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

“Nobody’s innocent, Hank. Not really. We’ve all got corpses in some state of rot in our wardrobes.” I suck lime juice off my thumb, finish off the last of my tequila, and slide off the stool. “Thanks for the shirt.”

Hauling my backpack onto my shoulders, I follow Yaritza up the stairs, bypassing the second floor where she often keeps bounties in transit, and jog to my studio apartment at the very top. Four locks and one shield spell of my own making later, I clomp inside and toss my bag onto the patchwork couch in the living room.

Changing into a tank top and athletic pants, I drag a set of dumbbells out from under my workout bench. Tequila is great for numbing nerves, but nothing quite beats the high of my training sessions. With each curl, press, or squat, I mumble earth realm profanities, mainly directed at my family.

Hank would suggest therapy, but this is so much less expensive.

An hour or so later, drenched with sweat and puffing, I wash off the layers of stink, imagining my baggage swirling down the drain. My stomach growls as I wriggle into a set of fresh clothes and sink face first onto the couch.

With a groan, I dig around in the drawer of my secondhand coffee table. Push pins scatter under my fingers, playing cards slide beneath them, something gummy sticks to my skin, but finally I snag a bag of jerky. Dropping it on the floor, I wheedle it open with my nails and pull out a stick to munch on.

At least tonight I can just crash here fully clothed. If I hadn’t died on the job, around midnight I would burst into flames, scorching anything I’m standing or lying on. Those nights I usually sleep naked in the shower. No point in setting fire to my furniture. Even if it is second hand.

Grumbling, I twist around into a seated position, and pull one of the many large books I’ve been studying out from under my stack of trashy romance novels. After three years of searching for a way to break my stupid curse, I’m not super optimistic about finding much, but anything I can learn might help.

I fade out after cramming a few more sticks of dried meat into my mouth and making it through half a paragraph on ancient spells, but a loud banging shocks me back to consciousness mid-dream. Flipping sideways off the couch, I sprint to the door.

“Open up,” Yaritza says in a hiss before I can even squint through the peephole.

Unflipping the locks and dispelling my shield, I let her and her bounty in along with a heavy wave of humidity, and the sound of shouting from down below. I slam the door shut as something shakes the entire building.

With a wave of my hand, I mutter my shield spell, then turn back to Yaritza. “Amazons?”

“Amazons.” She paces behind my couch, her bounty standing at its end, sweat dotting his warm brown skin. “I knew confusing their scrying would only last so long. It’s an uphill battle against magic users of their caliber.”

I tap my hip bones with the pads of my fingers, mind racing. The walls shake again. A decision dangles in the back of my mind. Earlier, Yaritza said the buyer wasn’t someone you said no to. This means power and influence. The kind strong enough to make risking the ire of the Amazons worth it.

Possibly the kind who could help me break this stupid curse.

My brain locks onto that decision. “Transfer the mark to me.”

Suspicion narrows Yaritza’s eyes. “What?”

“They’ll have a harder time scrying on, or tracking me,” I say. “I’ll take the mark and once you get away from the Amazons you can come meet us in a safety zone. Breaux Bridge, maybe. We’ll take a Greyhound. That might throw them off a bit too.”

Yaritza crosses her arms. The building shakes a third time. Magic crackles the air as tension cramps my jaw. No longer smiling, the bounty grips the couch to keep his balance, eyeing my ceiling with his lips pursed together.

Taking a very slow breath, I turn over the trump card in my head. Rushing her won’t end well. But we’re definitely running out of time if Amazon warriors are downstairs. If I wait too long, they’ll come busting in with enough power to tear open a portal to the fae realm.

Finally, I play the hand I know she can’t ignore or argue. “Anything to protect the contract.”

It’s like pulling the trigger on a gun. Baring her teeth, Yaritza grabs my arm with a sharp nod. “His name is Max Avila.”

I mumble the connection spell, inserting the bounty’s name at the end. Warmth flushes my skin as our tattoos light up along with the leather wrist band. When it fades, that magnetic, magical tug ties me to the mark, binding our fates together.

Sliding her fingers over an elbow, Yaritza nods again, then strides to the door. “I’ll lead them away. Meet me in Breaux Bridge in three days. And Fee,” she fixes me with those cloudy gray eyes, “he’s a water spirit, so do not let him talk.”

With this final warning, she bursts back out into the hall, leaving me and her bounty behind.

2.

I GRAB THE MARK BY the collar and drag him toward the window at the back of my apartment. “I hope you don’t have a problem with heights,” I say as we climb out onto the fire escape.

Gesturing to his mouth, the mark shrugs, and I roll my eyes skyward.

“Okay look, I’d rather us not go on the lamb in awkward silence or attempt to communicate through some deranged game of charades, so you can talk as long as you don’t use any of those water spirit powers on me,” I say. “And as long as you don’t squawk.”

The mark chuckles as my wrist tattoo warms with the magic of my command. “Thanks, mama. And to answer your question, that depends entirely on whether or not