If Wishes Were Curses

by Janeen Ippolito

  But almost thirty years of looking after my little brother compelled me. I rolled up to a sitting position and fixed his little furry butt with a glare. Then I reached onto the coffee table and grabbed away my snack, shaking the otter out of the bag. “Happy?”

  “Nope.” He glanced up at me, wrinkling his face. “You’re still cranky. And it’s been a week. You should have gotten over it by now.”

  “Excuse me and my death sentence!” I tossed a handful of chips into my mouth. “Didn’t you notice my shiny new tatt as well?”

  I held out my left arm, where the glimmering metallic curse-mark tracking my magic usage flowed in a few simple lines from elbow to wrist, over the intricate curls of my other curse-mark. And for what it was worth, they totally clashed.

  Gideon made a little chirruping sound and shifted to human, wearing jeans and a t-shirt and a button-down like me. People joked about our “couples matching,” which was wrong in so many ways considering we were related. We just both happened to have the same great taste in casual clothing, with the exception of t-shirts versus tank tops. Call it the shared human blood from our mother.

  He flopped down on the couch next to me, close enough for us to rub shoulders, and held out his right wrist next to my left one. “I still think ours look better.”

  I glanced at the matching glasses of water tattooed on our wrists: his skin sandy brown, mine peaches and cream, both speckled with freckles. Both of the glasses filled halfway with water, even if my tattoo was barely visible among all the magical ink. “Yeah, hard to argue with these tattoos. Although the glass is definitely half-empty.”

  “Nah, it’s half-full. All those smarts, and you never get it right.”

  He shoved me, and I fell back into the cushions again. “Maybe I’m losing my brains along with my magic.”

  “You’re not losing it, goofus. You’re just not allowed to use it.”

  “Well, my brains will be gone when I die by bear shifter.”

  Gideon sighed, his cheerful face turning glum. “You don’t know that. Didn’t Theiya say someone would help you?”

  “Yeah, but all I got was a name I can’t remember, and I can’t contact Theiya or Jack anymore to ask for it again. Something about not getting involved or danger or something. I’m completely cut off from everything. So much for friends.”

  “I mean, they could still be, somehow. Those things are weird.” My brother shrugged. “That’s the Fae. We’ve grown up with that. My dad and them are still not happy I opted to stay with you instead of joining the family lodge. And I’m still here. We’ll figure this out together.”

  I flashed him a smile of pure gratitude. We’d lived on the run with our mom until I was fourteen. She was a Sensitive and didn’t want us to deal with the dangers of the Magisphere. Not after they forced a curse-mark on me after I was born. And then, Gideon’s dad had fallen for her, but left when he’d found his real mate. There should really be warning labels for humans who fall for Fae—or for Fae who fall in love period.

  Anyway, after Mom died from bronchitis that turned into pneumonia, we’d fallen into the Fae version of protective services. Since I wasn’t allowed to know who my dad or his family was, we ended up staying with Gideon’s otter family in Erie. They’d tried to be nice. Some of them. But really, they just wanted him and were stuck with me. By the time I’d turned nineteen and started going to community college for psychology, they were putting up divisions between me and Gideon to “remind him who and what he really was.” I’d thought he was gone. Instead, he’d shown up at my dorm room and refused to leave. And we’d stayed together ever since, moving around a bit, finally ending up back in Pittsburgh where Mom had raised us.

  Oh, we both dated people. I’d had boyfriends. He’d had girlfriends. But we knew we could count on each other, no matter what. Any serious romantic partner would have to be okay with joining our family.

  He flicked my neck. “You’re brooding again, Al.”

  “And you’re being annoying.”

  “It’s my specialty, especially when my couch is taken over by my convict sister. Don’t you know shifters are territorial?”

