The Curse Catcher (The Complex Book 0)

by Laura Thalassa

  He lets out one of those terrible howls, and grabbing the pot, he flings it across the room. I jump back as it slams into another cabinet. Blackened pieces of food fly everywhere.

  For several seconds I just gawk.

  Holy shit.

  Next to me, Asterion breathes heavily.

  All over again I’m frightened. Is this the man or the curse?

  I recall the vine-like curse I saw just moments ago and how it had him completely ensnared in its clutches. This is undoubtedly the curse’s doing. This man is fighting a battle within himself, and I’m pretty sure he’s losing.

  He roars again, clearly on a downward spiral.

  If I don’t do anything now, I might have to run from Asterion. If I run, I know he’ll chase me. And this time I might not get away.

  Taking a fortifying breath, I set down the glass container and clasp Asterion’s face.

  And then I begin to remove his curse.

  There’s so much of it to deal with that I choose an area at random. My magic pries the tentacle-like strands of the curse that’ve twined themselves around Asterion’s lungs. Once my magic has pulled this section loose, it severs it from the rest of the curse and draws it upwards, into Asterion’s mouth.

  And then I breathe the curse into me. It tastes like candy and rot, the sickly-sweet taste hitting the back of my throat as I take it in. Almost immediately, I sway from the sheer force of the curse.

  How is a curse this old still this strong?

  Normally, like anything else, curses weaken and decay over time. Don’t get me wrong, a curse decays slowly, and usually it serves its purpose long before then and dissolves away, but regardless, it should eventually fade over time. This one feels as though it’s growing.

  My magic peels away more layers of the curse wrapped around Asterion’s lungs. The more I uproot, the more I realize that this curse is a tangled mess, one strand of it caught in the crosshairs of another, some bits easier to remove than others.

  And with each inhalation, I weaken a little more. My nausea rises as my magic tries to process the bits of the curse entering me. It’s too much, far too much, but I’ve barely even started to undo the black magic wrapped around this man.

  So I inhale again, and again, and again, until I’m full of the curse.

  And now this man’s agony and his anger, which frightened me so much earlier, is in me. I feel like I’m being torn up from the inside, and this is just what resided in his lungs. My tongue feels thick and clumsy, and I’m pretty sure that if I tried to speak right now, his curse wouldn’t let me. All that pain is being forced down my throat, and the curse is demanding I bottle it all up inside me. I let out a whimper, even as a scream builds up inside me.

  I feel myself sway on my feet again, my skin clammy with sweat. The fever’s coming on faster than it should.

  Too much. I’ve taken in too much.

  Distantly, I feel Asterion prying my hands off his face, murmuring something I think is an apology.

  All at once our connection severs.

  I open my eyes, but my vision has completely clouded over. I stagger away from him, groping blindly for the glass container.

  I feel warm hands press it into mine. Blindly, I unscrew the lid. My hands tremble so badly that one moment I’m holding the container, the next it slips from my grip and shatters against the ground.

  I only have enough time to think shit, before my knees buckle and the darkness pulls me under.

  Chapter 8

  I wake with a groan. The mother of all headaches pulses behind my left eye. I rub my temple, forcing myself to sit up. My last memories come back to me, and I nearly groan again.

  Skylar, you idiot. You know better than to bite off more of a curse than you can chew.

  When I pull my hand away from my head, I notice it’s been bandaged up. I stare at it stupidly.

  “You fell on glass.”

  I physically start at the smooth, low-pitched voice.

  I focus my eyes on the corner of the room—my room, I realize as I notice the details I’ve become familiar with. And sitting amongst it all, with his back against the wall, Asterion watches me, a frown on his face.

  A jolt of adrenaline surges through my veins at the realization that he’s here, in my little makeshift bunker, before logic catches up with me.

  I glance down at the rest of my body. My white outfit is now speckled with bits of blood where the glass container I fell on cut through cloth and skin. More bandages are scattered across my exposed skin.

  Asterion brought me here—and he bandaged me.

  I lift my hand again, staring at the gauze wrappings. “You tended to me.”

  His face softens. “It was the least I could do.”

  My gaze jumps to his lips. “Your voice.”

  Last time Asterion and I talked, he’d had a halting, guttural voice. Now it’s smooth and polished, the timbre of it suddenly matching the rest of this sophisticated house he’s been imprisoned in.

  He nods, his gaze dropping. “You fixed it.” His eyes rise to me. “Are you alright?” he asks hesitantly.

  “I have a headache.” I lift a shoulder. “It’ll go away.” So, I’m downplaying the hammering in my skull by quite a bit, but he doesn’t need to know that. I get up and shakily move towards him. “How do you feel?”

  He stares at me like I’ve lost my mind. “I’m fine. You should lay back down.”

  I ignore him and the pounding behind my eye.

  To think I’ve only removed a section of the curse. I’ve never taken on anything this big.

  Kneeling in front of where he sits in the corner, I reach out for him. He catches my hands before I can clasp his face again. I feel a strange zing of excitement at the skin contact.

