Cursed: Out of Ash and Flame E.C. Farrell (100 best novels of all time TXT) 📖

pain, exhaustion, or water spirit magic. Maybe a combination of all three.

Max turns on me with a grin and two paper cups of steaming coffee. “Want yours spiked?” He asks, handing me one.

Weakly, I smile. “I need to keep a clear head for when we get on the road.”

Paling, Max sinks onto the edge of the bed. “I guess you don’t want to wait another night? Until you reset?”

“Here’s the deal, Max.” I swallow. “Because of the magic binding us with these cuffs, I can give you an order, and you have to follow it. I know you know that because Yaritza used it on you. There are some commands I don’t mind giving to marks — harmless ones where they’re not allowed to talk or use their magic — but I generally don’t like to overuse it. So instead, I’m going to give you an option. Two actually. You can voluntarily bring back that gun so I can reset, then water travel us or whatever to the Tribunal. Or I can magically force you to do it. It’s up to you.”

If possible, more color abandons Max’s face, and his hands shake. However, he flashes me an almost believable smile. “Well, if you put it that way, what choice do I have?”

Setting his coffee cup on the side table, he snaps his fingers with a flourish, and disappears. Seconds later, he’s back. Mouth set in a tight line, he loads the gun, unclicks the safety. Pressing it into my hands, he steps away from me and wraps his arms around his waist.

A sigh of relief rushes past my lips. “Thank you.” I glance down at my clothes, then moisten my lips, and look up into his face, my own ablaze. “Um, one more favor. I don’t really want to torch my outfit, but with my busted arm and ribs...”

Max wiggles his brows. “You want me to help you get undressed?”

“Don’t get weird about it,” I say, even as the blush creeps further up my face and along my scalp. “You already saw me naked.”

“And it was most impressive.”

“Max...”

“No problem, mama. I got you.”

For a potentially intimate situation, the process of Max helping me ease out of my clothes is mostly just awkward. By the time I’m naked, I’m dripping with sweat, nauseous with pain, and shaking something fierce. Max turns back toward the bed. As he folds my jeans, I stare down at the gun.

“This is gonna suck.”

Max looks over his shoulder, brow wrinkled. “Anything I can do?”

I shake my head. “Thanks. Just have my clothes ready when I’m back. And, um, be prepared to put out a fire if necessary.”

Max pulls the ugly comforter off the bed. “Yes ma’am. Ready to snuff it out if necessary.”

At least Max’s antics means I didn’t die twice yesterday. In theory, this shouldn’t hurt too much, if at all. Plus, I might be able to get some solid sleep tonight. Slowly I shuffle to the bathroom, push the shower curtain aside, and ease into the tub. Heart hammering, I press the gun to my temple, and pull the trigger.

8.

HEAT ENGULFS ME, WARM like campfires on cold nights. Flames obliterate my broken bones, wipe out my bruises. Stillness settles over me. Peaceful quiet cushions my world. A second later, I gasp, tumbling out of a pile of ash. I catch my shin on the edge of the tub and fall face first toward the tile floor.

A pair of warm, soft hands catch me by the shoulders. Max holds me steady as I get my feet back under me. I gasp quietly. No one’s ever caught me before after a rebirth. It’s equal parts jarring and comforting. My head swims as Max’s breath fans across my skin in a rush, and when I look up into his face it’s wrinkled with concern.

He quickly morphs the expression into a grin. “Feel better?”

I clear my throat and straighten the rest of the way. “All put back together again.”

Max scratches the back of his neck. “That was intense.”

Grabbing a towel off the counter, I wrap it around me and shrug. “It’s my every day. You know. You saw it at the bus stop. To be fair, I’ve never actually seen ... footage of it happening before. I’m not even sure what it looks like.”

“Yesterday happened super-fast,” Max says as I walk back out to the bed for my clothes. “This was different. Up close and personal. Not to mention the fact that you chose to die this time.”

I shimmy into my jeans, pausing when the look on his face really registers in my brain. Eyes on the ground, Max sags against the wall, hand still resting on the back of his neck, hair in his face. His Adam’s apple bobs. All facade is gone, leaving only discomfort behind.

For the first time, it strikes me just how horrifying it might be for a normal person to witness someone kill themselves. While for me it means healing, a reset, for others it can’t help but look like suicide, the violent end of life with no take backs.

Pulling on my t-shirt, I clear the space between us, and against my better judgement, squeeze his shoulder. “Sorry, that had to be hard to watch.”

Max huffs through his nose. “It wasn’t my smartest move. But you had me nervous with all that stuff about putting out potential fires.”

“It’s a hazard.” I click my tongue and retrieve my phone from the table. “Now. Let’s see about renting a car. Somehow I doubt asking you to water bamf us all the way to Tennessee is a good idea.”

“Yeah, I can only go so far in a day,” Max says, rubbing his eyes. “Then I have to refuel. If I tried to go that far, I might collapse, and you’d have to drag my dead weight the rest of the way.”

“Rental car it is then.”

Fifteen or so minutes later, we’re back on the road, cruising down 1-55. Early morning fog — blue tinged and thick —