. I didn’t want to tell him that having him riding on my shoulders was a dead giveaway. I should have brought a scarf.

  “They know.” I wondered if they also knew I’d killed Daegal, their late commander. By the masks of hatred and rage they wore on their gaunt, pinched faces, I was guessing that was a big fat yes.

  With his head slightly downcast, Gareth pushed his long black trench coat back, his hands at his waist, fingers twitching, looking like a cowboy ready to draw. Danto was shaking his head, a strange smile on his face. And Layla... well, she looked just as delighted as I was at the prospect of having a good ol’ fight. Yeah, Layla was awesome.

  “You,” said one of the Dark Arrows as he stepped forward, his dark eyes wild and blazing as he pointed a curved silver knife at me, long and deadly like a lion’s claw.

  I opened my mouth in mock surprise and touched my chest. “Me?” I voiced, a smile on my face.

  The faerie’s lips twitched into a snarl. “Just you.”

  Ooooh. This was going to be fun.

  Giddy, I winked at him. “You got it, twiggy.” I reached down and pulled out one of my spare daggers I’d kept at my gran’s. “Tyrius,” I called, and the cat leaped off my shoulders and landed expertly on the asphalt.

  The baal looked up at me, his eyes narrowed. “You know what you’re doing?”

  “Of course I do.” I took a breath, enjoying the excitement and adrenaline pumping through my body and making me quiver.

  “Then why do I get the feeling something bad is going to happen?” commented the cat.

  “The only thing that’s going to happen,” I said as I stretched my arms and then my neck, “is that I’m going to kick that fae’s ass. And that’s a good thing. Not a bad one. We hate faeries. Remember?”

  Tyrius squished up his face in an uncertain expression and then trotted over to stand on the sidewalk with the others.

  “Rowyn, no.” Gareth was at my side in a second. “I know you’re upset.”

  “I’m not,” I lied, trying to come up with a word to describe my mood but falling short.

  “You’re upset that the witch couldn’t revoke the archdemon’s gift.” Gareth’s posture stiffened, and I could almost see the tension rolling around his shoulders. “I understand your frustration, but this isn’t the way to resolve this.”

  “I never said it was.” I just wanted to hurt something right now.

  “This isn’t a good idea.” The depth of the emotion in his voice had my gut twisting in a knot.

  “Don’t worry. I’ve got this,” I said. My heart seemed to clench at the concern flashing behind his eyes. “I’ve been fighting skinny bastards like him my whole life. I can handle it.”

  “You just went through an incredible ordeal. You shouldn’t be fighting anyone. Let alone a Dark Arrow.”

  “Then you shouldn’t have made me one of your super-energy drinks,” I teased, my smile fading at the anger simmering behind his eyes. “I feel fine. Better than fine.”

  “I don’t want you to do this,” said the elf, his voice low and final.

  A flicker of annoyance rose in me, but I quickly squashed it knowing that Gareth was just worried. “I’m doing it,” I confirmed. There was something else in those eyes, and it had nothing to do with this itty-bitty fight. “What?”

  Gareth took a breath. “Why do you look happy about fighting this faerie?” asked the elf, his brow wrinkled in worry as he studied my face, searching for something.

  “Do I?” I said, my smile not wanting to leave my face for some reason. “I don’t know. Maybe because I hate faeries? Listen,” I added, when Gareth didn’t budge. “I killed his boss. And their queen. Obviously they know it was me. It’s a fair fight. One on one.”

  “What if he kills you?” questioned the elf. A thread of fear wove through his motions, so subtle that I didn’t know if anyone but me had noticed.

  “He won’t.” Yeah, I was cocky, but I felt good. Really good. “Besides. If I don’t do this, they’ll never let me off the hook. It’s either I fight this fae now or glance over my shoulder for the rest of my life, wondering when the next fae is going to try and kill me. This way it ends tonight.”

  I didn’t give Gareth a chance to try and talk me out of this as I moved away from him and stepped into the street. I knew eventually the faeries would come after me. Tonight was the night.

  “I’m next!” cheered Layla, and I turned to see her beaming and standing in the sidelines next to Danto, who kept trying to grab her hand but missing.

  Hiding my smile, I gave the fae a once over. His tall figure looked gaunt and sickly in the dim light, the shadows catching his sharp cheek bones and pointy jaw. It was impossible to guess his true age, so I pegged him at about twenty-five. He wore his dark hair in a long braid behind his back, giving way to a series of fae tattoos that dripped down both sides of his neck. I counted three more knives sheathed along his baldric. Dressed all in black, he looked like a spill of ink against the darkening sky.

