Dark Curse

by Kim Richardson

  Her face pinched. “It is what we agreed.”

  “Oh my God! You have no freaking clue. Do you?” I wiped the sweat from my brow with the back of my arm, straining to stay up. “Lucian’s curse wasn’t meant to help you. Don’t you see?”

  “No,” said the old woman, flinging her gun. “You’ll say anything for me not to kill you. It’s not going to work.”

  I took a step back, my eyes never leaving the gun that still shook slightly in the old woman’s hand. “Take it easy, Grandma. You might kill someone with that thing.”

  “That is precisely the point!” she shouted, red blotches marring her wrinkled face.

  I raised my hands, my pulse hammering. “Listen to me,” I said, panting as Lisbeth went out of focus for a second. Oh, God, I was going to pass out. I took a gulp of air and said, “The gift... the curse... it was about the angels.” I took another deep breath. “It’s always been about the angels. He lied to me. And he lied to you.”

  Lisbeth hesitated as my pulse hammered in my ears. “Angels?” chuckled the old angel-born. “You clearly have lost your mind.”

  “I’m telling you the truth. The curse is really about killing angels. It kills their souls.”

  “How would you know that?” she accused, her tone slightly sour as she leaned heavily on her cane. Her small eyes fixed on me and I knew I had her full attention.

  “Because I killed one,” I said, and it sent shivers borne in a stifled memory through me. “I killed the soul of an angel with my bare hands. Just by touching him.”

  Her eyes widened and she lowered her gun. I could see the thoughts scrambling behind her eyes as she thought about what I’d just said.

  “He’s using you,” I pressed, glad that I’d never have to go through that ever again. “Why would he want to help you remove the half-breeds when he and his kind created demons in the first place? I’ll tell you why—because he doesn’t. He wants to remove the angels, the legion. He’s bitter because they cast him out. He’s looking for revenge. And do to that, he needs your help. Living subjects that have the ability to kill the soul of an angel with a single touch—true half-breeds he’d called it.”

  Lisbeth watched me for a moment, and then her gaze took on an apathetic hue. “What do I care what happens to the angels? Hateful creatures. The lot of them. What are they really, but glowing lights filled with self-righteous delusions of grandeur? His children... celestial beings of light and perfection. Bah...” spat the old woman. “Angels are responsible for the misery and despair we suffer. We’d be better off without them.”

  “Are you for real? Because without them, the demons would take over the world,” I said, dizzy as I tried to focus on one of the Lisbeths I was seeing. Damn. I was going to pass out. “Haven’t you been listening to a single word I said?”

  Alarm flashed over the old angel-born, and she almost stood. “No, I’ll... I’ll just explain to the archdemon that the plan hasn’t changed,” she said, her voice strained and her eyes wild and unfocused. She looked utterly mad. “There is still hope. Layla. Yes. Yes. Yes. There is hope with Layla,” she said and I felt the blood leave my face. “Yes. She’s strong. She can take the curse.”

  Oh Hell. A pang hit me, making it hard to breathe. Lucian didn’t know about Layla. If he did, he would have said something. No, it was clear by Lisbeth’s actions that he didn’t. But when he did...

  I couldn’t let that happen. I stared, heartbeat fast as a feverish chill hit me and I started to shake. I had to get out of here. I had to warn her. I had to do something.

  A band of panic pulled through me. I didn’t think I could move fast enough to make it to the door without a bullet in the head or in the heart. No, I had to disarm her.

  My vision blurred again, the loss of blood making me shake uncontrollably. The fever intensified, and my muscles ached. It was getting harder to breathe, and it took every ounce of effort, physically and mentally, to keep me from keeling over. I was tired, so tired.

  But, I would need every bit of strength I could muster to pull off my desperate plan—to disarm her and hope I was fast enough.

  “Layla will never agree to it.” Grunting with effort, I took a step forward, pulse fast when she advanced. I had to get her gun.

  Lisbeth beamed. “She will because she’ll have no choice,” she said coyly and raised her gun, her arm steady and focused this time. “I’m going to change the world. And you won’t be part of it.”

  Damn. This was the end.

