Cursed Witch

by September Stone

  “And why is that?” asks Sister Kari.

  Bryn slips her tiny hand through the net’s webbing and unfurls her fingers to reveal the black crow. At her nod, I press my left hand to the net, and the other guys follow suit.

  Kari’s dark eyes flit over each mark. “You’re all cursed for death?”

  “And linked by that curse,” Bryn says. “And even though it’s not contagious, we know that a mark like this can make others uncomfortable, and we didn’t want to be a burden on anyone else who might be on their way to see you.” She draws her hand back in, cradling it between her chest and mine. “We apologize if coming in this way worried any of you. We never imagined you might think we were coming here to hurt you. We just wanted to see if there was any way you could help us.”

  I grit my teeth. People like this aren’t swayed by sentiment and sob stories. Bryn should know that after her encounter with the elders.

  After a centuries-long pause, Sister Kari raises her chin. “Cut them down.”

  “I beg your pardon?” snaps Brother Anson.

  But the brunette holds his gaze. “You summoned me to make a determination about these guests. I can read their auras clearly. They pose no danger to us.”

  The man turns to Sister Kari. “I may not be an empath like you, but I know a daemon when I see one.”

  She raises her chin. “I thought this temple was open to all. I’ve given my determination. Cut them down.”

  Although his gaze is nothing short of mutinous, Brother Anson bows his head. “As the sister wishes.”

  The ten remaining hooded figures spring into action, and within minutes, the five of us are on our feet on the ground. When Sister Kari approaches Bryn, Taj and Calder move like they want to intervene, but I lift my arm to keep them back.

  The women regard each other for a long moment before a smile curves Sister Kari’s lips. “Welcome to the Temple of Theurgy.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Silas

  Although Sister Kari prattles on and on as she gives the five of us a tour of the Temple, I don’t catch a word of what she’s saying.

  I need to figure out where they’re hiding that staff.

  I’m still shocked Bryn’s gamble worked in our favor. Kari didn’t so much as ask why we’d been cursed—or worse, who’d done the cursing. Is it possible they’re willing to help anyone who shows up here without question? It seems more than a little irresponsible. What if we’d all been cursed because we were seriously bad people? Why would an order of priests want to cure evil and send it back out into the world?

  I suppose it doesn’t really matter. We’re not caught in snares anymore, and that’s a win in my book.

  The temple is minimalist in the extreme, crafted of gray-white stone. Kari points out some large rooms for prayer and meditation, along with a hall of smaller cells for sleeping. As soon as she mentions a library, Taj and Calder perk up and ask if they can take a look around.

  I’m more than a little surprised Bryn doesn’t follow her boyfriends into the library. And while the two of them have been stuck to her side since they were forced to spend the night in a different net, they don’t try to convince her to come with them.

  Instead, Bryn lingers near Poe. But is she any nearer than she might have been yesterday or the day before? It’s hard to tell. And is his gaze straying to her more than usual?

  I shake myself. What does it matter? Bryn is only my concern so far as breaking this curse. When we were researching this place at Elowen’s cabin, she tried to talk to me a couple of times, but I blew her off. Because, honestly, what could she have to say? She already apologized for kissing me. Maybe she’s waiting for me to apologize for doing the same to her, but that’s doubtful. I think she knows as well as I do that if I hadn’t acted fast, she’d be Thalassa’s plaything now.

  Bryn’s chime-like laugh at something Poe says echoes off the high walls. She touches his shoulder and bends toward him like she’s having trouble standing upright. He adds something else I can’t quite make out and Bryn laughs louder.

  The hallway outside the library is suddenly too confined a space. After muttering something about being back in a minute, I make my way to the nearest set of doors I can find. Unfortunately they don’t lead me outside, but at least I’m far enough away that I can no longer hear Bryn and Poe’s verbal copulation.

  The sooner we find this staff, the better.

