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

by Taylor Fray

  “Yes. I believe it does.”

  Zak and Morgan looked at each other. Morgan’s breathing was caught in a flutter of hope, and she jumped up and hugged him tight.

  “I want to emphasize that I do believe this machine can cure you, but it is not an absolute certainty,” Ivalia said as she turned the machine off. “I have seen the errors of making promises.”

  “Have you tested it on anybody?” Zak asked.

  “No.” She shook her head. “That is precisely the phase I was entering, testing on actual Shifter patients. What can I say? There are not too many test subjects. This is a prototype still. But it is a working prototype, and I am confident we have a chance. As you can see the tests using blood have all worked. To cure you, I would essentially carry out the process I have demonstrated, but on you, Zak.” He gazed at the metal table, the machinery hanging above it. “I do not want to force you to undergo this procedure if that is not what you wish.”

  “What are the risks?”

  “If there are complications, the Tragas machine could remove some of your Shifter magic, permanently weakening you. In an extreme case, the machine could extract all your life force, leading to death.”

  Zak looked over at Morgan who immediately felt the pressure as if she was the one who had pushed him to this risk. Before she could reply Zak turned to Ivalia, his eyes blazing with resolve.

  “Yes,” Zak said. “I’ll do it. Whatever the risks, they are worth it. I owe this to Emily, to my clan, to those innocent people who died by my hands.”

  Morgan stepped close to him, took his hand. “You owe it to yourself.” Zak caressed her arm and nodded.

  “Please Ivalia. Whatever you have to do to cure me, cure me.”

  “I am glad to hear it, Zak. You are not the only one seeking atonement.” Her gaze flickered momentarily then turned back to the pair. “I will need some time to prepare. Please make yourselves at home.”

  Zak and Morgan walked back up the stairs to the parlor.

  “You made that decision so quickly,” Morgan said. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

  “Yes.”

  “Zak, I don’t want you to do this just because of me. I know I wanted you to look for a cure, but you don’t have to jump into this so fast, if it’s untested.”

  Zak listened intently and was silent for a while. “When my clan found out what I had done, they all looked down on me, condemned me. But you, as strong natured as you are, you still forgave me for what I did, for what I am. And so now, after I have seen what kind of being you truly are, it is not only passion that I feel for you. It is not only instinct. It is something deeper.” Morgan was silent, her heart warming. She felt his hand caressing the back of her neck, and then his lips touching hers in the gentlest, sweetest kiss of her life. “Please listen to me,” Zak went on. “While you are the one who made me choose this path, to seek a cure instead of vengeance, now I see that it had been the right path all along. There is nothing you need to feel responsible for, other than making me feel like I was more than a living curse.”

  Zak wrapped his long arms around her. They stood there together in each other’s warmth for a long time. Morgan had never thought of herself as someone who could bring comfort and hope into someone’s life, but perhaps in doing so, she had brought some to herself as well.

  “Ready!” Ivalia called from downstairs.

  The pair descended the stairs once more to the lab. “Here,” Ivalia said, lifting up a vile of potion to Zak. “This is the isolating agent. It will help to separate the Red Rage magic from the rest of your energy field.” Zak took the vial in his hand, opened it and recoiled at the smell.

  “I’m supposed to drink this?”

  “I did not have time to concoct a better tasting version. It is better than drinking eye of newt and frog legs.”

  Zak took a deep breath, then gulped it down. His face was a snail being tortured with salt.

  “Come,” Ivalia said, gently tapping at the metal table. “Lie down. Let the potion have its effect. Zak lumbered onto the table and let himself relax. It seemed as if the potion was already having an effect on him, making him groggy. “Here, it will be easier if you take off your jacket.” Zak staggered up, propping himself up on his elbow and clumsily removed the garment. He slumped back down on the table in a daze.

  “Let us give him some time.” Ivalia motioned for Morgan to walk back up the stairs. “I want to be sure that the potion has had its effects once we turn on the Tragas machine. It is critical that it only affect his Red Rage and not the rest of his magical nature.”

