Withering Rose (Once Upon a Curse Book 2)

by Kaitlyn Davis

  Then, gently, I reach out and input the eight-digit code we are all forced to memorize at the start of each year. When the light turns green, I twist the silvery latch in the middle of the door, listening as the bolts slide free. I open it.

  The smell of wet grass hits my nose.

  I double over as my magic surges to life. A cry leaks out as my heart explodes, scorched by the magic as it forces its way out of the tiny hole I'd pushed it into. Heat courses painfully through my body, stinging and tingling, as though every part of me was numb and is suddenly being prodded painfully back to life. I shiver and twist. Every muscle clenches tight as I struggle for control, but I know I can't let it out. Not yet.

  My senses expand as the magic begins to take over. I'm aware of each blade of trodden grass, every flower struggling in the early winter frost, all of the dead leaves scattered across the ground. I feel every stem stretching into the sky and every root seeping into the dirt. Nature overwhelms me with its glory.

  I continue breathing slowly, focusing my thoughts on counting out each inhale and each exhale. Every time I come to the surface it is the same, and after so long, I've mastered the painful and unnatural process of keeping my magic inside.

  After a few minutes, I can finally stand.

  I take a hesitant step, forcing my feet fully through the door as I close it behind me. The tunnel exits into an old abandoned cottage with shattered windows, which is why that grassy breeze slipped in so easily. The high-security door I just exited looks like no more than rotting wood on this side, an old closet door with its paint chipping off and rusted hinges. Even the keypad is disguised, hidden behind a crooked picture frame. No one would ever take notice of this old broken-down home, so it conceals the entrance to our base quite effectively.

  Magic simmers beneath my skin as I make my way fully outside. I can't allow myself to get distracted for even a moment. Half of my attention must remain on controlling it. Sometimes, the magic is my friend. Sometimes it does what I want when I want it to. But at times like this, it feels foreign with a mind of its own, like another soul living inside of me, with a will and wants different from my own. Right now, it yearns more than anything to be released back into the world where it belongs.

  I force a smile to my lips as I pass by people still celebrating on the streets. Some sit on their porches, talking loudly, strumming guitars. Others are quieter in their revelry, looking up at the stars and the moon, lost in their own thoughts. I try not to disturb them as I wander through, searching for my peers.

  Though I've never been to one of these parties, I've overheard enough conversations to know where all the kids my age go to get away from adult supervision for a little while. I wasn't sure if they'd go there tonight or if they'd stay closer to the base where everyone was celebrating, but as I walk through our small aboveground town, I don't see a single teenager hanging around. So I wander past the last row of houses and follow the dirt path leading to our solar energy field.

  Totally off limits, of course.

  But that's what makes it fun, right?

  I walk for a mile or so with only the moon to guide me before I finally see soft lights in the distance—rechargeable flashlights. We all have them stored in our rooms in case of emergency, not that this would exactly qualify. And then I notice the glinting ebony surfaces of the solar panels resting in parallel lines across the massive field, the most reliable source of energy for our base. I'm told in old Earth, people didn’t have to worry about electricity too much. If you paid for it, it was there. But the earthquake messed with their power lines and grids, especially out here so far from major cities. Sometimes the adults talk about the old days when things like cell phones and televisions were considered necessities, not luxuries.

  By the time I reach the fence, I can tell the party is in full swing. Someone must have hijacked access to an outlet because music mixes with laughter and muddled conversation, probably one of the old CD players we keep in the classroom. There's a lock on the gate, so I'm guessing Dean stole the codes from his father to sneak inside and get access to the grid. But everyone else is outside the fence on the far side of the field. I make my way over, trying to build my courage with each step.

  I'm a princess.

  I have magic.

  I'm about to run away into the realm of a beast.

  And I'm afraid of a few mean girls.

  I sigh and shake my head, trying to stop the butterflies soaring around my stomach at breakneck speed. It's stupid, I know. But I've spent almost a decade pretending to be meek and afraid. I'm not sure I really know how to be anything else—not yet.

