The Cursed Prince: An Urban Fantasy Novel (Fated by Magic) (Volume 1)

by Taylor Fray

  As Zak started the car and got back on the road, Morgan thought of something that she was not sure if she wanted to bring up quite yet. That Gestaffos and the rest of the Black Hand were still out there, and that once they were away from the Fae Kingdom’s protection, they were going to be hunted once more.

  12

  Asphalt rushed below the muscle car. Both Zak and Morgan had been silent for some time now. Morgan felt exhausted, and was still reeling from the utterly surreal experience she had just gone through. She chugged from a water bottle and lowered the window to let in some fresh air.

  “Are you alright?” Zak asked without taking his eyes off the road.

  “Yeah. It just feels like… I’m coming down from some massive drug induced trip.”

  “I can’t imagine what these last few days have felt like.”

  “Well… what have they been like for you? I mean, you’re dealing with a lot too. It seems like everything, with your illness, your curse, your… wife. It’s like it still weighs on you.”

  He glanced over at her. “Of course it does.”

  “You know what I mean. It’s like you haven’t dealt with it. You’ve accepted all this guilt that you’re not responsible for.”

  “I’ve only accepted what I am.”

  “No,” Morgan shook her head. “You’re not your past. You’re not your sickness. Those are things you’ve experienced, they don’t make you who you are.”

  Zak gripped the wheel, turning it just right so that he would hug the curve of the road. “Really? How can you be so sure? If we’re not our actions then what are we?”

  Morgan ran her hand through her hair taking in the sight of plains passing by. “Alright, let’s say you are your actions. Then why don’t you take the right action? Why don’t you try to get cured like the queen said? With that, thauma—whatever, that witch.”

  “Like I said to the queen, I don’t trust her anymore. She was completely wrong about my condition and I paid for it.”

  Her mind was swimming with all kinds of thoughts, conflicting scenarios for the future. She shook her head as she came to a conclusion. “You won’t be able to stay. You won’t be able to stay at Grey Home when we arrive. Will you?”

  His face sank. “I never said I was going to.”

  Morgan felt a familiar feeling, that same feeling of every man she had ever been with leaving her or ultimately disappointing her. “Yeah, you never said it. It never even crossed your mind. You didn’t think that perhaps I cared about you enough that I hoped you would stay.” She stared ahead into the Midwestern sun through the smudged windshield. “That I might need someone to be there for me while my world keeps crumbling around me.”

  “I cannot solve everything that happened in a day. I am banished and for good reason.”

  “You know, I thought you were just a loner, like me. It’s a sad way to live, but at least it has some dignity to it. But now I realize, you’re not a loner, you’re a coward.”

  “What?” he growled. “You don’t know how many battles I’ve fought. I have never backed down, I have never fled, no matter the odds.”

  “Zak, I think you’re waging this war, because deep down some part of you thinks that you deserve to die. Death is less frightening than looking for the help you need. Because then you might have to face what happened, face your people, you might have to feel the pain of your wife’s death, feel your guilt, feel everything.”

  Zak gazed back and forth between her and the road. A growl was building in his throat, an angry one. He seemed to reach a breaking point and he pulled over to the shoulder.

  “You really don’t think I want to go back to my own home?” His voice alone rattled the car. “To my own people? To not be an embarrassment and shame to my lineage? To not find a mate again? To be with you?”

  Her heart was warmed and conflicted at the same time. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just think—” SCREEEECH. They made a sharp U-turn.

  “What are you doing?”

  “The one thing that I have not lost, is my warrior’s pride. Not even death will take that from me. You have questioned my courage. I will show you I am not afraid. I will show you that someone in this world cares enough about you, to try and overcome his past.”

  “What… what do you mean?”

  “This is what we’re going to do. We’re going to visit Ivalia. The thaumaturge. We’re going to visit her. I’m going to forgive—I’m going to overlook—how dead wrong she was about me. I’m going to ask her for whatever help she can give me. If she can cure me, I promise you that I will go with you to Grey Home. I will stay. I will ask my clan for forgiveness.”