  “Is he going to be alright?” Morgan asked. After everything, she was still concerned how quickly Zak had made this decision, perhaps not knowing the possible consequences. The two women walked up the stairs back to the small parlor.

  “As I said, I have not tested this on any true Shifters yet. As long as the potion separates the Red Rage from the rest of his magical energies, then the machine should not extract anything it is not meant to.”

  “And if the potion doesn’t separate it completely?”

  “Then perhaps the Tragas machine will extract some or all of his werewolf nature. He would become closer to human, losing some or all of his magic power. If it goes farther than that... You know what I said, why do you ask me again?”

  “Because I don’t know if Zak realized he could be making a life or death decision.”

  “Yes, it is a serious decision. But that is why I gave him an extra potent dose of the separating agent. That is why it had such an immediate effect on him.” Shadows loomed in Morgan’s eyes. “You should not worry, Morgan. Our lives are not in our control as much as you might think.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “There are greater forces at work in all things. We can do our best to change our lives, but in the end we are like actors who have been given a script, and the directors do not so much like actors who improvise.”

  “Where’s the proof of that?”

  “Look around. The world turns and our lives turn. The sun rises and our hopes rise, the world turns dark and we turn too. All the time we are affected by things outside of our control. At this point in time you have been brought here.”

  “No. We make our own destiny. I came here of my own free will.”

  “Really? Did you choose where and when you were born? Did you choose your family? Did you choose whether to be Shifter or human? Did you choose your sexuality, your body’s chemistry, your native language, your culture? And do you not think these things influence your so-called free will?”

  “But within that, we have choices. Lots of them.”

  Ivalia stared at Morgan as if contemplating her. A smile crept onto her lips. “Let me show you something.” Ivalia walked over to a cabinet and pulled out a bag of runes. “Sit, please,” she said, motioning toward a chair. Morgan sat, her eyes flickering with impatience. Ivalia cast the runes on the table. They were ivory white, like domino pieces carved from bone. They clattered as they fell in their prophetic patterns. She studied Morgan’s face for a long moment. “I don’t need runes to see that your destiny is now tied to Zak’s. And, how you feel about him.”

  “I hope this reading is free,” Morgan said, recalling commercials with a lady in a headdress and a telephone number flashing on the screen.

  “I see that you never knew about your animal side, that you grew up in the dark. You never knew your father. Your mother never said much about him. There was a reason he vanished from your life. He was a Shifter, of course.”

  “I figured as much,” Morgan said, unimpressed. “Other than a slight paranoia and frigidness, my mom was as normal as a brown shoe, so if I had wolf in my blood, it definitely had to come from him.”

  “I sense that he is still alive.”

  Morgan was taken aback. Her mother had always told her that her father died since she was a child. It was a notion so deeply imbedded in her mind that even once she realized she was a Shifter and everything she k
new about herself must be incomplete, she had still held firm that her father was dead.

  “You will want to find him. It is your nature. To track. But do not search for him. It is not destined for you to meet him. Not yet. It will be some time before you do.”

  “Let’s just say that what you’re saying is true. What would keep us from meeting? Is he alright?”

  “No. He is in a prison. A prison of his own making. That is all I see.”

  Morgan listened—what could she say to that?

  “I see that recently you were taken captive. Not once, but twice.” Morgan thought about that for a moment at first confused, then realized that it was true. She had been taken prisoner by Albhanz and then she had been taken prisoner in the Fae kingdom. There was something eerie about someone else seeing into one’s life in an unexplainable way. Even though by now it should not be shocking, given that apparently in the world there existed werewolves and magic and fairies, but still there was something about studying destiny that rattled her. She felt a cold sweat spread all over her.

  “I can see also, that you are pursued by something. A force, a sorcerer, a man of power. It is not done yet. You will see him again.”

