Cursed Sight

by T. G. Ayer

  Cursed Sight

  A Dark Sight Novel #2

  T.G. Ayer

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Epilogue

  The Dark Sight Series

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  About the Author

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  For Allegra Damascus terrible visions of the future could not compare to the memories of her past.

  Allegra stood in the bathroom of the aircraft, grounding her feet to compensate for the inevitable swaying and jittering of the flight. Her hands quivered and she curled them into fists, ignoring the bite of her fingernails as they dug into the soft skin of her palms.

  She didn’t want to look at her hands, preferred to pretend that what her eyes showed her was a lie. But—as if drawn by some kind of terrible, powerful force—she found her gaze pulled toward her shaking palms.

  Palms covered in bright red blood.

  Fat, glistening drops fell from her fingertips into the tiny gray, fake-marble washbasin, slipping slowly toward the drain. A dull roar emanated from the drain, as if some dark monster eagerly waited to sip at the droplets.

  Allegra let out a soft whimper, then grabbed the nearest dispenser and began to squeeze soap onto her fingers. Too late, she felt her skin skid against the white liquid—hand-lotion. She let out a frustrated groan. With the heel of her palm she pressed the faucet and rubbed her fingers desperately beneath the thin trickle of water.

  Blood won’t come out with lotion, an amused voice whispered in her ear.

  Tears filled Allegra’s eyes as she watched the water rinse away the sticky creme, only to leave her fingers still stained red.

  A harsh banging on the door beside her made her flinch, eliciting a hollow shriek from her parched throat. She shifted to face the door, her body shuddering from shock and fear. Shock, she understood. The fear seemed entirely unwarranted, making Allegra wonder if she was slowly going crazy.

  Was this what happened to oracles like her?

  Swallowing hard, she grabbed a wad of paper towels and hurriedly dried her hands. As she opened the door, she found her path blocked by a red-faced, portly man who hovered at the door, his hand on the doorjamb.

  She glared up at him, much more composed now than she had been a few minutes earlier. Thankfully. “Excuse me,” she said, pointedly glancing at his hand which still blocked her exit.

  “Excuse me? That’s all you have to say after holding me up for so long?” He spat the words at her, taking an intimidating step toward her, crowding into her personal space and forcing her to step back inside the washroom.

  His accent was so thick—something from the Amazonian continent, she was sure—Allegra found she had to concentrate on his intonations in order to understand his words.

  Over the last few weeks of her life, Allegra had been reduced to many things she’d never imagined were possible. And now, as she stood before this overweight, overbearing excuse for a man, she acknowledged she was also a killer.

  She blinked as the man smirked and lowered his hand, bringing his elbow level with her shoulder, effectively blocking her from leaving. The idiot was preventing her from doing exactly what he demanded she do.

  Without thinking, Allegra lifted her hand, and grabbed hold of his wrist. She would have pushed him away. Should have pushed him away, especially when the galley and the narrow aisle in the aircraft began to fade away.

  Instead, she held on tightly as her vision filled with the sight of a small city, a modern mix of old pueblo homes, iron-roofed shacks and ancient stone pyramids.

  The city flowed down the side of the mountain like a waterfall of human detritus, both a sign of the ravaged earth as well as proof that some had prospered while most had crawled out from insignificance on the strength of body and broken fingernails.

  But as Allegra watched, the city shifted, moving, as if turned into a lake of molten lava, undulating and then sliding down the mountainside.

  A blast of heat slammed into Allegra, and she gasped as the face of the mountain split in two and a gigantic chasm opened up, a strange green glow seeping through. The crack tore through the hillside as if some sadistic giant held each end, intent on ripping it in two.

  And then the buildings began to shift, not down to the valley but over the edge into the blackness of the dark cavern, into the depths of nothing.

  Warm fingers gripped her hand and from the tingle of electricity against her flesh, Allegra knew they belonged to Max. The contact of his skin broke the hold of the vision and the scene—so filled with death and destruction—began to fade away.

  She blinked and looked around her, praying she hadn’t made a scene. Max lowered his head and bowed, releasing her hand discretely. “My Lady? Could I be of assistance?”

  The passenger blinked at Max’s respectful tone and the man’s hand dropped a fraction.

  Allegra’s eyes narrowed as she stared at Max, “I’m fully capable of dealing with him, Commander.”

  Another blink from the man who seemed more impressed at Max’s ‘Commander’ than Allegra’s ‘Lady’.