  The dull drone of chanting echoes down the hall, and I figure we must be near another meditation chamber. Kari noted there were several. Back at the cabin, Taj mentioned something about these people possibly using the staff as a focus for their worship, and I figure it’s as good a lead as any.

  The chanting becomes steadily louder as I continue down the hall, but before I can turn into the room it’s coming from, black pinpricks collect in my periphery.

  No. Not again. Not now.

  Sucking in a deep breath, I try to keep my footing as I stumble further down the hall. Depending on who’s doing the summoning, the binding process can be both loud and painful, and I’d rather not have a bunch of priests staring at me while someone tethers my will to theirs.

  Sparks snap along my spine and my legs feel leaden, but I press further away, searching for an empty room or an alcove.

  Heart hammering, I trudge along, using my hand to feel along the wall when my eyesight clouds with dark spots. Those bitch Shadow Sisters must have lied. They said they wouldn’t use my blood to bind me, but their word is shit. I never should have trusted them with something as precious as my blood.

  But even as the blood surges in my veins, I know blaming the sisters is premature. My dad told me stories about the days when a daemon needed to be physically captured to be bound. But spellcraft has advanced so far that now all a person needs is a scrap of daemon DNA. A single hair. A vial of blood. There’s a whole black market that deals exclusively in daemon genetic material. The truth is, whoever’s casting the spell now could have gotten my DNA any number of places. I heard a rumor that some black market dealers pose as janitorial services and collect the broken hairs and dead skin cells from entire buildings in hope of putting together enough source material to sell to eager buyers.

  The usual anxiety about meeting my new master is drown out by the overwhelming sense that I’m letting everyone down. It’s like I said the night we were marked for death: we all have to be present for Elowen to break the curse. We’re so close. Thalassa said the staff is here. All we need to do is find it and book it back to Twin Rivers and we’ll be saved.

  Except now our chance at healing is evaporating faster than morning mist on a hot summer day. People who bind daemons aren’t known for their understanding hearts. My new master is unlikely to care I’ll be dead in less than two weeks. If he’s going through the trouble to bind me, it’s because he wants me to do something for him. That’s going to be more important than my life.

  And if it was just my life, I wouldn’t necessarily disagree. But the others don’t deserve to have their lives cut short. Poe is a decent guy—for a shifter. I’ve heard that shifters crave to be part of a pack, but I never really understood what that meant until now. Poe has taken it upon himself to make sure we’re all in fighting shape. Instead of making us fend for ourselves during our time at the cabin, he hunted for our meals without asking for or expecting thanks. The cynic in me could write it off as him making sure we stay alive long enough to break the curse, but I believe it goes deeper than that. We’re not his hapless charges; Poe cares for us.

  Calder and Taj have treated me like an equal since I told them we could break the curse. Although I was sent to kill the woman they both love, they’ve never held that fact against me. Even when they’re tired or frustrated, they’ve never looked at me like the source of their problems. They’ve devoted their life to helping supernaturals trapped in bondage. It’s a noble cause—even if it can’t help me. They don’t deserve to die.

  And Bryn. We’re not so different, she and I. Besides an
other daemon, I can’t imagine anyone else understanding me better than she does. Because of me, she’s cursed for death. And now, because of me, she’ll be forced to see that sentence through to the bitter end.

  It’s that truth that cuts through my chest like a white-hot knife. Worse than the anticipation of what horrors my new master has in store for me to unleash is the knowledge that I’m the reason Bryn will die. I’m the reason the light in her eyes will go out.

  It’s a good thing I’ll die right along with her, because I’d never be able to forgive myself.

  My stomach roils and I prepare myself for the torrent of vomit I’m sure is coming when suddenly the sensations fade. Even the blackness in my vision disappears. I press my hand against the cool stone wall and heave in several breaths to steady myself.

  I have no idea what just happened, but one thing is clear: the binding ritual didn’t take. If it had, I’d feel my new master’s tug—the phantom manacle that tethers me to their will. I pull a lock of my hair until I can focus on it. Still black—not silver like it would be if I were under the control of another.