  I've barely reached the edge of the party when a voice interrupts my internal pep talk.

  "You came!"

  I spin with my heart in my throat but relax as soon as I meet Dean's excited blue eyes. He found me quickly, so quickly it sort of feels like he might have been waiting for me. I try not to let that thought linger for too long. But it's nice to feel wanted, even if I know his want is really aimed toward a girl I'm only pretending to be.

  "I came," I say softly, more like a sigh.

  But he doesn't notice. He gestures to me to join the party, and when I walk too slowly, he meets me half way, falling in with my steps. "I'll admit, I never thought I'd see the day when Omorose Bouchene would come to a party."

  "Me neither," I murmur, deciding on honesty as the best path.

  "I'm glad you did." He smiles, and I can sense his eyes watching me, but I keep my gaze on the ground. It's better that way. "You want something to drink? We managed to sneak a bottle of rum and some orange juice out of the supply room."

  I shake my head. But he's not discouraged at all by my silence.

  "So why did you come?" he asks, tone curious.

  "Because," I say, glancing up at him. "Someone finally invited me." An expression passes over his face that looks suspiciously like guilt. But that wasn't what I wanted. So before I realize what I'm doing, I reach up and place my hand on his arm, stopping us both. "I meant that as a thank you," I say quickly, unsure where the sudden burst of confidence is coming from. "Not so you'd feel sorry for me or anything. I'm not really used to people including me. It's a nice change of pace."

  He grins.

  I look back at the ground and let go of him.

  "Is there any water?" I ask. My throat is dry.

  "Oh yeah, sure, I'll be right back."

  When he's gone, I realize that Dean wasn't the only one to notice my arrival. And without him close by, everyone finally has the nerve to gawk the way they wanted to before. There are about forty other teenagers at the base, and I think thirty-nine of them are watching me right now.

  Heat floods my cheeks. I can’t stop it. I've never been able to. And then almost against my will, my hands start wringing together, and I shift nervously from foot to foot.

  Where'd Dean go?

  And more importantly, where is—

  "Omorose," an overly sweet voice calls. Amanda.

  I stand my ground. After all, this is the exact reason I came here. To give them all a show. To cause a scene. But it was a little easier when it was all in my head, and I can't find my voice quick enough to respond.

  "What are you doing here, freak?" she mutters when she gets close enough that no one else will hear.

  I know that all I need to do is fight back a little bit, just enough to make her feel for a moment like I'm a threat. And after that, she'll do the rest. But I still can't speak. I'm paralyzed.

  "I…"

  "You what?" she taunts. "Thought maybe someone here actually wanted to spend time with you? As if a few hours in class isn’t enough to make us all want to barf."

  Be brave, I tell myself.

  Just for a moment. Just this once.

  "Someone here does want to spend time with me," I whisper. Each word that passes through my lips gives me more strength, more fight. My voice grows louder. "Dean invited me. In fact, right before he went to go get me a drink, he told me how hap
py he was that I came."

  For a moment, I really think her eyes are on fire they are so filled with rage. And instantly, I know that one sentence was enough, one brief moment of bravery was enough. Amanda's been selfish and territorial for as long as I've known her. Nothing would make her more furious than the idea that someone as weak as me would dare take something that belongs to her.

  "You'd like to think that, wouldn't you, freak?" she spits.

  But before she can say anything else, Dean's voice halts her.

  "Amanda," he calls. And he doesn't know it, but the little bit of warning in his tone seals my fate.

  "Dean!" She turns, plastering a smile across her lips, gaining a flirty expression.

  The party has gone silent. No whispers. No laughing voices. Nothing but the light music drifting through the forest.

  We have an audience.

  "What were you guys talking about?" he asks innocently, handing me a cup of water. I can't help but notice Amanda's gaze fasten on the spot where his fingers graze against mine.