  Morgan’s mind raced. She had hit a nerve.

  “And if she can’t cure me,” Zak went on. “If there is no hope for me…” He looked at her for a moment the way a composer might gaze a great symphony that was always on the edge of his mind but slipped away from him. “…Then there is no hope. I will carry on my war, and we can never speak again. I want you—you know that. But I cannot, and I will not risk your life for my selfishness.”

  Her jaw tightened. “Don’t I get a say in this?”

  “No. And neither do I. This is neither of our doing. This is fate.”

  As they drove on, Morgan looked over at Zak. And for a moment, she remembered that Zak was a magical creature. The sky turned white and red as the sun burned through the day. Perhaps it was true. Perhaps his life was ruled by greater forces than she understood. She only hoped that somehow, somewhere, there was some way to change his fate. She resisted it, she didn’t show it, but she wasn’t ready to never see him again. So if there was a chance to change that fate, they had to take it.

  “Alright. I accept. I accept… whatever happens.”

  They had driven all day through the Great Plains, before they got on Split Rock Pass, a winding road that cut through the Rockies. Steep cliff drops framed every turn, and forest trees gave shade to the peaks and valleys. They pulled off the main road, onto a small path that Zak had to navigate carefully.

  Dirt crunched under the tires of Zak’s muscle car as he pulled into the driveway of a small ornate house. “This is it,” Zak said.

  Morgan breathed deep, knowing that this would be where their paths united, or diverged.

  A brown haired, Eastern European woman sat on the porch as if she were expecting them. She stood as they stepped out of the car, a welcoming enigmatic smile on her face.

  “Zak, you look good, like you have gambled with your life recently but won something in return,” she said, her accent coming through.

  “Ivalia,” Zak answered, barely hiding his resentment. “Even your speech is a witch’s isn’t it?”

  Ivalia was one of those women who exuded magic—in this case literally. Her limbs were long and thin, her eyes exotic: a mesmerizing gray-blue with lashes that were so naturally long and curved they looked like swan wings. Her hair was a rich chocolate color and was so straight and silky it looked like a queen’s veil. She was dressed in sharp heels and an outfit you’d see in a glossy magazine. She exuded so much femininity it made Morgan feel like she might as well be a tree stump standing next to her.

  “This is Morgan,” Zak said as he introduced them.

  “Very good to meet you, Morgan. I sense that the wolf inside you has been let loose. And very recently.”

  “I literally turned into a wolf a few days ago, so yeah.”

  Ivalia smiled. “The spirits told me I would have guests today. Please, you must come in.” Ivalia gestured for them to come inside. As the three of them stepped through the glazed oak door, Morgan was taken back by the warm glow of the house. The colors were golds and silvers, reds and ivory-like colors and decorations. Sculptures of goddesses, abstract paintings from Europe.

  “You never really made an attempt to blend in with the normal folk of these mountains, did you?” Zak said.

  Ivalia only smiled. “They think I’m an eccentric from New York, or worse in their eyes, from Los Angeles. It
is better that way. They do not disturb me. Please, make yourselves at home.”

  Morgan sat in the living room, at a plush couch in front of a coffee table. Zak kept standing.

  “What kind of wine do you enjoy?” Ivalia asked Morgan.

  “I’m more of a beer person,” Morgan answered. When she saw Ivalia’s confused look, she corrected, “Anything is fine.”

  “We’re not here for wine, Ivalia,” Zak said, his voice rattling with repressed anger. Even Morgan, normally the caustic one, looked up at him in disbelief.

  Ivalia came back and poured white whine for the three of them, seemingly unperturbed. “Oh I’m sure you’re not, Zak. But please indulge me.”

  “It’s been a tough few days,” Morgan said, trying to defuse the situation. She looked up at Zak, telling him with her eyes he needed to calm down.

  “Ivalia, thank you,” Zak sighed as he downed his glass. “But we really are short on time.”

