Contents
Title Page
Acknowledgments
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
About the Author
Cursed Magic
Clearwater Witches #5
Madeline Freeman
Copyright © 2016 Madeline Freeman
Cover Art © 2015 Steven Novak
All rights reserved.
First eBook Edition: February 2016
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
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http://www.madelinefreeman.net
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Acknowledgments
Thanks to Steven Novak for the amazing cover.
Thanks to Leah at Invisible Ink Editing for your assistance in polishing this novel.
Chapter One
Krissa
The promise of summer hangs heavy in the halls of Clearwater High. All around me, my fellow students’ eyes are gleaming with the kind of manic glint I always associate with upcoming exams. The school year is almost over, and I can’t believe how much has changed since it began. New school, new timeline.
New boyfriend.
Owen Marsh keeps pace beside me, his fingers laced with mine. Just weeks ago, I was convinced I couldn’t be with him, that I was no good for him, but things have changed. More than ever, I’ve realized how much we need each other. I pulled away from him once, positive that any interaction would hurt him, but he made me see that pulling away was what did damage. I’ve vowed to be honest with him, no matter what, and he’s promised to help me through any challenge. Our lives may never be perfect, but at least we’ll have each other.
As we walk, he chats about plans for reviewing for the final in our shared sixth-hour class. With Owen beside me and summer ahead, things couldn’t be better.
I rub the pad of my thumb absently against the band of the ring on my right hand. Well, maybe things could be a little better. But, so far, the spell keeping me tethered to my true self is holding.
Mostly.
Walking down the hall in the opposite direction are Fox Holloway and Dana Crawford. Her hand curls around his bicep somewhat possessively, but she smiles when she catches my eye. She’s been much warmer toward me since the night of the Influence spell, but I suppose that’s to be expected. Because of me, the psychic abilities she wanted so badly are once again hers. I gave her mine to save her from a darker fate. To make sure she wouldn’t be filled with the darkness she and Crystal Jamison summoned.
My gaze flickers to Fox, and I offer him a smile. The corners of his mouth upturn, but there’s a hardness in his eyes. He’s been distant with me since he learned—from Dana—how Crystal and I altered the timeline, how I’m not the same girl he dated for three years. There was a moment—right after the Influence spell—when I thought he might be able to forgive me for lying, but in the last few weeks, he’s gone back to acting strange around me. I sigh. Maybe one day he and I can be friends again.
“Here’s your stop,” Owen says as the warning bell rings. “I’ll see you after class.”
“Yeah, I’ll see you.” My heart flutters as he leans in close for a kiss. No matter how many times his lips brush mine, I still get butterflies like it’s the first. What I wouldn’t give to be able to leave the school day behind and spend the rest of the afternoon like this with Owen.
“Not again.” Mr. Martin’s voice cuts through my happy little bubble. “I thought I warned you two already.”
Owen pulls away and I miss his closeness immediately. He offers a sheepish grin and a little salute. “Mr. Martin.” He winks at me before starting toward his own classroom.
Mr. Martin’s eyes bore a hole into me as I skirt past him into the room. “I understand it’s almost the end of the year, but that doesn’t mean the rules no longer apply, Miss Barnette. If you refresh yourself on the code of conduct in your student planner, you’ll see that public displays of affection are strictly prohibited.”
His voice follows me as I attempt to make my way to my seat. He must be in a bad mood; usually he doesn’t give me this much grief.
“Stop and look at me when I’m talking to you,” he snaps. “Show a little respect. What is it with parents these days not teaching their children how to respect authority?”
I don’t want to, but I stop and turn. I know him well enough to be sure that if I don’t, he’ll spend the first half of class on a tirade on the subject. “I’m sorry, Mr. Martin.”
He crosses his thick arms across his stout trunk. His face is red—from the heat of the room or his anger, I’m not sure. “This may be hard for you to believe, but your apology doesn’t mean much. This isn’t the first time I’ve warned you about PDAs with your boyfriend. If you were really sorry, you’d actually change your behavior.”
Red tinges my periphery. I start in on the breathing exercises I’ve been using to calm myself. Inhale. Hold. Exhale slowly. Repeat. The bell rings overhead, signaling the start of class, but Mr. Martin ignores it. Instead, he continues on about my lack of respect. I want him to shut up—I need him to shut up. The eyes of my classmates prickle my skin. The usual pre-class chatter dies down as everyone tunes in to the entertainment up front.
More red smoke swirls around, encroaching further on my vision. My deep breathing trick isn’t working. A crackle, like electricity, surges just beneath my skin. I flex my fingers in an attempt to rid them of the itching sensation building there.
I can’t give in. I can’t let the Influence take control.