  But that doesn’t make sense. In my experience, no matter how novice the binder, if they’re powerful enough to begin the spell, they’re powerful enough to complete it. Then why am I not under the sway of a new master right now?

  There’s only one difference between now and all the other times I’ve been snared. It must have something to do with the death mark. It’s like I explained to Bryn, Calder, and Taj the night we all teamed up—we needed to see Elowen together because if even one of us still bare the mark come the full moon, we’ll all be dead. The curse was meant for one person, but it marked us all. My life force is connected to Bryn and the others.

  Who knew a mistake of magic could give me such a gift? If I weren’t linked to Bryn right now, I’d be bound yet again. But as it stands, my will is my own for a little while longer.

  My chest fills with a sensation so alien it’s not until sound bubbles past my lips that I identify the source. Joy. A wild laugh echoes off the high walls around me. The sound is slightly deranged, but I don’t have it in me to care. The others aren’t going to die because of me. For the moment, I’m still free.

  What do I want? It’s a question I never really let myself consider because what I want is never a concern of whoever binds me to them. My life has been a series of carrying out the wants of others. But for this moment, I’m still my own.

  But how long will this moment last? One way or another, it will come to an end. If we don’t find the staff, I’ll be dead at the next full moon. And if we do find it, it’s only a matter of time before the next binding spell finds me.

  Maybe when this is all over, Bryn will find happiness in whatever arrangement she’s got going with Taj and Calder. I suppose it doesn’t matter how close she and Poe get, since he’ll have to report back to the elders eventually. But instead of providing comfort, the idea makes my insides twist. I don’t like Poe, but I’d hate the idea of having to go back to the elders and do their bidding. At least when I’m bound, there’s a definite timeframe. I know that no matter what, I won’t be under someone’s thrall for more than one year. That’s not the case with Poe. Although the elders dangle the possibility of freedom in front of their shifters, the reality is he’s not likely to ever get out from under their thumb. There’s always more perceived crimes to pay for. And if the time ever comes when they do release him, it isn’t like he’ll have a life to go back to.

  Maybe he and I aren’t so different after all.

  I shake the idea from my head before it can take root. No use growing attached. This whole thing will be over in a couple of weeks. There’s no point investing if I won’t be around to reap the rewards.

  I continue down the hallway until I come to a short flight of stairs leading down. While all I’ve seen so far are airy, vaulted ceilings, the hallway at the bottom of the steps is narrow and dark. It takes no more than a few steps before I start feeling like I’m much farther under ground than I am.

  Flaming wall sconces light the passage at intervals, leaving chasms of shadow between. My palms tingle. If I were going to hide an artifact of immense power somewhere, this would be the place.

  My senses are on high alert as I creep forward. This isn’t the time to sneak around. Anyone could be walking about, and there’s no good excuse for me to be exploring down here. But now that I’ve come this far, I can’t force myself to turn back.

  An odd pattern of light ahead snares my attention and I hold my breath as I tiptoe toward it. As I draw nearer, the reason for the strange flickering becomes apparent: the sconce providing the light is down an adjacent hall. I slow my pace to a crawl. My heartbeat thunders in my ears as I hazard a peek around the corner.

  Six hooded guards stand on either side of the hall in front of a heavy iron door.

  I pull back as quickly and quietly as I can. Spirits be thanked—that must be it. I’d bet my left nut the Staff of Rahn is stashed behind that door. It’s the only place I’ve seen so far with even a hint of security. If I were storing a powerful relic, I’d certainly do it in a place like that.

  A new surge of adrenaline courses through my veins and my nerves feel like they’re on fire as I start back up the way I came. I need to get out of here. I need to get back to the others and tell them what I found.

  But most of all, we need to make a plan. The staff is within our grasp, and soon we’ll be on our way back to Twin Rivers to have this curse lifted.

  For better or worse.

  Chapter Twelve

  Bryn

  Poe crosses his arms over his chest. “It’s too quiet here is all I’m saying.”