  He presses my palms together between his own. “You should rest, Skylar,” he says, his gentle eyes concerned.

  The sound of my name coming from that smooth-as-liquor voice sends shivers across my skin. What is with my body’s reactions to this man? I’m still halfway scared of him.

  I give him a reassuring smile. “I’m not trying to remove more of your curse,”—at the moment—“though it’s kind of you to care.” It really is. Asterion is more a gentleman than a beast. “I just want to see my work.”

  Reluctantly he releases my hands, even though he didn’t need to. I can use any kind of skin contact to see his curse—his hands were good enough.

  I reach out again and clasp his face. Closing my eyes, I inspect the curse. It’s still as strong as ever, but right over his lungs, it’s been stripped mostly away.

  I give a small, triumphant smile at the sight. Of course, seeing my work also shows me all the work that’s left. And there’s so much of it. Even weakened as I am, I’m itchy to get back to work.

  Asterion must sense this because for a second time he removes my hands, this time setting them in my lap and breaking our connection.

  “I assure you, Skylar, I am fine. You’re an exceptional curse catcher,”—I preen a little at the compliment—“but you have obviously overexerted yourself. Why don’t you take it easy for now? Perhaps you’d like to eat something?”

  That’s … oddly considerate for a creature who I was sure only days ago wanted me dead. Actually, this whole man, who looks like a beast but has the clipped, polished voice of the Meta elite is odd. And despite my fear, I want to know more about him.

  I give him a soft smile. “Alright. That would be nice.”

  Asterion feeds me, which appears to be a thing for him.

  I watch him as I eat, fascinated by the contradictions that seem to make him up.

  “So, how long have you been this way?” I ask, shoveling another bite of food into my mouth.

  He stands on the opposite end of his mostly destroyed
dining room. He’s still keeping his distance from me, though I’m not entirely sure why. Perhaps he’s used to women being more scared of him than I am.

  “A very, very long time,” he says, watching me over folded arms from where he leans against the far wall. It’s such a human posture, and it does nothing but show off his very large biceps.

  “How long is a very long time?” I ask, tucking a strand of my short hair behind my ear.

  “Lifetimes.”

  Lifetimes? I guess that explains all the antiques.

  “Are you an immortal?” There are Metas out there that simply don’t die.

  He shakes his head, then hesitates. “It’s the curse.”

  I pause. Forced to live forever cursed. That’s horrifying to even think about.

  He clears his throat. “There are some things you should know about me,” he says, approaching the dining room table I sit at. Tentatively, he pulls out a chair and takes a seat next to me.

  I can’t help but stare at him and his odd beauty now that he’s this close. And it’s distinctly uncomfortable, considering that I should be scared of him.

  “I …” he stops, then begins again. “My curse, it doesn’t merely control my lifespan. It also affects my behaviors.” He admits this like I haven’t already figured this out.

  “I cannot always control myself,” he continues. “A part of me wants to destroy everyone and everything, and the curse is only placated by death. Only ever death.”

  Hence the sacrifices.

  I swallow, seeing what he’s getting at. “So you’re worried you’re going to kill me.” A worry I share, which is why I’d love to continue dismantling that curse of his as quickly as possible.

  He begins to shake his head, but then pauses. “I will try to get you out.”

  There is no way out. We both know that. If there were, surely he would’ve escaped by now.

  “But what will happen to you?” I ask anyway.

  His mouth tightens. “My fate was sealed a long time ago,” he says ominously. “Nothing changes that.”

  See here, I’m a realist. And as honorable as Asterion’s intentions are, they’re just not going to work.

  “The Intra will just find another sacrifice,” I say, shooting a hole in his logic. “Besides,” I add offhandedly, “like I said earlier, I intend to remove that curse.”

  Now the Minotaur gives me a pitying look. “You think no one has tried before?” he says. “It’s never worked.”

  “Yes, well, have any of those curse catchers’ lives hung in the balance?” I reply tartly.

  Asterion falls quiet.

  “I didn’t think so.” I take another bite of the meal he made me. “Plus, I’m stubborn—and optimistic. That curse doesn’t stand a chance.”

  If anything, his face becomes even grimmer.

  Awesome, he doesn’t believe me. Silver lining: I’m going to have one hell of an “I told you so” moment at the end of all of this. I hope.

  “Why are you here?” I ask, changing the subject.

  He looks around the room. “Do you want me to leave?”

  “No—no, that’s not what I meant,” I say. “I mean, why are you here in some secret prison on Lorn?”

  “Oh,” he says, raising his eyebrows. “I chose to be.”

  I nearly choke on the food in my mouth. “You chose to live on Lorn?”

  He might be the only person in the history of this planet to choose to be here. The rest of us were the unlucky lottery winners who were forced to live here for two years.

  He nods, his eyes growing distant. I can’t help but notice all over again that for a beast of a man, this guy is pretty easy on the eyes.

  “Tell me,” he says, thankfully interrupting my thoughts, “if you know you’re a monster and that you will do monstrous things against your own will, what do you do?” he asks. “How do you save others from yourself?” He glances down at his hands. “I chose to come to Lorn, to barricade myself in a prison I cannot leave, and hope the walls hold for a very long time.”

