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

a kid. When we’re young it’s hard enough to accept that our parents aren’t perfect, much less...”

“That they’re murderers?” Max says in a mumble.

I clear my throat. Talk about childhood wounds. His make mine look like nothing but papercuts. While my family drama mostly just left me an uncomfortable outcast with a weird condition, his has cloaked him with shame by association; put his life in danger. This will take a delicate touch.

And my tracking skills.

“We’re going to make it right.” I dig my fingernails into the seam of the steering wheel. “But we have to find her first. Where was she living when you left?”

Rubbing his chest, Max swallows. “Piracicaba, Brazil. She almost always stays close to natural bodies of water. I know that’s not much, but it’s all I’ve got.”

Brazil. Great. No problem. Not to mention the teensy tiny issue that if the bounty is now on Max, it must mean other hunters haven’t been able to find her. I’m no slouch, but if everyone else has failed, it’s highly arrogant to believe I can succeed.

And yet, I have to try.

Even as my stomach dips under the weight of all these difficulties, I muster up a smile. “It’s a start.”

Max sighs. “A start. And better than nothing, I guess.” He rubs a hand over his face. “Unless ... you can’t scry, can you?”

“Like a boss.” I roll my shoulders back, trying to find confidence in this posture. “Obviously using your vibrations won’t be super accurate, but I can give it a try when we have a chance to stop. Which will be sooner rather than later, because we need to ditch this car before Yaritza hears about what I did.”

OVER TWO HOURS LATER, we’ve returned the rental to the nearest store, and water bamfed to the farthest motel Max can get us to before wearing out. As we haven’t had time to scry on his mom yet, he travels us back toward New Orleans. I’m pretty impressed Max gets us this far. However, doing so definitely takes it out of him.

He leans on me as we climb the stairs to our second-floor room, gray skinned, dry-lipped, and wheezing. The second I get the door open, he stumbles to the bathroom. As I slide the chain in place and cast my shield spell, the pipes gurgle and creek.

Sinking onto the edge of the bed — the only one in the room — I pull my phone out of my back pocket, and stare at the dark screen. I need to get in contact with Hank, but is it worth the risk of turning the cell back on? Though he said it was untraceable, if it came from the guild, there’s still a chance they can track me.

If not through the GPS, then simply by scrying or a tracking spell.

I could always attempt to send a message with my magic, but like Max, I have my limits. Plus, I’ve never been particularly good at that spell. Usually when I try it, the receiver misses half of what I’m saying. That could do far more harm than good. Not to mention the fact that I need all my strength to try and find his mom’s vibrations.

Chewing the inside corner of my cheek, I set my cell on the side table, pick up the hotel phone, and punch in Hank’s number. It rings once before going straight to voicemail. Worry immediately gnaws its way from my gut and into my chest. Hank rarely sends calls straight to voicemail, not even when he’s running his Dungeons and Dragons campaigns on his nights off.

With a huff, I try the main number, relaxing some when Sam’s voice crackles over the line. “Guidry’s, how can I help you?”

“Things must be crazy if you’re picking up,” I say, hugging my middle with one arm.

“Fee, you’re okay.” Sam’s voice cracks on my name. “Thank God. Yaritza just called Hank. I could hear her shouting on the other end of the line.”

My heart morphs into a terrified phoenix, struggling to flap its way out of my chest. “What did he say?”

“He didn’t say much before he went to his office and shut the door.” Glass shatters and Sam swears. “I’ve gotta go, but I can get him to call you when he comes out.”

“Thanks, Sam.”

I hang up, then glance at my cell, debating destroying it when Max limps back into the room. “Everything okay?” He asks roughly.

Furrowing my brow at him, I snatch a glass from the counter, fill it with water, and shove it into his hands. “Hank’s not answering. Hank always answers.” I massage my scalp with the tips of my fingers. “And I’m debating getting rid of that cell, just so they can’t track us either by GPS or by magic.”

Max eases into a chair, the corners of his mouth again as cracked as they were when I first met him. He drags a hand over his face. The movement takes him much longer than it should and his muscles shake. This is as comforting as it is worrying. That kind of travel wipes out a water spirit, at least for a little while. Which means that if Yaritza does come after us, she might not be at full power right away.

Unless she’s a lot stronger than Max, which she very well may be.

With a heavy sigh, Max lifts the now empty glass, his gaze disconnected and unfocused. “Would you mind...” He waves his fingers like he’s lost the words.

“Sure, sure.”

As I fill it up again, Max says, “Does that mean...” He rubs the crease between his brows. “Does that mean you need to ditch the backpack too?”

I groan and hand him the glass. “Maybe. If I could just get a hold of Hank.”

Nervous energy skitters through me. I pace the length of the bed a few times, then pick up the hotel phone again and dial the gargoyle’s number. Straight to voicemail once more. Cursing, I hang up. Hank’s a freaking gargoyle. Basically