  The man took a step back, bumping into the flight attendant behind him. The woman forced a smile onto her face and peered around the man, her gaze meeting Allegra and Max.

  In a blink she was bowing. “My Lady. How may I be of service?” She raised her head slightly to meet Allegra’s eyes.

  Glancing behind the attendant Allegra watched as her harasser slid into another washroom and closed the door with a clatter. The ruddiness of his cheeks had deepened and Allegra was sure the man must have been intoxicated.

  Allegra gave the girl a smile, “I’m quite fine . . .” she tipped her head to read her name tag, “. . . Keren.”

  Keren bobbed her blonde head, though she was still frowning as she glanced over her shoulder at the toilet door, “Are you sure I shouldn’t be putting him in lockup until landing?”

  Allegra shook her head. “I don’t believe so. Not unless he ge
ts any more drunk than he already is.”

  Keren smiled, although the emotion did not reach her eyes. It was all too clear the passenger’s behavior toward the Pythia had worried the girl.

  “I’m fine, really. And thank you for your concern.” With a soft smile, Allegra shifted toward Max who stood aside at the end of the aisle, waiting for her like a guard dog.

  She shouldn’t complain considering he’d proved on many an occasion how much she needed him.

  Needed his protection.

  Not him.

  Allegra straightened her shoulders and headed past Max to their cabin. Max had attempted to obtain private seating to maintain Allegra’s privacy, but the FAPA travel coordinator had issued them with business class allocations.

  Thankfully, Allegra’s reputation had preceded her and as soon as the pilot had discovered she was a passenger he’d insisted on settling her in the deluxe cabin, a small six-seater private room at the front of the plane reserved for royalty and the super-rich.

  And apparently now for Pythias too.

  Max opened the gleaming mahogany door and ushered her inside, then shut it with an angry click.

  “Was that necessary?” he asked, keeping his voice low. He leaned over a little, always conscious of his height with the low ceiling of the plane’s interior.

  “What?” she asked, navigating across the cabin to a window seat, and sinking onto the soft custard-colored leather of the armchair.

  “Your excursion across to the business class lavatory. That was not out of necessity.”

  Allegra turned and stared at Max, a defiant thrust to her chin. “I was suffocated in here . . . I needed space. So, I went for a walk.” And suddenly her anger faded and she found herself shifting her eyes away from his intense gaze. She faced the window and stared out at the clouds, “I just needed to be alone and . . . Well . . .”

  Max took the seat beside her. “I know you feel claustrophobic. These flights are long. But we don’t have a security contingent any longer. You do have to be careful.”

  Allegra bit her lip, swallowing the words threatening to spill from her lips. She was so very tired.

  She ignored Max and leaned her forehead against the cool glass, staring out at the clouds gathered so close to the plane you would have been forgiven for thinking the aircraft was sitting upon the clouds the way the gods were once said to have lived—way above the mortal world, watching over humanity from a distance.

  Allegra indulged in the vision, hoping it would distract her from the slight tremor in her fingers, from the copper aroma filling her nostrils.

  Max’s voice rang in her ears. Not his words, just his voice, the low baritone a sexy rumble that reverberated within the pit of her stomach.

  He’d meant well, with his calming words designed to set her at ease, to coax to her the way a horse-trainer would seduce a wild filly and bring her to heel.

  But though he’d meant to bring her to a state of calm, he’d failed. Maximus Vissarion still believed his words were sufficient to have an effect on her.

  They weren’t.

  Allegra inhaled softly, taking the air deep into her lungs, all while ensuring the sound remained as silent as possible. Beside her somewhere, within a mere few feet, Max would be sitting, watching her with his keen eyes, worry lines creasing his brow.

  He worried still, believing his concern meant something.

  It didn’t.

  But perhaps she was being unfair. He could still be concerned, could still worry. And perhaps those emotions were genuine enough. The only problem was those feeling mattered little to her now.

  A few weeks ago, his concern would have set her heart aflutter, would have stirred her blood to heat. But now, knowing whatever they’d had between them had been a lie, Allegra merely felt tainted.

  Under order of General Aulus, FAPA Commander Vissarion had attempted to seduce Allegra, all in the hopes of ensuring her powers, her ability to foretell the future, would remain within the control of the New Germanic States, providing her birth country with a supremely unfair advantage over the rest of the world.

  In addition, such an advantage was illegal according to the Treaty of the Oracle of Pythia.