  My pulse jumped as I reached for her gun. But my legs were made of rubber. They couldn’t support my weight, and I fell to my knees.

  All I could do was stare at the smile that could only be described as demonic as Lisbeth pointed the gun to my head.

  And then she pulled the trigger.

  24

  They say your life flashes before your eyes when you’re about to die.

  It didn’t.

  All I saw was the dark metal barrel of a gun and the smile from a crazy old bitch.

  I braced for the blow. Not that I knew what it felt like to get shot in the head. Would it hurt? Would I even remember the pain?

  A black haze rose before my eyes, blinding me. The loud crack of a gunshot rang in my ears, blocking out every other sound and thought.

  But the pain never came.

  Blinking, I watched as the haze vanished. My vision blurred and swirled between wood crates and the gray cement floor. My body jerked and shook from the adrenaline. I was alive! I’d heard the shot. She must have missed. But no one could have missed such a close and easy shot. Even her. And I didn’t believe in luck.

  On my knees, I fought with the nausea, willing myself to focus as I took in a deep breath. I looked around me. Forms and shapes hung about like misty clothes. I could see the shape of Lisbeth, her face still just a shadow, drifting among the layers...

  I gasped as my eyes finally focused.

  I saw two things at once—a gun lying on the cement next to me, and there, standing before Lisbeth, Evanora Crow.

  The witch was alive, looking mad as hell with a black ball of dark magic in her outstretched hand. Her face twisted in an ugly show of hate, her thin lips quivering in what I could only imagine was a whoop-ass curse. The sparse wisps of hair still on her head began to float. Her shapeless green dress shifted in the energy-filled air. She looked-bad ass. And she’d just saved my life.

  “You old fool!” hissed Lisbeth as she swung around and faced the witch, looking mildly surprised that she was alive. “What do you think you’re doing?” she cried, swinging her cane like a baseball bat. Yeah, like that would work.

  Evanora didn’t move. I don’t think she even blinked. Only her lips moved, and her face, her wrinkles pulling in together to form a mask of true hatred.

  My head pounded with the sudden flow of dark energy. My muscles hurt, and my jeans were soaked in my blood. My left leg was mostly numb, and the right one wasn’t that much better. My wounded leg, naturally, was pounding so hard that I couldn’t stand. But I had to move. If I stayed where I was, Evanora might hit me with her curse unintentionally—and that would definitely kill me.

  I hadn’t been this entertained in a while, and part of me wanted to stay put and watch these two old bitches have it out. But the other part, the smarter one, was urging me to get the hell away from here.

  Moaning with effort, I rolled back and dragged myself backwards on my butt, leaving long trails of blood on the cement floor with each pull. Every bit of effort sent a hot wave of pain through my body, and I shook with the added nausea. But I didn’t stop.

  “You tried to kill Evanora,” said the witch, her expression one of profound resentment with her white eye rolling in its socket. “After everything Evanora has done for you... has lost because of you!” accused the witch.

  “Get over yourself,” said Lisbeth as she set down her cane with a thundering boom. “You were never that good a witch. Look at you,” she added, her face twisting in disgust. “The last time you t
rusted your dark arts you lost an eye. You lost an eye because you weren’t strong enough to conjure your own magic. That’s because you barely have a touch of dark magic in you. All these years you had to fight to gain but a little while the other witches had plenty of it. They never lost an eye.”

  Evanora’s anger slipped a little. “Evanora worked hard all her life,” she said, dark energy coiling around her fingers like tiny electrical currents. Her hands were moving in ancient dark magic gestures. “Evanora is a great witch. Many have failed where Evanora has succeeded in the dark arts.”

  “Ha! You go on and keep telling yourself that, you crazy old fool.” Lisbeth’s eyes fell on the gun. Our eyes met for a second and I froze, and then her gaze flicked back to the witch. I should have taken the gun. Why didn’t I take the stupid gun? I couldn’t go back. I’d dragged myself out too far. It was out of my reach.

  But Lisbeth was going to go after the gun.

  Shit. I needed to move faster. Teeth clenched, my leg bursting in pain, I pulled myself back a foot. The sharp tug on my leg was a perpetual stab of agony, but I kept moving. I was going to die from either a gunshot or from a frigging dark witch curse.