  I stopped when I was about ten feet away from the fae. “You Daegal’s replacement?”

  The fae said nothing as he stared at me, eyes wide, determined, and feverish. Through his eyes, I could almost count the times he’d envisioned killing me in his mind—ten times, give or take a few.

  “If you keep staring at me like that,” I said, batting my eyelashes and flashing him my teeth, “I’m going to start thinking you want to begin with a little foreplay? A little touching... some rubbing...”

  The faerie said nothing, his body tense with the promise of pain.

  I looked over his shoulder to the other Dark Arrows. They hadn’t moved. They stood waiting, watching. Creepy voyeurs.

  I glanced back at Daegal’s replacement. “You want to make a chalk outline? Or are you good to go?”

  He pointed at me with a shaking hand. “You will pay in blood for this,” he snarled. Defiance and contempt rang in every word. “I will not rest until you pay for your crimes, Hunter bitch.”

  “O-o-o-k-a-a-ay,” I said, easing into a fighting crouch. “Enough with the small talk.”

  The fae grinned, wild and manic. “For the queen! For Daegal!” he shouted, echoed loudly by the other faeries.

  Their shouts were eerie, almost animalistic, but they didn’t make me squirm away in fear. I was drawn to it. I wanted it. Their shouts raised something primal in me. Something dark. I liked it.

  Then the fae attacked.

  He shot forward, a blur of black, springing like a cat after a mouse, and I barely caught his knife with my dagger. He slipped in a powerful punch to my gut with his free hand. Before I could parry, the fae pitched himself into a backwards flip, completing the roll with a kick in my face in the process.

  Stars exploded and I staggered back, eyes watering as blood filled my mouth. I’d bitten my tongue. I spat on the ground, my eyes meeting the grinning fae as he waited for me in some martial arts stance. That was a new trick.

  “Not bad,” I said, complimenting his style as I rubbed my jaw, foreseeing a giant bruise. “You’re a tricky son of a faerie. Aren’t you?” That had been awesome. Too bad I was going to beat him to a pulp. But the faerie had made it look as easy as breathing. I mean, say what you will about the faeries, but this one had style. A kung fu fae. That was a first for me.

  The faerie let out a rough cackle. “I’ve only just begun.”

  I whistled slowly. “You sound pretty confident there, faerie boy.”

  He grinned, and there was something about the way he did it th
at had the hairs on the back of my neck rising. “Our faerie Seer foresaw this fight. She sees all.”

  “Really?” I said, my hands on my hips, never having heard that the faeries had Seers. “Did she also see my boot up your ass?”

  The fae never lost his smile as he said, “You will die.”

  I pointed my blade at the scrawny half-breed. “Not tonight, twiggy. Not tonight.”

  The sound of hushed conversations pulled my gaze around. The neighborhood half-breeds were watching from doors and windows, some crowding the streets. Damn. Now every half-breed and angel-born would know I was alive and back. Not good.

  The faerie’s smile sharpened. “You have nice eyes.”

  I raised my brows. “Are you hitting on me? Cause I’m not sure how you’ll feel after I’ve killed your ass.”

  The fae shifted on his feet, his smile positively vulpine. “I will eat your eyes. Your nose. Your ears. Your tongue.”

  Now things just got weirder.

  I made a face. “Nice. How about I throw in a pair of boobs just for fun?”

  The fae was sneering, lip lifted from his teeth, and he made an inward hissing sound like Hannibal Lecter. “Your heart I will keep for last. I have plans for it.”

  I didn’t for one second believe he wasn’t going to eat me. Of course he would, that sick bastard. Faeries. I hated them. Really hated them.

  Jaw clenched, I flicked my hand at the faerie and gestured. “Come on, Crouching Tiger Hidden Faerie. Show me what you got.”

  Murderously silent, the fae shot forward in a series of spins and butterfly kicks. He moved with inhuman speed, too fast for my eyes to register. I whirled toward him and brought up my dagger, his legs and arms a blur, moving everywhere at once.

  A gasp slipped from me as I felt searing pain across my thigh. Blood flowed. I jerked forward, falling to the hard asphalt on my knees, my butt in the air. Not pretty. Instincts kicked in, and I leaped to my feet, swinging my leg around and landing a side kick squarely in his chest. He stumbled back, finishing his fall with another backwards flip.

  Now he was just showing off.