The Cursed Fae (Accessory to Magic Book 2)

by Kathrin Hutson

  “Well you haven’t told me everything I need to know.”

  Mel leaned away. “What are you talking about?”

  “Jensen Ardis specifically.”

  “What? He’s a client, Jess. I told you I had commissioned pieces in March that helped me set up for all this. Jensen’s the one who paid for most of them.”

  Jessica folded her arms and tried to ignore the other strangers milling around the room, studying the painting with her face and her magic. “Do you even know what he does?”

  “Well, first of all, he’s a collector. And if you mean his day job, he’s some kind of accountant. I think.”

  “So you don’t know for sure.”

  “No, Jessica. I don’t know the details of his private life, because it’s none of my business.” Mel’s frown deepened. “What’s wrong with you?”

  Jessica closed her eyes and shook her head. How was she supposed to explain to her best friend—ex-best friend, maybe—that the guy who funded Mel’s dream job as a full-time artist was the same guy who’d sent a fucking gang of murderers to steal from Jessica? She couldn’t. Because that would mean she’d have to tell Mel about her actual role as the bank’s new owner and explain that yeah, pretty much everything she’d said during their lunch on Sunday had been one giant lie to cover it all up.

  “That’s a simple question with a really complicated answer,” she muttered.

  Mel stared at her, then let out a heavy sigh. “It’s because of the painting, isn’t it?”

  “What?”

  The pink-haired witch gestured toward the blown-up portrait of Jessica’s likeness wielding max-powered destructive magic hanging on the wall. “You hate it.”

  “No I don’t.”

  “I can tell. Look, I know it’s weird that I didn’t ask permission or anything. Honestly, Jess, I was doing this as part of my own attempt to…move on, I guess.”

  “It’s not about the painting, okay? It’s actually really great. All of it is—”

  “And no, I didn’t expect you to actually be here when I painted it. Or at this opening. The gallery had already accepted it. I couldn’t just take it out of the collection…”

  “Mel.” Jessica grabbed her friend by both shoulders and leaned forward to catch the other witch’s gaze. “Stop.”

  Blinking quickly, Mel bit her lip, her cheeks reddening under Jessica’s intense stare. “You know why I painted that, don’t you? I missed you. That’s it.”

  Wow. Well that was an unexpected confession, and at the worst possible time.

  Jessica sighed, squeezing her friend’s shoulders briefly before she let her go. “Yeah. Me too.”

  “If it doesn’t sell, I’m keeping it.”

  “What?”

  “The painting, Jess.”

  “Okay. Cool. Just as long as you don’t sell it to that Jensen guy.”

  A tiny smile flickered on Mel’s lips. “You really don’t like him, do you?”

  “Well I hardly know him. But it’s more of just…a feeling, okay? And you should stay away from him too. Until things settle down.”

  Mel’s smile disappeared. “What do you mean settle down? You’re not making any sense.”

  Crap. So much for being subtle.

  “Nothing.”

  “No, that’s definitely not nothing. Jess, you can tell me. Whatever it is, I’m here if you need—”

  “I’m good. Really.” Jessica ran a hand through her hair and scanned the other faces all aimed at Mel’s admittedly mesmerizing work. “Look, I appreciate the invitation. And I’m glad you’re doing so well.”

  “Hey, come on…”

  “But I should go.” She nodded and turned away from her friend. “I didn’t come here to crash your art show, and that’s exactly what it looks like I’m doing. I’m sorry.”

  “Jess, wait a minute.”

  Jessica slipped around the partition of the smaller side room and wove her way between the milling critics and potential buyers and fans of the pink-haired witch who’d given up a life of crime to become a full-time artist. Just like Jessica. Except Jessica had been forced out of the life, and all she had to show for it now was a broken bank that wouldn’t do what it was literally made to do and an overwhelming number of creepy coincidences that had to actually mean something. Right?