  “So flop on the carpet.” Not that we had much space. The apartment was a decent size, but we tended to collect stuff. Two bedrooms, a small bathroom tucked between them, a narrow kitchen loaded with potion-making supplies, and a living room dominated by the overstuffed blue couch and easy chair, a TV, Gideon’s musical instrument cases and three inexpensive portal water features to ease his otter soul, and shelves of our books lining all but one wall. The remaining wall was kept clear for brainstorming purposes. Nothing too fancy, but the place was above the strip of shops that included Uncommon Grounds coffee shop and Momoru Investigations. At the time, it had seemed convenient to be so close to friends.

  Now, I dreaded leaving my apartment. Especially since I couldn’t teleport or even go get a cup of good coffee. It was beyond cruel to make the coffee shop off-limits.

  Gideon flicked me again. “Hey, still on my couch!”

  “Well, you should have thought of that before going after my corn chips.” I sighed. “What am I supposed to do, Gideon? I can’t use my magic. I can’t have any contact with the people around here. I’m being watched—I know I am! It’s very … stifling. And I was only trying to defend myself and others.”

  And then my magic had broken free and practically had a little party over killing the grizzly shifter. Maybe there was a reason I was cursed.

  “We’ll get through this, Al.” But a shadow passed over his face. Gideon didn’t have a curse-mark. It hadn’t been deemed necessary for him. Half shifters were more common than other kinds of graylings, and the shifter community protected their own.

  Then Gideon and I had declared our fate the night he’d chosen me over his family. All graylings had to make a choice within their first hundred years of life as to whether they’d take after their Fae side or their human side. If they chose human, they’d be reduced to a Sensitive. If they chose Fae, they’d be counted among the Fae and retain no human blood. There was no official ceremony, although some Fae made a big deal over it. The situation was just a fact of the magisphere. But there was a third option: don’t choose and instead surrender to the will of destiny. Gideon and I went that route. The result was we stayed as graylings, and Gideon and I had become curiously connected. Which meant the residual side effects of my curse-mark affected him, and in turn, I had a knack for figuring out shifters more than any non-shifter had a right to.

  I had to be right about the bear shifter, no matter what forensics had said. If only I could prove it. “Gideon, how crazy is it for a bear shifter to become a vampire?”

  “As crazy as an otter shifter choosing his sister over his lodge.” He shrugged. “So, it could happen. But it would take some pretty strong, dark magic to overcome shifter immune systems and DNA. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere near that.” Gideon settled back on the couch. “So why not focus on something we can do without getting killed? Like finally launching our own potion and matchmaking and consulting business. Not a hustle, not working for someone else. All us.”

  I laughed. “Now?”

  “Why not? We both hate cleaning houses, even more so with your magic under lockdown. We can’t go back to that. And I’m not getting anywhere playing music in the evenings—”

  “You’re amazing at strings!”

  His busking with violin and cello had been one of the reasons we had managed to stay afloat before getting into making potions and cleaning solutions. Before he focused on potion making and before I got the gig at Momoru Investigations.

  He shook his head. “I’m not good enough for the Pittsburgh symphony or any of the other ones. It’s all the top human virtuosos and Fae bards, sirens and the like, slumming for easy adoration. And we’ve saved up a lot of money for the business.”

  “Not enough.”

  “You always say that.”

  “It’s true.” I frowned. “Even if we did, what woul
d we do? Sell our all-natural soaps and mosquito repellant?”

  “Sure, and do the rest on the side.”

  “How do magical potions and romantic investigations fit in the same place?”

  “Because we say they do,” he said firmly. “Call the whole thing ‘holistic’ to tie it together.”

  “Who came up with that?”

  “You did!” He thwacked me with a pillow.

  “Oh. Right.”

  He sighed. “You do what you do best: reading people and helping them figure out their relationships. Then I make the potions, with bits of your special magic when necessary, and I can also help fill the client pool. Then you can do any investigative stuff on the side, like the cases you worked with Jack.” His face turned earnest. “Stopping Fae from treating humans the way your father and our mother were treated. The way my father treated our mother.”