  Morgan’s eyes narrowed as she recalled the encounter with the three beasts. “Gestaffos…” she muttered.

  “And see this here,” Ivalia pointed to two runes. One looked like a bow, the other an unknown symbol. “This means to lose, and this refers to a weapon, a tool, something useful. Given the context of fighting that the sorcerer presented, it tells me you have lost a weapon recently.”

  Finally, something she was wrong about, some reason to doubt that what she was saying was true. But then she realized, “My gun…”

  “A gun, yes. I can see that you were very proficient with it. That it embodied some protection you surrounded yourself with. For many years even before you came into the Shifter world you walked among danger, didn’t you?” As far as Morgan knew she had not told her anything about her past, that she was a private investigator and that she routinely came across murderers and all manner of vice.

  “You’re just… reading my reactions.”

  “Here,” Ivalia said. “Let me change fate in some small way, or play my part in it—which, I do not know.” She rose and walked over to a cabinet. She unlocked it, slid it open, and behind it was a secret panel built into the wall. Ivalia pulled out a rolling gun rack that was built into the wall.

  “Why do you have so many… weapons?”

  “I am a magical technician, and these are not ordinary weapons, they are ones I have created. Let us just say that there is a very high demand for my skills in crafting them, even more than my skills in curing magical diseases.” Morgan walked over and saw that there were various handguns and a couple of rifles on the rack. Ivalia ran her hand along the rows of firearms like she was picking fruit at a supermarket. “This one,” she said. “I can tell it was similar to the one that that you carried. The one that you lost.” She held the gun out to Morgan for her to take it. Morgan looked on in astonishment as she held the gun in her hand. It was nearly the exact same model as the one she had before. The weight in her hand felt good again; she had some capacity for action in this world of supernatural violence that she found herself in.

  “I have something else to go along with it,” Ivalia said as she reached into a drawer on the gun rack. “Here you go, this is where the real magic is.” She handed Morgan a bullet clip.

  Morgan took it. As she examined it her face scrunched in confusion. These seemed different than normal bullets. They were a different color and had some kind of insignia on them.

  “They are not ordinary ammunition,” Ivalia said. “They are enchanted with a magic formula I devised.”

  “What do they do?”

  “They burn things.” A bad-girl smile spread on Ivalia’s face.

  “What are they, grenades or something?” Morgan asked.

  “They are dragon’s breath ammunition,” Ivalia answered. “Common with supernatural bounty hunters, sorcerers and the magically adept. There are many varieties of the bullets, ice, poison, silver, lightning. Dragon’s Breath bullets as you can imagine, are imbued with fire magic, but I also added my own touch. Mine burn longer, brighter. They have a small fire elemental bound in each. It usually bores into the victim’s body. Then they literally burn from the inside.”

  “I’m guessing these aren’t legal.”

  “Everything is legal in Colorado.” Ivalia smiled. Before Morgan could ask any more questions, a timer went off on Ivalia’s watch. “The potion has taken its full effect. It is time.”

  Zak was barely awake, one arm dangling over the metal table. “How are you feeling?” Ivalia asked as she propped his arm back on the metal surface.

  “I’ve had… worse hangovers,” he said, cracking a smile.

  A feeling of impending doom fell over Morgan as she stood by his side. Perhaps it was looking into her fate with Ivalia, perhaps it was seeing Zak, the last being she could ever imagine as vulnerable, lie there, fragile as a glass, his bare body on the table as if he was going into surgery. What had she done? She was the one who had talked him into this. For what? To fulfill some immature fantasy of hers? She realized now, how much she truly cared about him. He had risked his life for her again and again, asking nothing in return. He could go on being a wanderer, a loner. She could follow him, they could be loners together, come what may. All she knew at that moment… was that she loved him. And she could never forgive herself if something happened to him because of her. “Zak,” Morgan said, not being able to hold her words. “You don’t have to go through with this. You can just… be you. It wouldn’t change—It wouldn’t change anything… It wouldn’t change how I feel.” Tears shimmered in her eyes.