Mr. Martin opens his mouth again to continue outlining what a disrespectful child I am, but his words don’t make it out. In a flash, my left arm slashes through the air and Mr. Martin’s head flies off his body, landing with a wet splat at the feet of a blonde girl in the first row. The room goes silent for a moment, but as Mr. Martin’s body crumples lifelessly to the floor, the room erupts in screams of terror. Those closest to the door run for it, while those nearest to me dart toward the back of the room and press themselves against the wall. Blood from the ja
gged flesh at the end of Mr. Martin’s neck oozes around my feet.
Someone tugs at my arm. “Krissa?” Crystal Jamison asks tentatively.
I close my eyes and the red dissipates. When I open them, Mr. Martin is standing there, whole and unharmed, staring at me as if I’m an idiot.
“Yes, please, Miss Jamison. Will you escort your friend to her desk so I can start class? Apparently she’s incapable of finding it on her own.”
“Of course,” Crystal murmurs, her stone-blue eyes locked on my face as she hooks her hand in the crook of my arm.
“I won’t hesitate to suspend students,” Mr. Martin mutters darkly as Crystal leads me up the aisle. “Even if it’s almost finals. I can’t imagine Miss Tanner would have any qualms about granting my request…”
I do my best to tune out his droning voice as I slide into my desk. Bridget Burke tilts her head and squints at me. “You okay? You, like, totally zoned up there.”
The image of Mr. Martin’s head flopping to the ground flashes in my mind’s eye, but I quickly stuff it down. I don’t want to think about it.
I rub the hemp bracelet on my wrist. It’s woven with small chunks of Apache tears and snowflake obsidian. When I made it months ago, it was to keep others from picking up on my thoughts—to keep them from seeing the darkness inside me. It’s almost laughable now. I had no idea then what real darkness was.
It was Anya’s idea for me to continue wearing the bracelet. She was afraid the Influence might try to affect other people in my life since the enchantment on my ring keeps it from getting a firm grip on me. At the time, I thought she was being overly cautious, but now I’m thankful for an excuse to keep it on. If the psychics could peer into my mind, they would see how much harder it’s becoming to ignore the Influence.
But neither Bridget nor Crystal is psychic. They couldn’t read my thoughts even if they tried. I pin a smile on my face, hoping it doesn’t look too forced. “Yeah. I guess I did kind of space.” I cast my thoughts back to the moments before I entered the classroom. My smile softens as Owen’s face fills my memory. “Owen kissed me in the hall.”
Bridget rolls her eyes, but her silly grin is enough to assure me she’s buying my explanation. “You think you’d be used to it by now. All you guys do is suck face.” She pokes her tongue through her lips before turning her attention to the front of the room. Mr. Martin is calling for the class’s attention.
Dutifully, I fix my gaze in the teacher’s direction, but my skin prickles again. Crystal’s still watching me. I wish I could read her mind—but those days are behind me. Even without the ability to peek into Crystal’s thoughts, though, I’m pretty sure she doesn’t believe me. She was up there next to me, and I’m fairly certain I didn’t look blissed out from kissing my boyfriend when she grabbed my arm.
It’s not until Mr. Martin directs us to pull out our textbooks that Crystal looks away. I use the moment to sneak my phone from my back pocket and type out a quick text: It’s getting worse.
Chapter Two
Brody
The high priestess’s fane is a thing of beauty. I’ve always loved the look of the white-sided colonial-style house that serves as the office of the Amaranthine leader. Its elegance and grace is lacking in most architectural designs of the last quarter century or so. But then, this house is older than that.
When I enter, I veer to the right instead of immediately climbing the stairs that are almost directly in front of me. I want to check my appearance one final time before meeting with Jade Barry, and I won’t make the rookie mistake of inspecting my teeth in the mirror on the landing between the first and second floors. I learned years ago about how that mirror is enchanted to connect to a smaller mirror in the priestess’s office. She and I have laughed many times about the social faux pas committed by unknowing Amaranthine in front of that mirror.
I spend less than a minute in front of the other mirror, and I’m glad I stopped. Jade has a sharp eye and definitely would have noticed the fleck of lint on the shoulder of my pressed navy button-down.
When I ascend the stairs, I do so slowly, purposefully, and flash a smile into the large gilt mirror on the landing. The carved details around the edges are superb. I’ve always appreciated the craftsmanship. This mirror was hand-selected by Jade and has been here for nearly twenty-five years. Every new priest or priestess chooses the looking glass that rests here.
I’ve already got mine picked out.
A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. It’s not that I don’t respect Jade—I do. I even like her. But I’ve been waiting years for her term to be up; I’m certain of my place as next in line to succeed her. It’s hardly written law, but in the last century, every new high priest or priestess has first filled the role of chief liaison. Jade herself held the position before I took over. She’s been grooming me for decades.