  “Yeah, and stopping stupid humans too.” I sighed, thinking of Doug. “But working with Jack made it easier. Momoru Investigations handled all the hard things. I just showed up, read people, played them against each other or themselves, and then Jack and Theiya did the paperwork and found the right people to pay off.”

  Gideon nodded. “We can do that too. We just hire a secretary.”

  Well, there was always Josie Framer. Although who knew if she was even in the city, with what had happened the other night. I munched on a corn chip. “And Theiya and Jack know how to fight. They can kick major ass.”

  I knew some self-defense and hapkido, and I could shoot a pistol well enough, but I preferred to teleport away from fights. Best option when you were the lowest powered in the room. Although apparently, from the way I killed the grizzly shifter, a part of me was more deadly than I realized. And liked being deadly.

  I didn’t want to think about that.

  Gideon stole a handful of chips out of my bag. “You could just not get into dangerous situations.”

  “Good one,” I snorted. “Nothing makes people more tetchy than romantic situations gone wrong.”

  “Then I could go along—”

  “No.” I shook my head. “Not an option. I’m not losing you.”

  And we both knew that, territoriality or not, Gideon wasn’t really a fighter. He just didn’t have the instincts. Otters were only really dangerous in groups.

  He made a disgruntled little chirp. “I’m not losing you. We’ll just have to find someone else to work with you in the field. Someone who cares about your safety and our mission as much as I do, but who has a lot more natural bloodlust and can keep you from getting killed.”

  “Hah. Yeah right.”

  This was insane.

  I opened my mouth to tell Gideon that, when my phone rang. Unknown number. I stared at it for a moment. How bad could this be? I finally answered.

  “Is this Allis Evanenko? Romantic consulting?”

  “Yes, this is Allis.” I guess I could still do a little matchmaking. Since it hadn’t officially started as a legitimate business, it didn’t need to officially stop. I tried to place the voice. “Josie?”

  “Yes! I wasn’t sure I should call, after the police contacted me as a witness.”

  I winced. “You probably shouldn’t have. I’m a step away from death row right now.”

  Except for the assistance of someone I couldn’t remember.

  A sound of shock and outrage echoed over the phone. “I can't believe they did that! I told them how brave you'd been, facing that rabid animal.”

  “They don't believe it was rabid.”

  “I may not know shifters or grizzlies, but I know animals. Something was definitely wrong with it. You saved my life and the lives of a lot of other people.”

  A smile tugged at my lips despite the situation. I rubbed the fresh curse-mark on my left arm, then let my fingers drift to the tattoo I shared with Gideon. Ultimately, the glasses meant half full. Always staying present to do good when we could. I might not be sure about my future, but I could try to improve someone’s life now.

  “How can I help you, Josie?”

  “Well, I don't know where you’re at being near death row and all … I don't wanna be a bother…”

  I tapped the coffee table to get Gideon's attention, then pressed the speaker button so we could both hear what Josie had to say. I needed my brother's response to this. Even if he would gloat. “It’s okay. Go ahead.”

  “You say you do romantic consulting. And, well, I'm tired of the guesswork involved with the Fae. And it's dangerous! You’ve proven that. So … could you help? Set me up or give me advice? I'd pay. I don't have much, but…”

  Josie paused.

  Gideon's blue eyes were wide, and he nodded emphatically. Either he was having a seizure, or he was really excited about this. And there was a definite ‘I told you so’ in his expression. I stuck out my tongue at him.

  Josie’s voice interrupted us. “If you're not—if you don't have availability—”

  “She does!”

  I swatted him.

  “Who’s that?”

  “Just my associate. Brother. Both of those things. And yes, I can take your case.”

  “What about payment?”

  I pursed my lips. “You said you did reception work and data entry. Can you still do that?”

  “Sure! I'd be glad to help. It’d be a lot better than waitressing. When can I start?”