  “You worry too much,” Ivalia said, taking a sip of wine.

  SMASH! The coffee table splintered as Zak swung his fist like a hammer.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Morgan yelled as she shot up from her seat.

  Ivalia took a step back, her eyes narrowed at Zak like eagle claws.

  “You know what this is about, you smug bitch,” Zak spat as a vein pulsed on his neck. “My clan paid you, my father paid you, by the truckload, and you, you gave me false hope. You left me blinded, unprepared for the nightmare I became.”

  “Calm yourself, Zak. It is unbefitting of you. Fate has brought us together once more, let us make the best of it.” Ivalia took another tentative step away from him.

  “My wife, those people I murdered because I thought I didn’t suffer from the Rage, was that their fate too?”

  “This isn’t why we’re here,” Morgan said. She stood tall, looking Zak dead in the eye.

  Zak exhaled his anger like he was a dragon, and stomped across the broken table, splintering it further. Turning his back on both women, he rested his hands against the fireplace. His head hanging, he took some ragged breaths. His claws dug into the stone over the fire.

  As he turned back, ready to say something, Ivalia interrupted. “It’s right that you are angry. I… failed you, and your father.”

  “All those people.” Zak shook his head. “... I killed them.”

  “No, the beast did.”

  “And I was the beast. And they are all dead.”

  “I know. I know this. But Zak how long will you grieve for something we had no control over?”

  “You had control. You could have told me, that I had the curse. It would have changed everything. I would have killed myself before I let it loose. If that’s what it took.”

  “Find me a doctor who has perfectly diagnosed every patient. Find me a scryer who has perfectly seen every future. Find me anyone who has never been betrayed by their limitations.”

  Morgan stepped between them. She reached up and placed a hand on Zak’s shoulder. She squeezed it gently and ran her hand along his neck. His fangs slowly receded. “This isn’t why we’re here. You can decide now, what’s important to you. Your past or your future. Your anger or your…” Morgan couldn’t bring herself to say it. Zak gazed into her eyes as if he was seeing her for the first time. He didn’t say anything, he just brought her close to him. Leaned his head on her shoulder, and let all his pain rest there for a moment. They lingered there, until Zak lifted his head once more.

  “Thank you, for keeping me from going down a dark path.”

  They looked back but noticed Ivalia was absent from the room.

  “Ivalia?” Zak called out.

  “Yes,” the answer came from down a hall. “Please, come.” They followed her voice to a parlor in the house. “I thought I would give you two a moment.” She was sitting in a room with a square table, and various bookcases and glass shelves where relics and statues were kept.

  “Ivalia, forgive my outburst. About the table… I can repay you,” Zak said.

  Ivalia’s lips curled to contain a chuckle. “It is alright, Zak. I can understand how you feel. That rage is always there. Threatening to force you to lose control. It must not allow you to move forward in life as you wish.” Ivalia glanced over to Morgan, as if she knew the situation between the two exactly. “Once again, I must tell you that I regret not being able to properly diagnose you when you came to me. I am truly sorry.”

  Zak, now calm, nodded, his lips tightening. “Since Emily’s death, I’ve always been at risk of hurting others… It’s not a proper way to live.”

  “It does not take a scryer to see why you came. Do not think that all I offer is empty words.” Ivalia rose up. “I have been working on something. Ever since I found out that I had been completely wrong in my diagnosis of you. If my treatment of you could fail, then my treatment of others in the future surely could as well. So I have been in my lab, working, researching. Come, I will show you.”

  Ivalia walked, her high heels resounding through the parlor. She opened the door to a set of stairs that descended through a darkened corridor. She flipped a switch and it was illuminated. Morgan stepped up to the door and saw that the stairs descended perhaps two floors down, into an enormous basement.

  “It is alright,” Ivalia said, and began descending the stairs. Morgan and Zak followed. When they arrived at the basement Ivalia hit more lights. It was a large cement room with shelves of various tools and artifacts. Files and flasks stood on various cabinets. It all seemed like a chemistry lab. “Come let me show you this.”