  “After all these years,” began Evanora, her stance firm and her hands moving confidently. “Why did you try to kill Evanora? Why now?” asked the witch, her robe swaying and hair mussed. The old witch took a careful step forward, a ball of black death still in her hand.

  “Because you tried to steal a gift that was never meant for you.” Lisbeth backed up, but the eager look on her face as she moved closer to the gun told me that she wasn’t afraid. “You’re a much bigger idiot if you thought I wouldn’t find out. Well I did. You betrayed me. Death is what happens to those who betray me. You of all people should know that, witch.” The last part was meant as a slight, and from the frown on Evanora’s face, it hadn’t gone amiss.

  Evanora’s mouth thinned. “It was not a betrayal. It was a gift. The Hunter offered it to Evanora freely. You did not know of its existence. How is that a betrayal?”

  “It was a betrayal!” snarled Lisbeth, her voice harsh. “You should have come to me straight away as soon as you were made aware of this gift of power. But you didn’t. You chose to keep it for yourself. You stole it like a thief.”

  Evanora’s eyes narrowed with an old anger. “You tried to poison Evanora. That is betrayal. The gift was not.”

  Lisbeth smashed her cane on the cement floor. “A gift that you should have told me about before you went and tried to take it for yourself! Did you actually think you could? Did you think something of such great power was destined to be yours?” Lisbeth’s laugh rebounded off the walls of the warehouse. “Stupid witch,” she shrilled and took a step back until she was a mere inch from the gun. “Let me tell you something about power, witch. Power has a way of choosing its successor. And you, my dear, are nothing but an old tired witch. You’re finished.”

  Evanora was shaking her head. Her face was calm, her eyes hard. “Evanora deserves better. Deserves respect.”

  Lisbeth shifted her weight. “All you deserve is a hole in the ground, witch.”

  Crap. It was about to get nasty.

  Faster than I thought possible, Lisbeth dropped down and scooped up the gun in one movement. Straightening, she pointed the gun at Evanora, who hadn’t even moved an inch, but her frown deepened.

  “I’m going to kill all the witches in the world,” Lisbeth leered, unreal and savage. “I think I’ll start with the dark witches first. Yes. That’s right. You filthy, abominable creatures. Then I’ll remove the all the white witches.” Yeah, she shouldn’t have said that.

  With a manic gleam in her eyes, Lisbeth aimed and pulled the trigger—

  A blazing ball of blackness hissed through the air.

  Evanora jerked as the bullet grazed her neck with a spatter of blood.

  And a ball of dark energy hit Lisbeth square in the chest.

  She shrieked as she fell down, the gun slipping from her hand.

  My lips parted. Evanora had moved faster than I thought possible for someone with such old bones. That’s how you separated the amateurs from the pros, and it was obvious she was a champion amongst all dark witches.

  Convulsing on the ground, Lisbeth rolled over and with her hands, pulled herself forward, scrambling for the gun. Pain etched her features as a haze of black energy coated her body, her skin blistering.

  “Et ego invocabo ac tenebras. lucis absentia. Voco te. Surge.” Evanora stepped forward, speaking in low, deliberate syllables, chilling me. Her entire body blazed in dark energy as she summoned her magic, the dark words spilling from her.

  My breath hissed, and the hair on my neck prickled as the dark energy flowed in the air around me. My gaze alternated between Lisbeth and Evanora, my tension growing as the witch mumbled and a dark haze enveloped her hands. It took on a decidedly black glow. Evanora smiled, her fingers stilling as another ball of dark magic waited in her hand.

  Lisbeth howled as she saw it too, her face barely recognizable, her skin blackened and burnt. Writhing on the ground, she flung her outstretched hand and grasped the gun.

  “Die! You old bitch!” shrilled Lisbeth as she swung the gun on the witch.

  Evanora threw the spell hazing her hand with dripping blackness. Her magic hit the old woman before she had a chance to pull the trigger. Lisbeth let out a rasping scream and collapsed into a convulsing pile.