  “But you expected a sacrifice.”

  He shakes his head. “You are not supposed to be here.”

  I know that I’m not supposed to be here, but someone was.

  “When I agreed to move to the Complex,” Asterion continues, “I was explicit about being left alone. No more sacrifices, no more carnage. I was done.

  “But someone must’ve heard my cries and worried that I’d break free of this place. Someone who knew enough about my curse to arrange for a sacrifice to be delivered.”

  It’s common knowledge that for the right price officials can be bribed. That must’ve been what happened. The Minotaur was offloaded—with his consent—onto this good-for-nothing settlement, where he was someone else’s problem. And then he starts causing trouble beneath the Complex’s infrastructure, threatening the already precarious stability of the settlement. So despite Asterion’s specific requests to be left alone, the Intra secretly bring him a sacrifice that will appease his anger.

  I can see it all play out in my mind’s eye, and unfortunately, it makes sense. Asterion tried to do good, it just made no difference in the end.

  “I expected Lorn to fail as a settlement,” he continues. “For it to be abandoned or destroyed—and me along with it.”

  It takes me a long minute for that to sink in. “So you … you wanted to die here?”

  “Not die. I’m not sure I can die. But to be left here, where I cannot hurt another. Eventually I will run out of food, and then, hopefully, I will waste away until I cannot do any harm.

  That’s just so … heartbreaking. And selfless. And he’s doing it so that the rest of humanity can continue on without him. The same people who’ve long told tales about his bestial cruelty.

  It just doesn’t seem fair.

  I push away the last of the food, no longer hungry, then stand. “That sounds like a great plan and all, but it’s not going to work.”

  He gives me a curious look. “And why wouldn’t it?”

  I smile. “Because I’m going to save you.”

  Chapter 9

  For the second time in that many days I sit down with Asterion.

  “It’s too soon, you’re still recovering,” he objects from where he sits next to me at his dining room table.

  He has a point; I’m still feeling like I just came off of a night of heavy drinking. But I’m not exactly eager to just waste time in this labyrinth with a man whose curse includes trying to kill me.

  In fact, today I’m planning on taking out that very part of the curse.

  “Like I told you before,” I say, “I took too much of your curse into me before purging it.” OD’ing on a curse. What a rookie move. “Today, I won’t make the same mistake.”

  To demonstrate my point, I look to the line of containers Asterion and I dug up that are now spelled to neutralize the curse.

  Asterion still looks torn about allowing me to remove more of his curse, which is oddly sweet since it’s my safety he’s considering.

  When he doesn’t protest again, I take that as permission of sorts. I reach out and clasp his hands in mine. Closing my eyes, I train my attention on his heart, the seat of all emotion in both Human and Meta bodies. The vine-like tentacles of his curse completely envelope the organ. No wonder his anger and violence are so explosive. The curse has completely claimed his heart.

  It’s this location that I focus on when my magic begins uprooting the curse. My hope is that by removing it here, Asterion will lose his violent impulses. Of course, I’m banking on the fact that his violent impulses are driven by his emotions, and not something else. They always could be. Curses are misleading like that.

  Once I rip away the first section of the curse, I breathe in, that cloying taste of
candy and rot once again hitting the back of my throat. And just like the day before, it slams into me like a punch to the gut.

  Had I thought his pain and anger were hard to endure the last time I did this? It’s nothing compared to what I feel now. I want to gouge out anything and everything that brings people joy. I want to lash out and release this agony that is far too big for me to hold.

  How does he hold it all? It feels like I’m toeing at the edge of my own sanity. And this is just one taste.

  Just two more inhalations, I decide. Then I’ll fill one of these containers.

  My magic digs in again, moving to his heart. He grunts a little as it strips away the curse. It can’t be especially pleasant to have someone yanking out bits of you, even if you want those bits gone.

  Again I inhale, feeling dizzy and disoriented as I hold his curse, with all of its painful fury, inside me. Now it’s taking most of my concentration to not simply attack Asterion.

  Screw three breathes; two will have to do.

  Desperately, I reach out and grasp the nearest container, a canteen. The cap is already off, so I simply exhale, purging every last inch of the curse into it. The moment I feel the curse fully leave me, I slam the cap down on the canteen and screw it tight.

  For a moment, the room is silent, save for my heavy breathing.

  I meet Asterion’s eyes. “Ready for round two?”

  And so the day goes.

  By the time we’re done, I use up over half of the containers laid out on the dining room table, and Asterion’s curse is looking significantly better.

  “There are still some residual pieces of the curse over your heart,” I say, “but overall, it’s clear.”

  What I don’t mention is that those remaining pieces of the curse that have claimed his heart are so deeply embedded into his flesh that I can’t remove them at this point. I can only hope that the weaker the curse becomes the looser its hold on his heart will be. Because I’m pretty sure this is where the epicenter of his curse is, which means it’ll be the last section to relinquish its hold, and it will be the hardest to remove.