  Ivalia led Zak and Morgan to a cabinet where she opened a drawer that was filled with vials of various colored liquids. She extracted a flask from the drawer and shut it again. “You see this?” She held up the flask. It was filled with an intensely red liquid. “This is blood from another family in your clan, who also suffers from the Red Rage.” Ivalia set the flask on something that looked like a Bunsen burner, though instead of a gas burner, there was a crystal at its center. She opened the flask and grabbed a vial from another drawer. “Now I will add drops of a berserk potion. It was developed by Shifters in ancient days to get them into a war frenzy.” She let a single drop of the substance fall into the flask. The second it fell in, the blood began churning. The crystal under the flask began glowing. “I call this little machine a Mana Spectrum Isolator. It causes subtle magical forces to become more visible to the naked eye.”

  The crystal began glowing brighter and brighter as the berserk potion spread into the blood. Soon the blood began boiling, seemed almost to take a life of its own, defying the laws of gravity by swirling in agitation within the flask. “You can see that the blood carries inside it that Red Rage. When in contact with the trigger of extreme anger, this releases that magical force, even if it may have been dormant for many years.”

  “Yes, that’s what it feels like,” Zak said. “Like your blood really is boiling.”

  “But I have been devising a way to draw out that Rage. To separate it and then extract it from the blood. Observe closely.” Ivalia began narrating her graceful procedure. “First I will neutralize the berserk potion with this Fae sleep dust. She dropped a tablet into the blood flask, where it dissolved. This calmed the blood where it seemed normal once more. “Now I add this potion. I have been trying every herb, every oil, every magical ingredient imaginable. And I have come to develop this potion which separates, which isolates the Red Rage from the rest of the blood. It is very tricky because the Rage is inherent to you being a werewolf.”

  Ivalia let several drops of the blue potion drop into the flask. The blood began sizzling like seltzer. Within moments the blood began separating into two hues of red. One was normal blood. The other was of a far brighter crimson color. This brighter red began coalescing. Eventually the flasks became as if it were blood with tiny glowing red marbles floating inside it.

  “You see those particles? That is the Red Rage. Isolated.” Ivalia smiled as only mad scientists and plastic surge
ons can. “I have isolated it from the blood.”

  “So now you just have to take those little marbles out, and that’s it?” Morgan smiled wide.

  “But you see extraction is no simple matter,” Ivalia said. “Because the Mana Spectrum Isolator is causing magical reactions to appear as physical ones, I cannot simply extract the Rage from the blood as if it were a chemical compound. I must draw it out with magic.”

  “A spell?” Morgan asked.

  “No, not a spell. People call me a thaumaturge, a type of mage, but really I am a magic technician.” She put away the blue potion and looked to a machine. “Extraction is where this comes in.” Ivalia walked to another table, this one metal. Above it was a complicated set of machinery. It was like an overly large microscope. Clearly visible within its maze of mechanical parts, was a glowing white orb like a giant pearl.

  “There is a creature called a Tragaderm. It lives by siphoning magic. I have studied how it drains the magic from its prey and have replicated it in this machine. Many of the creatures I am afraid, have sacrificed their lives to gain this knowledge. I call it the Tragas machine in honor of my brave and generous test subjects.”

  Morgan shuddered though she quickly realized that this was not very much different than the way things were done in the human world.

  “This machine has been developed with the help of various magic technicians. Perhaps, Zak, your disease has pushed us to research more urgently. We have designed this machine so that it will only extract the Red Rage and not the rest of your magic. Observe.”

  Ivalia set down the flask below the aim of the machine. She entered an ignition sequence and the Tragas machine began humming with magical electricity. Soon a current of white light began emanating from it. This light was like writhing tentacles that wrapped themselves around the flask. Little by little the red droplets in the blood began disappearing.

  “What does all this mean, Ivalia?” Zak asked as he watched the red droplets being vaporized. “Does it mean I can be cured?”