  I lean against the low windowsill in the hall outside the library. It’s been nearly ten minutes since Kari showed Calder and Taj into the library, and in that time Poe has kept up a near-constant speech detailing everything he’s noticed in our time here. I’ve nodded along, even when he points out something I hadn’t seen. But this last point strikes me as more a complaint than an observation.

  “Really? It’s more quiet here than at Elowen’s cabin? Can you believe this guy?” I chuckle as I turn toward Silas, except he’s not standing where I expect him to be. Panic clenches my heart like an icy fist as I scan up and down the hallway for sign of him.

  “Silas wandered off about a minute after your boyfriends disappeared into the library.” Poe’s tone is bored, and maybe a touch disappointed.

  My cheeks burn as I turn my attention back to Poe. “I knew that.”

  He lifts an eyebrow at the obvious lie, but he doesn’t call me on it. “I was fine with the forest being quiet. But there are too many people at this temple for there to be so little noise. Back at the elders’ mansion, there was an unspoken rule about shifters being seen and not heard, but even we were louder than this.”

  Poe presses his back into the stone wall beside the window, the corded muscles of his biceps knotting as shoves his hands in his pants pockets. Just hours ago, those strong arms twisted around my back, holding me close inside the snare while we awaited our fate. When it first happened, I wished I’d been trapped with Calder and Taj instead, but that desire quickly evaporated. I fell asleep last night to the steady metronome of Poe’s heartbeat, feeling entirely safe despite our circumstance.

  The magic in my core stirs at Poe’s nearness now, and I push myself off the ledge as if it’s been electrified. What’s going on with me? I can’t let myself indulge in foolish fantasies about Poe or memories of sleeping in his arms. To distract myself, I focus on the sounds in the temple. Echoes of chants whisper through the hall at intervals. Birdsong floats through an open window a few yards away, along with the hum of insects. A warm breeze carries with it the gurgle of a nearby stream.

  “It sounds normal to me,” I declare. “Just like a temple for meditation and prayer should sound.”

  “It’s still creepy.” He glances down the hallway as he speaks, and I’m about to ask him what’s so interestin
g when Silas appears around the corner.

  “Well, well, well,” I say as Silas approaches. “Look who finally found his way back to—” My lighthearted chastisement dies in my throat when I glimpse the expression on his face. His dark eyes are wide and his lips pressed tight as if afraid words might spill forth of their own volition.

  Poe launches himself away from the wall and meets Silas halfway down the hall. I scurry to join them.

  “What’s wrong?” Poe’s lips don’t move when he speaks.

  Silas shakes his head. “It’s not that,” he whispers. “I found it.”

  The air rushes from my lungs. “What? Where?”

  He opens his mouth, but before he can answer, the library door swings open to reveal Kari, Taj, and Calder. Silas presses his lips together and presses in between Poe and me. When his arm brushes against mine, my first instinct is to step away, but I quell it. A moment later, Silas’ voice fills my head.

  Not far from here there’s a staircase that leads down. It’s not quite a basement, but there aren’t any windows. Down a second hall, there’s a door guarded by six people. That has to be where they’re keeping the staff.

  Poe grunts softly as he steps sideways, putting some space between himself and Silas. Taj’s eyes flicker from one man to the other, but he says nothing.

  Kari smiles brightly, clasping her hands in front of her chest. “Are you hungry? I can lose myself in the library. I completely forgot it’s mealtime. We should get down to the cafeteria. There should be enough time for you all to eat before they start cleaning up.”

  I barely manage to murmur an agreement. My mind is spinning with Silas’ news. He found the staff. That fact should make me happy, but it sits like a leaden weight in the pit of my stomach. How are we supposed to get past half a dozen guards? I don’t know why it never crossed my mind before that someone might be protecting such a powerful relic. I bet Poe already considered the possibility—but if he has a plan for sneaking around them, he hasn’t shared it with the group.