  “Jessica!” Mel shouted, excusing herself as she darted between the guests after her friend. She was impossible to miss in that bright-pink dress, and the gallery visitors swooped down on her, everyone vying for the chance to speak privately with the artist.

  That might have been the only thing that let Jessica escape without having to say something she’d regret. Because she had no idea anymore if Mel was telling the truth. If her friend was involved with Jensen Ardis and his greedy magical army, Mel wasn’t safe. Jessica wasn’t safe talking to her. And now Jensen had seen Jessica face to face—not to mention her face had literally been hanging on the wall, right there for every magical with a brain to put the pieces together about exactly who Jessica was and what she could do.

  Even then, she couldn’t help the feeling that Mel was just as clueless and naïve to her client’s side hustle as Jessica had been to the existence of the Gateway two weeks ago.

  But how could that possibly be a coincidence?

  With her insides twisting into knots, Jessica stormed down the sidewalk in the Art District on Santa Fe and pulled out her phone. The Uber could wait another hour. Right now, she just needed to clear her head.

  And she hoped the bar named Black Mark two blocks down the street was as divey as it could get in this part of town. After a few beers in a dark corner and some semblance of privacy that didn’t include having to open and close up shop in a bank that had reverted to a completely useless lump, she’d get back to work figuring out how to fix it. Soon.

  She blew past another alley on her right and almost leapt out into the street when a gloved hand shot out of the darkness to brush against her jacket sleeve. “Whoa! What are you—”

  “Didn’t mean to scare ya.” The man’s face was a mask of shadow and unruly facial hair, his stained beanie pulled down low over his eyebrows, shielding his already hooded eyes. “Got any spare change?”

  Jessica patted down her pockets, but she already knew she didn’t have any cash on her. And she had to get away from the gallery before Mel rushed through the front door and begged her to come back inside.

  “No. Sorry.”

  “Anything helps, ya know. Whatever ya got.”

  “Maybe next time.” Grimacing, Jessica turned and headed quickly down the sidewalk again, barely feeling the chill in the air. Her pulse was already racing after narrowly escaping a poorly timed heart-to-heart with Mel. Being jolted out of her skin by a guy asking for money hadn’t helped, either.

  A black Lincoln Town Car rolled down the street and slowed as it passed her, heading in the same direction. She glanced at the car, but the windows were too darkly tinted, and the streetlights’ reflection on the glass made it impossible to see anything or anyone inside. But the car slowed even further, almost matching her pace.

  Great. If this was another magical like that idiot in the purple Ford GT trying to intimidate her into something, she’d have to skip the bar altogether. And go where? For the first time, she wondered if the bank was even safe for her anymore.

  The Lincoln rolled to a stop, and Jessica got ready to break into a run. Was there even a single place in the whole damn state anymore where someone didn’t recognize her?

  Chapter Sixteen

  As soon as Jessica quickened her pace, scanning the street ahead to calculate some kind of escape route if another thuggish asshole got out of that car, the Lincoln sped up again. With a squeal of tires and a loud rev of the engine, it was gone.

  Now, the only thing she could hear over her quickening breath was her own footsteps beating it down the block.

  Okay. Maybe she was just getting paranoid now. Maybe the driver had slowed to look through something on his phone o
r check the back seat. Maybe nothing over the last few days had nearly as much to do with her as she’d thought. Maybe…

  The echoing shuffle behind her definitely sounded like footsteps. They weren’t hers.

  Jessica sped up again, straining to listen for proof that she was right. What she wanted was proof that she was being paranoid, because then she could finally loosen up about it.

  But no, those footsteps were heavier, slightly off-rhythm with her own.

  She turned around in a feigned attempt to look back down the street, acting like she was about to cross. Then she saw the homeless man who’d literally just asked her for money standing there on the sidewalk twenty feet behind her. He was hunched over, hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his heavy jacket riddled with holes, staring right at her.