  "Oh, just girl stuff," she responds lightly, mysteriously enough that he'll ask a follow-up.

  "Oh, yeah? Like what?" He's predictably intrigued. But also wary, I'm happy to note.

  She giggles. "I can't tell you." Then she looks at me pointedly. "They're not my secrets to spill."

  "What secrets?" he asks, turning to me with a slightly confused expression.

  I take a sip of water and mumble, "I don't know what she's talking about."

  But a trickle of fear seeps down my spine. What does Amanda know? Could she have possibly found out what I truly am? How could she have uncovered any of my secrets? What is she talking about? What's her plan?

  "You don't have to be shy," she says encouragingly, as though we're suddenly best friends.

  I watch her, wide-eyed and unsure.

  She nudges me with her shoulder, as though prodding me to confess.

  My throat is clogged up. I shake my head.

  She rolls her eyes. "It's not a big deal, really. She was just telling me how excited she was that you invited her out here, sort of like a date almost. She was hoping you might give her, well, her first kiss. I mean, Dean, you must know she's been in love with you for years."

  Dean glances at me and then quickly looks away.

  But it takes a moment for the full force of Amanda's words to reach my ears because I'm so relieved that the word magic hasn’t rolled off her tongue. She doesn’t know my secrets. She doesn’t really know how to destroy me.

  But then someone snorts under his breath.

  I hear the hum of swiftly spoken whispers.

  The light chime of laughter.

  Victory shines brightly in Amanda's eyes right before she contorts her face into a convincingly shocked expression. "Oh god, don't tell me you didn’t know, Dean." She glances my way. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean." And then she looks back at him. "I really am sorry. I didn’t think it was a secret, not really."

  I look at Dean, knowing my cheeks are on fire, and there's nothing I can do to stop it. I'm not in love with him. I don't have a crush on him. I don't even want him to kiss me, not really, especially not like this. But if I say any of that, it will just look like I'm lying. It's the perfect trap.

  Except that for a moment, I actually think he might stand up for me. I actually think he might choose my side. Behind the shock and the mortification, his expression holds the barest hint of delight. But then he looks at the ground and runs his fingers through his hair, sighing deeply. And I know I'm on my own.

  The realization hurts more than I thought it would.

  "I, uh," he mumbles.

  I shake my head and step back as my heart pounds painfully in my chest. "That's not," I stutter. "I mean, I didn't, you know—"

  "Just kiss her!" someone shouts.

  I freeze.

  "Yeah, kiss her, Dean!" another person yells. It's a dare. A joke. A test for Dean at my expense. Will he kiss me for their entertainment? Will he toy with my emotions for them? Pretty soon everyone has joined in the chant. "Kiss her! Kiss her! Kiss her!"

  I can't look at him. I can’t.

  I do.

  Just one little peek.

  He's laughing, as though this is no big deal. And I know if I pretended to be more confident, we could brush the whole incident away. If I were Amanda, I know exactly what I'd do. I'd walk right up to him, kiss him with everything I had, and then I'd walk away, leaving him dazed. I'd come out looking cool, not desperate. I'd come out with the victory.

  But I'm not Amanda.

  I'm me.

  So I stand there frozen, caught in a trap as my embarrassment mounts.

  "Kiss her! Kiss her!"

  Dean rubs the back of his neck and finally looks at me. He raises his brows as though asking permission, asking if we're in this together. And then he takes a step forward.

  I run.

  I forget that this was the plan all along. I forget that this is exactly what I was hoping would happen. Tears fall freely down my face as my mortification reaches its peak, and I take off at a sprint, disappearing into the woods.

  "Omorose!" Dean calls.

  "Let her go," Amanda says loud enough for me to hear.

  I don't dare look back.

  I keep going until all the hurt is replaced by anger. I'm furious with Amanda for playing me like that. I'm furious at Dean for being able to pretend like it was no big deal. But more than anything else, I'm furious with myself for not being able to do the same.

