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

for any small glimmer of hope, anything more promising than attempting to find his mom. “Or maybe a bartender who still works there.”

Elaxi smiles. “That’s a fair point. I’ll see if I can find out whether or not that bar is still in operation. One moment.”

As Elaxi retrieves a laptop from the counter, Max stands, shoves his hands into his pockets, and strides out through the curtain and onto the porch. I jump off the couch and jog after him, pausing in the doorway to watch him pace. Max swings his arms with each step as if trying to get rid of nervous energy. At the railings he stops to claw his fingers through his hair.

I trace the point of one of my ears. “This is a good thing. At least now we know your mom didn’t kill him.”

“Didn’t she, though?” Max says, looking at me out of the corner of his eye. “No, she didn’t drain him dry, but cutting him off that way is like forcing a meth addict to quit cold turkey without anyone to help them through the withdrawal. At the very least it was heartless.”

“But—”

Elaxi’s voice cuts through my sentence. “It’s still in business,” she says, sliding to my side, her laptop in hand. “I have the address, but it might expend less energy to call them. It’s up to you.”

I flick a strand of hair off my nose, but the wind nudges it right back and I give up. “What do you think, Max?”

Stopping his frenetic pacing, Max rubs circles on his temples, deep lines forming parenthesis around the corners of his mouth. He then drops his arms and sinks into a crouch. “I don’t know. Traveling between states is one thing, but I don’t know if I’m strong enough to get us to another continent, not without a lot of rest stops. At the same time, I doubt a phone call will do. Especially not if they have some kind of physical evidence we can use.”

He’s right. Landing to rest too much increases our chances of getting caught but doing this via cell probably won’t be as effective as going in person. Besides, if we scope out Piracicaba, we might find others who’d met Joel or knew Aline. It could be worth the risk.

I squat down in front of him, elbows on my knees. “How far can you get us before you’re drained?”

Max laces his fingers together and presses his forehead into his knuckles. “After how far we’ve gone today? Probably somewhere in Mexico.”

“Then let’s get started. See if we can’t find a witness.”

“Leave me a number to get in touch,” Elaxi says. “I’ll try to make contact with Joel again once I’m rested. Consider me your line to the afterlife.”

Dragging a hand over his face, Max smiles up at her, his eyes still drooping at the corners. “Thanks, Elaxi. And keep watch. Apparently, every bounty hunter around is after me. If they find out you helped us, there might be trouble.”

“Don’t worry about me, love,” she says, touching his cheek again. “I have a few weapons stored up. Particularly after that Pukwudgie attacked last month. Hurry on now. And be careful, please. We all want you back in one piece. Everyone at The Mercury Room has been worried sick.”

My insides tangle. This is the second time one of Max’s people has emphasized just how much they care about him. Just like Hank did for me, they’ve accepted him as if he were blood when blood failed him. It doesn’t make familial loss any easier, but it softens the blow some.

I stand, pulling Max up with me, and shake Elaxi’s hand. “Thanks for your help. And I promise, I’ll get him back here safe.”

WE REACH THE BORDER between Mexico and Guatemala before Max’s strength gives out. I pay with cash for a motel, then drag him the rest of the way to the room, eyes sharp on our surroundings. Most of the guests look like tourists: overdressed, over sunned, loaded with shopping bags, and most so far from sober I doubt any of them will remember us.

Unless it’s all an act.

Shoulder muscles aching, exhausted, I drop Max in the chair just inside the motel room, then spell the door against intruders. “You didn’t stop enough, did you?”

“Not even a little,” Max says between gasps, his voice a croak. “I figured the more I did that, the more likely another hunter would be to pick up on us. Right, mama?”

I ruffle his hair, then head for the sink.

“Hold up,” Max says when I start to fill a glass with water. “We don’t want to drink that.”

Scowling, I turn off the tap. “Why not?”

“It’s beneath us.” He manages a ghost of a smirk.

“Max.”

He chuckles hoarsely. “It’s not safe for our pampered digestive systems. Ever heard of Montezuma's Revenge?”

Brows bumping together, I shake my head. “Nope.”

“Suffice it to say...” He pauses for a deep breath. “You don’t want to risk it, mama. There should be a massive water bottle in the bathroom.”

With a shrug, I find one next to the sink, and unscrew the top. “So, I guess you won’t be sleeping in the pipes tonight, huh?”

“You got it. I tried that once on my way to the states when I ran from my mom and it did not end well.”

A heavy weight suppresses my breath at the thought of sleep. I haven’t died today, so I’m going to have to spend the night in the bathtub. My stomach curdles with dread as I hand Max the glass of water and set the bottle on the table next to him.

“We definitely don’t want that,” I say no louder than a murmur.

Only half focused, I wander a path through the room, hands tucked under my arms. Antsy, I dig into a pocket for a cigarette, light it up, and take a long, slow drag. It’s ridiculous feeling this way when I’ve been through it so many times, but familiarity doesn’t make the anticipation any less