  Another car passed on the street in the opposite direction, the headlights flashing across the man’s face in the darkness. Jessica caught the briefest flicker of his human illusion shimmering away from his features to reveal an orc’s protruding tusks and the sneer aimed at her. The illusion returned as soon as the passing vehicle disappeared down the street and turned the corner.

  The orc chuckled.

  Jessica spun around and power walked down the sidewalk. Why was she running away? Oh, yeah. Because she couldn’t take on an orc in the middle of the street for any human around to see. And if she did stop to fight him off, it wouldn’t be quick. It’d be painful—for both of them—because all her magic that would’ve ended this little encounter in seconds was tucked away at the bank. Right where she wanted it. Until literally five seconds ago.

  Hopefully, the orc was just as concerned about openly firing attack spells on a public street as she was. Hopefully, Black Mark was exactly where Google had told her it would be on the other side of the next intersection.

  The pedestrian light blazed with an orange hand. No walking.

  Yeah. Right.

  Jessica darted across the street between two cars beginning to speed up seconds after the light had changed. The driver of the sedan she jogged in front of laid on the horn, and she flipped them the bird without bothering to look that way. She just had to get off the street, where public magical duels were a lot less likely, even for a random orc dressed like a human.

  More car horns honked, presumably as the orc chased after her through the busy intersection. Then she saw the red and orange neon sign for Black Mark above the next door down.

  Jessica jogged toward it, jerked open the door, and was nearly blasted back again by the deafening bass pumping out of the bar and the stink of beer and sweat and lingering trails of cigarette smoke from whoever had stepped inside before her. She forced herself to ignore all of it and headed straight for the bar. The most public spot in this place. Where she could sit and have a drink or five and watch that front door like her life depended on it.

  Shit, maybe it did.

  The place was way too loud for regular conversation, but it didn’t stop the patrons from shouting at each other in drunken voices. On the far side of the room, a crowd had gathered to watch some guy in a cowboy hat throw bullseye after bullseye on the dartboard. The dancefloor in the middle was filled with bouncing, weaving, swaying bodies, and Jessica had to turn sideways just to squeeze her way to the bar.

  “Hey.” The bartender with a huge, thick bullring through his septum jerked his chin up at her as she climbed onto the stool. “What can I get ya?”

  “Beer.”

  “Yeah, here’s the list—”

  “Just literally anything, okay? I don’t care.” She ignored his confused frown and looked over her shoulder at the front door. It hadn’t opened since she’d stepped inside. For now, the orc tailing her on foot had called off the chase. There was no way he hadn’t seen her walk in here.

  Jessica blew out a massive sigh and drummed her fingers on the bar. When did it get so hard to walk around and not worry about someone following her? She hadn’t even been this uptight when she was in prison, and as far as she knew, the other inmates were a hell of a lot more dangerous than some random magical darting out of alleys and following her down the street.

  But it wasn’t really a safe bet to call the orc another random magical, was it? Nothing had been random in the last two weeks. Not since she’d touched the front door of Winthrop & Dirledge and gotten that first cold, shocking jolt of blue energy for her efforts. If she had to bet, she’d say that orc outside, wherever and whoever he was, had been sent after her. By Jensen? By the Requiem? By some other asshole trying to strongarm her into selling “first rights”, or someone else?

  “Fuck, why does it have to be so complicated?”

  “Wish I had an answer,” the bartender said.

  Jessica jerked her head up and stared at him.

  “But I bet a drink’ll help.” He set down a bottle of some local IPA in front of her and nodded. “Wanna open a tab?”

  Her fingers closed around the cold glass bottle, and she snorted. “It’s that obvious?”

  “Just a guess.”

  She pulled her wallet from her jacket pocket and slipped out her single debit card—her name, her account, and now her bank’s seemingly endless supply of funds for whenever she needed them. It was pointless to try to figure out how that was even possible without someone at the credit union picking up on all the extra cash and no paper trail. Winthrop & Dirledge had its own ways of getting things done, didn’t it?