  Allegra had since learned the Treaty of Pythia essentially gave her the key to the world, access to all countries without restriction of movement. It also gave the world access to her power.

  The powers of the Pythia belonged to all.

  Max’s betrayal—or rather, Allegra’s discovery of that betrayal—had struck deep, having come so close on the heels of her own failure.

  Corina Brava had died in Allegra’s arms, and nothing could ever change the fact that had Allegra been smarter, or more proactive, or braver, she could have saved the seer.

  Their last mission to Bharat in the Indus Continent to eliminate a deadly virus had ended in success. The population of the world was safe, billions of people waking up in the morning and going about their day, with not a single inkling of the life lost to save them.

  What was an unknown hero worth when the threat remained unknown too? Corina’s sacrifice was invisible, much like the stain of her blood on Allegra’s hands.

  Allegra shifted, her body beginning to grow stiff again. Her leather-clad legs stretched out in front of her, and Allegra gave a half smile. She’d taken up wearing the pants after being unable to return the clothing the seer had lent her while in London two weeks ago.

  She wore a white overdress, split up the front to her waist. The style was a statement in itself, thumbing her nose at the unfeminine leather by pairing it with a Roman-style white silk dress.

  She’d earned a few strange looks but being the Pythia, she believed she’d begin a trend before too long. How Xenia would laugh should it come to pass. Her best friend was the trendsetter, the daring fashionista with a taste for bright colors and eclectic garments.

  She would approve.

  Xenia had not been impressed when Allegra had called her from Athens to say she wouldn’t be coming home just yet. Allegra’s side-trip to Peru had not gone down well, but she’d soothed her frantic friend and had promised to call and keep her posted.

  Allegra let out another sigh, then stiffened, waiting for Max’s voice as he asked if she was alright.

  But only a soft snore drifted toward her.

  She sighed again, and folded her blood-stained fingers on her lap as she turned her attention again to the land of clouds outside the window.

  Maybe she could find a hint of peace somewhere within the beautiful sky.

  Chapter 2

  The sound of snoring snapped Max to wakefulness so sharply that the bones in his neck gave a soft crack. He blinked, his gaze landing on Allegra’s booted feet, and he tracked her long shapely limbs up to the curve of her waist.

  Her eyes were closed as she leaned against the glass, and she seemed at peace. But Max feared that perhaps her moments of unconsciousness were the only times she was untroubled. He sent up a silent prayer—to whom he was not entirely sure—in the hopes that her dreams remained untouched.

  Sadly though, he suspected they wouldn’t be. She’d been through so much. More especially at the hands of Lord Severus Langcourt. The report had arrived just before they’d left Athens.

  The tunnels in which Pienius and Max’s team had found Allegra were beneath the sprawling lands of Lord Langcourt. It had only taken a short while to make their way through the conveniently collapsed tunnels in order to access the villa.

  Langcourt had escaped and had left his family home in ruins, setting off explosions all around the property that had resulted in at least a dozen deaths.

  Now the man had disappeared into thin air, and despite an internationally coordinated effort, was nowhere to be found.

  After her experience of torture at the sadistic man’s hands, Max had expected Allegra to suffer some form of post-traumatic stress but she hadn’t.

  Max had been grateful, glad she wouldn’t carry that burden with her for years to come. But as r
elieved as he was that Langcourt’s torture had failed to break Allegra’s soul, he was equally heartbroken to see her in her current condition.

  He’d seen this before, the shaking hands, the jittery movements, the wide-eyes filled with fear as they stared at something visible only to them. He’d seen her stare at her fingers, curl them into vicious balls, hide them within the fabric of her skirt. He’d seen the red, raw edges that spoke of excessive washing, watched her make a thousand trips to the bathroom only to wash her hands and return, squeezing them tightly again.

  She suffered as a survivor, as one who should have done more, as one who had failed to save those who’d perished. He knew firsthand how that felt. Corina was his agent—had been his agent—and he’d trained her, watched over her when she’d first entered FAPA, counseled her when her seer’s ability had troubled her.

  Her death had hit him hard in the gut, and deep in the heart, but he’d had no time to mourn his friend, no time to assuage his own guilt at allowing the team to be put in such a position for her death to happen so easily.

  Had he been distracted by the impending plague, or perhaps by his concern for the Pythia’s safety? Or was it because of the personal nature of his emotional attention to Allegra?