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

Hank’s voice distracts me from the ache carving its way through my chest. Crowd noises surround his voice along with the clink of glasses. At this time of day, he’s probably opening up Guidry’s, making coffee for Sam, forcing him to eat a healthy breakfast.

“Everything okay, Fee?” Hank asks.

“I need a favor. One I don’t need the guild knowing about.”

The sound of a click comes through the speaker, probably a door closing. “Consider it on lockdown. What do you need?”

Good old Hank. I glance through the window, then hop out of the car and walk back behind the restrooms. No reason to tip Max off by refusing to let him in the car so he can’t hear this conversation. Waving a hand, I mumble a quiet spell to muffle my speech, just in case he walks out at the wrong time.

“I need you to look into Iris Smith,” I say, sandwiching the cell between my ear and shoulder so I can light a cigarette.

“The Tribunal Member?”

“Yes.” I blow a circle of smoke into the wind. “Specifically, any circumstances surrounding her husband, or a lover, or brother. Or, I don’t know, maybe a sister too. Anybody she cares about that’s gone missing. I’m not really sure which.”

Hank sniffs. “Does this have anything to do with Max?”

Rubbing the spot between my eyebrows, I flick ash off the end of my cigarette. “You got it, chief. Call it curiosity.”

“Happy to, but is it actually empathy?”

I grunt again and kick a piece of broken concrete with my heel. “Just look it up, would you? His water spirit witchcraft is getting to me and I need some logic to keep me from doing anything stupid.”

Hank laughs. “I’m on it. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”

“You’re a gem, Hank.” I click my tongue. “Don’t ever let anybody tell you different.”

“You might want to save that praise until after I tell you what I found out about your curse.”

The muscles in my chest seize up. Blowing a puff of smoke to calm my nerves, I glance around to make sure I’m still alone. “Is it bad?”

Hank sighs through his nose. “There’s a limit to the number of times you can die and come back. And after that...”

I massage my forehead. “What’s the cap?”

Hank clears his throat, but his voice still comes out gruff. “That’s designated by the witch who casts the curse. And unfortunately...”

“I know, I know.” Growling with frustration, I press the heels of my hand into my forehead. “If I didn’t regret killing her before, I definitely do now. Not that I think she’d give us the information. That charmer refused to tell me anything when I confronted her.”

In fact, she simply laughed, a sound that clatters all too often through my dreams. And now I’ve broken the contract our guild has with a powerful member of the Tribunal who could have helped me remove this curse. If I can bring her justice though, a little closure, maybe she’ll still help me.

“Okay.” I rub my clavicle. “Okay, thanks, Hank. Sucks, but good to know. I’d better get going.”

“Stay safe, kiddo.”

“I’m not a kid.” I protest, but the moniker warms me right up like a good tequila shot. “Thanks again. Text when you’ve got something.”

Ending the call, I stomp out my cigarette with a heel, then I find my way to the bathroom, weaving through that same trio of giggling girls. I can’t help but grin at their unhindered joy. But anxiety tumbles inside me, spinning off in multiple directions laced both with hope and dread at what Hank might find.

Shaking my head — and wrinkling my nose at the chalky smell of urine and damp cement in the bathroom — I focus my thoughts on the next thing. No reason to break down over something I don’t know yet.

ONLY SPARSE CONVERSATION scatters through the quiet of the next leg of our journey. Mostly, we let the music fill the nervous void. I grip the steering wheel so tight my knuckles ache. Every half hour or so I realize I’m doing it and have to tell myself to stop. My eyes flinch away from the road to my phone screen whenever the map shifts.

It’s unreasonable to expect Hank to get back to me so quickly. He’s got a bar to run, a staff to take care of. But my nerves are on edge, my muscles active as if ready to run. By the time we cross the Tennessee border, my guts have hardened to rock. I never should have asked Hank to look into this. My job isn’t to question things, just to honor the contract.

But what if he’s telling the truth? What if he’s about to suffer for something his mom did the same way I’m suffering for my dad’s mistakes?

All the muscles in my throat and along my jaw clench. If this is the case, I don’t know if I will be able to preserve the contract. The fall out of that decision unwinds in my head in an apocalyptic explosion until my vision blurs and I almost veer off the road. A chorus of car horns wail me.

“Careful, mama,” Max says. “Some of us don’t come back from the dead.”

I grunt.

Max drums his fingers on the car door handle. “Everything okay?”

“Are you hungry?” I ask, unable to keep the strain out of my words.

For a long beat, Max stares at me, perfectly still.

My grip tightens on the steering wheel again.

Finally, he grins, but his eyes droop at the corners. “I could eat. And I definitely need more water. Don’t want to deliver a dried-out water spirit, right? That might look unprofessional.”

I nod way too enthusiastically. “Definitely unprofessional. Craving anything?”

For your last meal, my mind finishes for me. Bile rushes up my throat.

“French fries and milkshakes,” Max says without hesitation.

Spluttering a nervous laugh, I start watching road signs for a good burger joint. Not just fast food. Max deserves something fresh, not flash frozen.