  That was my plan, I try to tell myself. That was exactly what I wanted to happen, what I needed to happen, so I had an excuse to run away.

  But deep down, I know the truth. Even if the situation had been different, I still wouldn't have fought back. I would still be here, running away. I'll always be the one with the tear-stained cheeks and not the victorious smile.

  The realization consumes me.

  My emotions rage, uncontrollably switching from hurt to anger to fear to loathing, a dark spiral without a drop of light. And as I twist further into the chaos, my control over the magic slips away. I try to dig myself out of the bottomless pit, to concentrate on the pounding beat of my feet hitting the ground, but it's a losing battle. I hold on just long enough to break through the line of trees before I trip and fall, tumbling against the grassy plain splayed out before me.

  I haven't reached the barrier where the beast's magic obstructs the radar system at the base, but I can't take another step. I can just barely see snow-covered peaks gleaming in the moonlight, and I hope I'm close enough for the beast to reach me before the general does. I hope he senses my magic and recognizes my power for what it truly is—a desperate cry for help.

  Before I have time to hope for anything more, my magic takes over.

  The torrent carries me away, and I'm drowning in it, sinking to a place I've never gone before. I'm no longer Omorose, no longer a princess, no longer a girl. I am raw energy that has been pent-up for too long. I seep into the ground, strengthening dried out roots, sharpening bent stems, lengthening newborn pines. Flowers sprout to life all around me, fanning out in a circle around my forgotten body. The trees in the distance grow inch by inch as my life force transfers to them, bringing the forest new vigor. I am the sun. My magic is light that nature draws in, and lost as I am, I have no control over how much the greedy, dying world claims. I have no idea how long I lie motionless on the cold ground, power flowing freely into the dirt and the air. I have no awareness. Nothing.

  Until finally, the pain comes.

  Agony saves me.

  I snap back into my body as my soul cries out, begging the magic to stop. I can't move. Every part of me is spent. My muscles ache. Even lifting a finger is too much. But deeper, my chest feels ripped apart, as though each rib was pried away, broken and crunched to pieces, leaving my heart fully exposed. But I hardly feel that ache. It is nothing compared to the torturous pulses that rack through me as time is stripped from my soul. Burning hot and fr
igid cold waves pass over me, one after the other, over and over as though I am being dipped into two different types of hell. The little rosebud at the center of my being grows smaller as petals fall one by one, disappearing as my life force weakens, dropping away into nothing.

  Time is my curse.

  Time is being yanked forcibly away.

  I'm motionless on the ground as the curse that binds my magic to my soul takes its payment. My vision begins to wane. The already dark world grows darker. Even the moon turns its back on me as silver grows more and more ebony each instant.

  Just before I fade entirely, I notice a figure in the distance, the fuzzy outline of a man. Is he friend or foe? I don't know. My eyesight disappears before I find the answer to my question. But it wouldn't matter either way.

  I'm in a void, dancing with oblivion.

  Yet through the darkness, I feel fingers lightly caress my cheek, as though I am made of stardust, so gentle I fear I'm dreaming. They trace my nose, my chin, up and over my brow, so soft I wonder if it is silk pressing against me. Finally, that phantom touch outlines the edge of my lips, tickling my skin, before it disappears.

  I fight to open my eyes.

  I fight for one glance.

  A warm hand cups the back of my head, pausing for a moment, scorching me with eyes I sense even through the void—eyes that can see every bared part of me, the secret I've kept for so long, the magic I can no longer hide. And then his hold drifts lower down my spine to the curve of my back. Another arm slips beneath my knees, and I'm airborne, being cradled against the night.

  All I can think as my consciousness slips away is how infinitely sad it is that I've never felt more precious in my life than I do in this moment, wrapped in the arms of an invisible stranger.

  I wake with no sense of time or place. The edges of my memory slip away, a dream I was unable to hold on to. I remember the party. I remember running. I remember my magic. I remember the caress that still burns my skin.