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

disturbing. In a few hours, I’ll spontaneously combust in a blast of fire. Somehow, that’s worse than being killed, though I can’t quite work out why.

Nothing can stop it. And now that I’ve chosen to help Max, I’m worried nothing ever will.

“You okay, mama?”

I let out another puff of smoke. “Are you really going to ask me that? When we’re running from every bounty hunter around and any second now Yaritza’s going to figure out what we’re up to?”

“Is that all?” Max asks.

“Not enough?” I spin on the ball of my foot to face him.

Max takes a slow sip of water, gaze steady on mine. “More than enough. But so far, you’ve been pretty solid, mama, and right now, you kind of look like you’re about to be sick.”

A ball gathers in my throat and heat sears my cheeks. “I’m fine.”

“Fee...”

Nails digging into my palm, I can’t stop the growl that shreds my throat. “Why do you care?”

“Is there a reason why I shouldn’t?” He lists his head to one side.

“I was going to turn you into Iris Smith even though you’re innocent,” I say louder than I mean to, incensed by his calm, annoyed by the emotions boiling inside me.

“You had plenty of reason to believe I was lying about that,” Max says, resting his elbows on his knees. “Then you saved me from Iris, and now you’re doing everything you can to clear my name. All that makes me feel pretty positive toward you, Fee.”

That ball in my throat hardens and expands. Before I can stop them, tears stream down my cheeks. I stare at my feet, then turn away from Max, painfully ashamed. When another few puffs of my cigarette fail to calm me, I stab it out in the ashtray.

“You don’t know anything about me. Fee’s not even my real name.”

I don’t know why I’m telling him this, why tonight’s death is bothering me so deeply, but the words tumble out anyway.

A hand presses gently into the space between my shoulder blades and I lose my battle with control. Wrapping both arms around my waist, I collapse forward, holding back ridiculous sobs, utterly humiliated.

Slowly, carefully, Max gives my shoulders a little tug and, in spite of myself, I curl against him. This close, I can hear the slight wheeze of his breath and the rapid pace of his pulse. Guilt gnaws me. If anyone has a right to break down right now it’s him. Instead, he’s standing here, comforting me.

“So, tell me,” Max says. “I’ll lock it in the proverbial vault.”

Balling my hands into fists, I press my forehead into his shoulder. “Faith.” I sniff. “My real name is Faith. Some joke, huh? My parents don’t believe in anything but gold, and I have no idea what I believe in.”

Max’s palm glides across my back and he hums quietly. “Sometimes it’s hard to know. Especially in our world.”

“What do you believe?” I ask, burning with shame at the faint sound of my own voice.

A long exhale escapes Max and he tightens his embrace. “Not much. At least ... not until I started working at The Mercury Room. Then I started to see...” He sighs again. “It sounds dumb.”

“I’ll take dumb.”

Max huffs again. “Something ... unknowable. What’s it called? Ineffable?”

“I’m not sure that’s the right word.”

“I don’t think there is a right one.” He tightens his embrace a little. “What’s pushing you over the edge right now?”

“It’s stupid.”

“I’ll take stupid. Though I highly doubt it’s that.”

I groan at the back of my throat. “I didn’t die today, so I’m going to die at midnight tonight. Which means I have to sleep in the tub. It’s nothing new. Happens all the time. So, I don’t know why I’m so upset.”

“That’s a pain. Especially after what you’ve been through the last few days.” Max steps back, brushes the tears from my face with his thumbs, then pulls the sheets off the bed and marches to the bathroom.

Face scrunched in confusion, I follow him. “What are you doing?”

Max drops his arm load onto the tile, then goes to retrieve the pillows. “Sleeping on the floor next to you, mama.”

Another sob chokes me. “Why would you do that?”

“No reason you have to go through that alone,” Max says with a smile.

I rub my eyes with the heels of my hands. “There’s no reason you should have to sleep on the floor.”

“I mean, I could try to drag the mattress in here, but somehow I doubt it will fit.”

A new wave of tears runs down my cheeks even as I laugh. I don’t have words to express what I’m feeling, in part because I’m not entirely sure. No one’s ever done anything like this for me before. It warms me in a way even my phoenix fire can’t.

As we settle down for the evening — Max covering his eyes with an arm when I undress and climb into the tub — I again wonder if these kindnesses are still all an act. Though he doesn’t need to convince me to help him, he might still be attempting to keep my loyalty. I hate that thought. Experience, however, has taught me that most people, Hank and Sam excluded, do good things for their own gain.

I can only hope that helping Max won’t leave me in far worse circumstances than I started.

13.

AFTER MY MIDNIGHT DEATH, Max and I move to the bed for the remainder of the night. I’m so exhausted I pass out before I can think too much about our close proximity. In the morning, I wake to the sun threading through the strands of his dark hair, sliding over the sharp plane of his face. I lay perfectly still for a few moments.

Even without his magic at full power he’s gorgeous. Something I need to keep my mind off of, at least until we’re not running from bounty hunters, Amazons, and death in general. Really though, can I even think about some kind of relationship with my condition? Dying every day