  Jessica’s first long slug of bitter, hoppy beer went down like she was trying to swallow a rock. But the second and third were a lot easier. And before she knew it, she was ordering another.

  Good thing she’d decided to open a tab, because she lost track of how many drinks she’d ordered, how many dudes she’d turned down when they’d asked to buy her a drink, how many glares she’d shot at anyone who got too close to her at the bar and might or might not have tried to start a conversation. The bartender was the only person who didn’t piss her off, even when he laughed at the deadpan stares she shot at his own customers.

  The bass pumped from huge loudspeakers, filling her head and her chest and adding to the first real buzz she’d worked up in this amount of time since she’d been on parole. Bodies moved in and out of the bar around her, and Jessica just kept drinking.

  The next time she bothered to look at her phone, the digital numbers swam in her vision before settling into place at 11:03 p.m. Great. This was exactly why she tried not to drink anymore.

  The crowd inside Black Mark had only thickened, and she waved toward the bartender to get his attention so she could close out. “Run my card.”

  “Yep.” The guy shot her an appraising look as he pulled her card from the cash register and swiped it for her entire bill.

  Yeah, she already knew she was swaying on the bar stool. But she’d needed this, right? Everything was falling apart and getting more ridiculously complicated at the same time. Even the owner of a magical fucking bank deserved one night to unwind. She probably wouldn’t feel the same way in the morning.

  Jessica signed her card receipt—totaling just under fifty bucks—and left a hundred-percent tip. The bartender’s eyes widened when she slid the receipt toward him, and he flashed her a huge grin. “Hey, have a good night.”

  “Yeah, you too.” She slid off the stool, bracing herself against the bar, then wove her way back through the dancing bodies and the drunk people living it up on a Tuesday night. Maybe they all had some kind of intuitive knowledge about what was coming, whether or not they knew about the Gateway or even magic. Maybe they could tell the end of the world was upon them, because Jessica couldn’t figure out what she was supposed to do with the stupid bank after this. And if something didn’t change, she really didn’t think she or the bank were going to last much longer.

  Someone pulled open the door for her as she shuffled toward it, her phone in her hands and her focus on the screen to pull up the Uber app. She muttered a quick thank you and stepped out into the cold night air she hardly felt with at leas
t a whole six-pack of IPA sloshing around in her brain.

  The door closed behind her, muffling the deafening beat of the bass and the constant background drone of so many voices, laughter, clinking glasses. Jessica took all of four steps away from the bar before rough hands seized her by the back of her jacket and nearly hauled her off her feet.

  “What the—” Her phone flew from her hand and clattered onto the sidewalk. Then she was shoved roughly up against the brick wall of the alley and saw three orcs shoving their sneering, tusked faces right up into hers.

  No, that was only one orc. And her blurred vision.

  “Were you waiting for me the whole time?” she muttered, vaguely aware of a dull ache where the back of her head had knocked against the alley wall.

  His eyes flashed yellow in the dim starlight overhead, and his renewed grip now on the front of her leather jacket tightened with a creak. “Got a message for ya, witch.”

  “Great.” Jessica cleared her throat and scowled at him, her head bobbing side to side despite her silent commands to quit moving around. “Better make it quick, though. I got shit to do.”

  Why was she making this worse for herself? Oh, yeah. Booze.

  “You need to finish what you started,” the orc snarled. “First phase is complete, but it ain’t gonna last if you don’t get your head outta your ass and put the rest into play.”

  “Huh.” Her eyelids drooped, and she blinked heavily before smacking her lips and trying to focus on just one version of the magical trying to shake her down. “I guess I’ll just pencil it in, then. Any specific time and date work best for this, or what?”

  “You think this is funny?” He slammed her back against the wall—not hard enough to really hurt her. Not hard enough to knock the smirk off her face, either.

  “No, it fucking sucks, actually.” The words came out of her as if someone else had wiggled into her brain and was using her like a puppet now. Like the bank had. Only the bank couldn’t talk through her mouth. Could it?