  “Just give me a few weeks to get things together.” Or if I was dead, Gideon would have

  to take over. It would serve him right, thinking he could run the backend with potions and quiet research and leave me to do all the heavy lifting with direct client work. “Can you do that?”

  “Sure! You’re the only Fae in the city I trust.”

  “I'm not full Fae. I'm a grayling.”

  “Maybe that's why I trust you.”

  I huffed. Trusted because of my half-breed status? That’d be a first.

  “Anyway, my break is over, but get back to me when you’re all set. Please and thank you!”

  The call ended. I blinked.

  “Well. All right then.”

  “I told you so!” Gideon crowed. “People need this. They need you. Us.”

  “Yeah, well, we need more of us to make this work.” I got up from the couch. “And we need real plans. Paperwork. Clearances to sell our stuff ourselves. I can't get away with selling stuff under the table when I’m tagged as a high-level criminal. Not even the gray market will touch our wares. And how are we gonna get clearances, at that?”

  “You’ll figure it out. You always do.” He stood up and slapped my shoulder. “And I can do paperwork when I have to.”

  Despite the churning in my gut, I couldn’t repress my excitement. Starting a business while under a death sentence? With my closest allies off-limits and no idea how my name was gonna get cleared? With no one else having my back in hard situations?

  A disbelieving chuckle escaped me.

  Well, why not?

  It wasn’t like I had anything else to do with my time.

  Chapter 7

  There were holes on my wall.

  Not actual holes, but giant gaps in the master plan. Gaps that not even paint markers or Sharpies could fill. I sighed and flopped down on the easy chair I’d pushed in front of the wall that was currently covered from floor to ceiling with thick, white paper. On top of that paper was a massive mind map with more lists and circles and arrows and connector lines and exclamation points than I could count. Not that I wanted to count them. I wanted to solve the problem.

  At first, there hadn’t been a problem. Over the last two weeks, I had researched and studied the potential businesses in-depth, adding more and more ideas and colors and concepts to the wall. Once I’d committed to giving this business a shot, inspiration flowed effortlessly. Which was weird, since I hadn’t felt all that inspired before I’d started, even with Gideon’s encouragement. I could usually brainstorm really well, but being a shut-in didn’t do wonders for my creative process. Yet the plans ha
d poured out of me as if they had been waiting for me to remember them. Waiting for me to act.

  Until I got to the stuck place. It involved the previous questions over having someone for investigation work so I didn’t die. Plus questions about legal documents, and a random assortment of other issues that seemed to have no answer. Not one that I could see, anyway.

  I sighed, scribbling idly on my arms. Drawing little x’s through the curse-marks. It didn’t matter. The magic in them repelled the ink like oil repelled water.

  “Meh.” I drew my legs up to my chin, rubbing the tattoo on my calf. It was one of my mother’s favorite quotes from Pushkin, in the original Russian with vibrant, translucent colors streaming around it: It is better to have dreamed a thousand dreams that never were than never to have dreamed at all. Mom had immigrated to this country from Russia, and we’d picked up phrases here and there. I loved the poetry as much as she had.

  But right now, I was not feeling the joy of unrealized dreams. Instead, I was feeling intense irritation at the gaps in the map in front of me. Areas where inspiration had stopped, mid-sentence. Spots where I almost sensed a name in my thoughts, on my tongue.

  And then, nothing.

  “Worst. Feeling. EVER!” I threw the paint marker at the wall. It splattered on a list of office supply items, then hit the ground, rolling perilously close to one of Gideon’s Terrible Towels. Luckily, the floor was covered with newspaper. Mind maps were how Gideon and I both solved problems. We’d learned to take smart precautions to get our security deposit back after a long brainstorm.

  Usually, I’d ask him for help, but Gideon hadn’t been around for two days, and this late afternoon was the third. My brother had other friends in the shifter community and regular music gigs at different clubs. He enjoyed all those things. Plus, he checked in with his otter family on holidays and other occasions, and I was fine with that. Gideon and I might be tight, but it was good for us to have our own lives.