The upstairs of the fane is as ornately decorated as the first floor, but the style is dated. The pastel colors hearken to a different decade, and the style of the decorative touches come from an even more distant time. Try as I might, I can’t help redecorating in my mind as I approach the room on my right. The door is open and I smile as I poke my head in. “Good afternoon.”
Phoebe, Jade’s assistant, flushes at the sound of my voice. She always does. While it’s customary for a new leader to bring in his own staff, more than once I’ve considered keeping Phoebe on as my assistant, simply because I have this effect on her. “Mr. Ford. Hello,” she trills breathlessly.
“How many times do I have to tell you—it’s Brody. Calling me Mr. Ford only makes me feel old.” I wink and she giggles. In fact, I am old by most people’s standards: I’ll be seventy-seven in the fall. Not that the average person would know that from looking at me. I’ve been told by several that I don’t look older than my mid-twenties. One of the many perks of being a member of the Amaranthine. I still have decades ahead of me, and I’ll never look as old as most ordinary people do by my age.
“Is she in her office?”
Phoebe nods. “You can go right in.”
I offer a final wink before starting for the door at the end of the hall. In another time, this would have been the master bedroom, but now it serves as Jade’s office. I tap on the door before opening it. Inside, Jade sits behind a large, ornately carved mahogany desk. I can’t help eyeing the leather chair she sits in, weighing the pros and cons of keeping it when this is my office. I’ve always liked the desk, so it will definitely stay.
As Jade’s eyes flick to me, I put my redecorating plans on hold and cross to the smaller leather chair on the side of the desk nearest me. Jade looks as polished as ever: Her dark brown hair falls in gentle waves around her shoulders, and her nails perfectly match the carmine dress she wears. I offer a smile, fully expecting one in return. Jade and I have always been on good terms. But Jade’s full lips don’t curl. Instead, her eyes narrow and she tilts her chin up imperiously.
“Thank you for joining me, Brody.” Her voice is formal. Cold.
“Of course,” I say, injecting a measure of confidence into my tone. In all the years I’ve known her—it’s been more than a few—I’ve never seen this look on her face. At least, I’ve never seen it directed at me. “What can I do for you?”
Jade exhales heavily and leans back into her plush chair. “I think it’s time you and I have a serious conversation about your failing in Clearwater.”
The words hit me like a sucker punch. I’ve spent nearly two months trying to put Clearwater out of my mind. What I expected would be a simple intelligence-gathering mission turned out to be more complicated than anticipated. But despite the challenges, I succeeded. “I got the information—the words Bess Taylor spent so many generations waiting to tell us. I’d hardly call that a failing.”
“You claim to have gotten the information.” She tilts her head, daring me to disagree.
I have half a mind to. I was there; I watched Crystal Jamison cast the spell that allowed her to contact her long-dead relative. I have
no reason to believe she was deceitful. She would’ve told me anything I wanted to know to ensure her family’s safety.
Before I can mount a defense, however, Jade continues. “You also managed to get our assassin killed.”
This pronouncement I can’t accept. “Kai’s death was his own fault. He’d faced deadlier foes before. How could I have known a group of teenagers would be able to get the drop on him?” I cross my arms over my chest. I’m not attempting to cover up the facts. Everything I’ve said is the truth.
From the look on Jade’s face, she doesn’t share my assessment. “Never in the history of the Amaranthine have we been as vulnerable as we are now.”
I snort. The idea of the Amaranthine as weak is ludicrous. While we haven’t yet attained immortality, we’ve come as close as anyone can. The spells we work don’t just extend our lives far beyond their natural length; they increase our vitality and strengthen our magic. When a person reaches an age when the longevity enchantments will no longer take, he goes through the releasing ceremony. Instead of his powers being absorbed back into nature, they’re directed to the remaining Amaranthine. “I wouldn’t say we’re vulnerable. Name me a coven with half the power we have.”
Jade arches an eyebrow. “Circle Sica, the Biyacaré, Clan Twilight…”
It’s unsettling how easily the names roll off her tongue. I’ve heard them before, of course, but I’ve never considered them a threat. Circle Sica typically keep to themselves in the Canadian wilderness. They don’t play well with more civilized witches, but they rarely have the occasion to interact with them. The Biyacaré are shrewd in business and unforgiving when it comes to breaking deals, but they haven’t left Europe in my lifetime. Clan Twilight are the only domestic threat. The Amaranthine have a longstanding treaty with them that holds so long as neither group passes into the other’s territory. “Come on, Jade, you can’t honestly think any of them could stand against us.”
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