  The witch moved forward, her face hard, determined. With her hands still dripping black, she flung another curse at Lisbeth. And another. And another. She kept throwing curses until the old woman stopped convulsing, until all that was left of Lisbeth was a pile of gray and black ashes.

  Holy Hell. I was shaking. I couldn’t help it. My adrenaline was spent, and the old witch was scary as hell. I sat there, opened mouthed as Evanora seemed to compose herself with a few deep breaths. Then she hobbled forward, slowly, the lines in her face deep and heavy.

  She was exhausted. She stopped when she was but a mere inch from the pile of ashes. She leaned over the mass, her face pensive. For a second, I thought she was about to throw another curse at the heap of ashes, but then Evanora bent down and picked up Lisbeth’s cane.

  “That was Evanora’s,” she accused, her voice rasped. And without giving me a glance, leaning heavily on the wooden cane, she turned and started towards the door.

  I don’t know how long I sat there in a puddle of my own blood, trying to come to terms with everything that had happened. Lisbeth was dead. So were the Unmarked. Lucian had lifted the curse from me.

  It was everything I’d wanted. I should have been dancing around in joy, but I could barely keep my eyes open. I was tired. I just wanted to close my eyes and go to sleep.

  I knew what that sleep meant, though. My heart started pounding and nervous fear danced over the back of my neck, prickling my skin. And yet, I didn’t have the strength to get up.

  It only occurred to me at that moment that I’d forgotten to ask the witch for help. A cold chill started at the base of my spine and slithered up over my head. My body trembled as the cold grew more intense, more painful. A sudden light flashed in my eyes, and I started to fall.

  My back hit the cold floor. Then my head.

  Then nothing but blackness.

  25

  The touch of very warm and rough fingers woke me.

  I hurt everywhere, even more so when I came to my senses. Shapes slowly came into focus in my blurred vision. My leg was still throbbing, my only indication that I was very much alive and not in the Netherworld with dear ol’ Dad. My neck felt stiff, and it took me a second to realize I was still horizontal, lying on my back. The cold cement floor cut into me through my clothes.

  But those warm fingers continued to touch my face, arms, and legs, and then slowly the pain began to fade.

  Blinking, a face stared down at me, his dark eyes worried and as big as saucers. He was leaning over me, and my heart thudded wildly.

  “How do you f
eel?” The depth of Gareth’s voice was as soothing as a warm blanket, covering me in security and warmth. He knelt next to me, his face partly hidden in the shadow of his hat. I breathed in his scent, like sweet flowered water, smelling of damp woods and lavender. Why did elves have to smell so good? Or was it just Gareth?

  I took a breath. Then another. “Better,” I said. Memories of the warehouse came pouring through me and I jerked, my heart pounding. “Where’s my grandmother? The cats. Where are Tyrius and Kora?”

  “Take it easy,” soothed the elf, his hand on my arm. “They’re fine. They’re all fine. They’re in my truck resting, I gave them all a mild sedative and some healing herbs.”

  “You mean you elf dusted my family?” I tried to smile, but some of muscles of my face were numb and it looked like I was grimacing.

  “The baals will need a couple more days to get the dark magic out of their systems,” said the elf. “Your grandmother... well, she says she’s fine, but she’s not. She was hit really hard with a dark curse. She’s going to need a lot of rest. She called me. Looks like I got here just in time.” His jaw tightened, eyeing me through his thick eyelashes. “Can you sit up?”

  Slowly, I pushed myself to a sitting position with the elf’s help, his arm wrapped around my middle protectively. He let me go and settled back, and part of me wished he hadn’t.

  I looked down at my leg. “You stitched me up?” I peeled back the cut-out part of my jeans and inspected the wound. Not that I had a reason to. I knew Gareth could make the finest stiches even with his big man hands. Three tiny stiches pulled my skin together in my thigh, and I could feel the hard stiches poking my skin at the back of my thigh, telling me he’d stitched the back part too.

  “Yes,” said the elf as he put a water bottle in my hands. I didn’t realize how thirsty I was until I saw the bottle. The only problem was the water was green. “Drink,” he insisted. “You’ve lost a lot of blood. It’ll help for now. But you’re going to need plenty of rest too.”