  “I already told you that you are not responsible for this. It is my own choice.”

  “But you could die.”

  “Have you ever seen me be afraid?” His breath was long and slow. “I’m the least of my worries. If I died in battle, if I died doing something worthwhile, like searching for a cure to this curse, then I would be glad.” Morgan shook her head. “But the one thing I am afraid of, is not making every effort to change. Of not making every effort… to be with you.” Morgan held his hand to her cheek. It broke her heart, that sometimes things are not realized, not said, until they are fading. “But I want you to promise me, that you’ll honor what we agreed to. If there is no cure, then… I could never burden you to be near me, to be with that… monster inside me. Once you are safe with my clan, you must let go and never search for me, and I will never search for you.”

  Morgan shook her head. “How can you ask me that?”

  “Because making sure you’re alright is the right thing to do. Because it’s worth this risk that I’m taking. You have given me your word. You are a Shifter now, and I make you an honorary member of the 13 Moons Clan. Our word is our bond. It is said in our traditions, that should you break an oath, the gods will curse you, your brethren will shun you, and worse still, your own soul will turn its face from you.”

  Morgan breathed deep, and realized how important this was to him. She felt warm drops falling along her cheek. “Alright,” she said.

  “Promise.”

  “I promise.”

  “Good. Now whatever happens, I can accept it.” They smiled together with sadness in their eyes. “I’m ready, Ivalia.”

  Ivalia hesitated. It seemed as if she had lost her nerve, but she grimaced with determination. “Very well,” she answered as she put on doctor’s gloves. “Please, you must give him some room.” Morgan nodded, her breath shortening as she realized this was really it. Ivalia stepped over to Zak. “Come on, we want you lying back, relaxed,” Ivalia said as she reached under the table and pulled out some metal straps.

  “What are those for?” Morgan asked.

  Clank. The metal straps resounded as Ivalia snapped them shut. “To restrain him. They are made of a metal so strong it can resist eve
n a Shifter’s strength.”

  “What? Why does he need to be restrained?”

  “Because it is going to hurt.” Ivalia’s eyes were firm, as if this was her domain and she knew what she was doing.

  Zak only stared up at the ceiling, his shoulders set squarely, resolved to whatever was coming.

  Ivalia then stepped over to the Tragas machine. She pulled on its rotating base, to bring the large metal contraption to its proper position, above Zak and centered on his solar plexus. It was like Zak was under an enormous microscope. The witch doctor walked across the room, to a desk with various monitors on it. She sat on a rolling chair, and began making some calculations on a computer that was connected to the Tragas machine by a glut of wires.

  “Morgan,” Ivalia said. “I need you to step away and give Zak some room. “Here, come stand by me.”

  Squeezing Zak’s hand one last time, Morgan walked to Ivalia, her footsteps echoing in the room. She studied the computer screen, where various bright columns of information were displayed.

  “Zak, I am about to begin the procedure. If at any time the pain is too much, please say stop, and I will.”

  “There won’t be any stopping. I can tell you that now,” Zak slurred, his will cast in iron despite his grogginess. “No matter what, you don’t stop.”

  “Very well,” Ivalia said. In true scientific fashion, she slipped on a pair of safety goggles, and handed a pair to Morgan, who refused them.

  “I’m not afraid,” she gritted. “He’s going to be fine. It’s going to work.”

  Ivalia tossed the goggles on the desk, and focused on the computer.

  “Let’s get started,” Ivalia said, then entered in a series of commands. “Containment field up.” Her hands flew on the keyboard. “Segmentation crystals ignited.” The clack, clack, clack of typing seemed to speed up, ratcheting up Morgan’s breath until with one last stroke of a key, Ivalia pressed “ENTER” and let her hands slide off the keyboard. She looked at Zak with the intensity of a hawk on the hunt. Both women went completely silent, completely still as the Tragas machine began its humming sound of charging up.