L. BANKS - Cursed To Death

“Because, for some reason, my sight has been off ever since I got here… except for very surface matters.” Clarissa gave Bradley a look and he only nodded.

“Mayhap that’s ’cause there’s some things you ain’t supposed to see.”

“Maybe,” Clarissa said, baiting the elderly woman into a game of indirect revelation.

“What you know about the history of these parts?” Madame Cottrell asked with a toothless grin.

“That’s a broad question, ma’am,” Bradley replied with a droll smile. “We could get into the founding of the city, the Louisiana Purchase, the Civil War… or we could talk Vamp-”

“No!” Madame Cottrell said, slapping down her bony palm on the small oval table that divided them and making the candle on it wobble. “We cannot talk about them in here, ever.”

“All right,” Clarissa said, eyeing Bradley. She toyed with the crocheted tablecloth. “We could talk about the history of magick spells in the area.”

Madame Cottrell sat back, jingling her change purse. “That’s always been an interesting subject, especially during hard economic times.”

Clarissa nodded to Bradley, who immediately reached into his shirt pocket to produce a thousand dollars in ten crisp one-hundred-dollar bills. He fanned them on the table before the old Tarot reader like a card spread. The reader chuckled.

“That’s just about enough to give you a history lesson that will take you to a coupla months ago, but won’t give you much insight.” Madame Cottrell picked up the bills and neatly folded them away into her sagging bosom. “Now, let me see… how can I put this delicately?” She clucked her tongue and looked off into the distance as she picked up her cards. “Lotta years ago there was a struggle between the wee folks… didn’t start this side of the water.”

“The Fae?” Bradley said, glancing at Clarissa.

“Mmm-hmm.” Carefully shuffling the deck, Madame Cottrell took her time placing cards down in a Celtic cross spread. “Good ones and bad ones, just like people-good and bad.”

“Seelie versus Unseelie,” Bradley said, nodding.

“Oh, I see we’ve got us a resident expert, huh,” the old woman said sarcastically. “You ain’t as blind and dumb as you tried to make me think.” Madame Cottrell narrowed her gaze on Bradley and then smiled. “All the better. Saves me having to explain what I really shouldn’t be explaining, no way. But, yeah… the Seelie be the good ones, the Unseelie be the bad ones. Even the worst covens don’t mess with Fae dark magick-that’s why all of Louisiana decided to stay out of this recent row.”

Clarissa stared down at the cards and placed her fingertips on the edge of the card containing a burning tower. “It’s all coming down, isn’t it? The fortress… and old alliances. Just like in the cards… that’s what it means, right?”

“Ain’t nothin’ in stone. Can’t never be sure what people gonna do-but there’s three men about to act a pure fool,” Madame Cottrell said, pointing out cards with a hanged man, a knight surrounded by bundles of twigs, and a court jester. She then laid her finger on a card with a blindfolded woman who sat with two swords in her hand. “She’s gotta make a choice, hold her ground. Seems she got blades that can cut deep no matter which way she swings ’em.”

Both Clarissa and Bradley stared at each other.

“Something is driving the allies toward war,” Clarissa said. “And they are using a female as bait.”

“You said it, I didn’t… You’re the seer, child. I just read the cards,” Madame Cottrell said smiling. “Sometimes men lose their natural mind over a pretty woman. Sometimes a pretty woman gets a kick out of watching them scrap like dogs just for her. Then, once everybody done got cut up and kilt up and the cops come, she cries. That’s the sick part. Happens every day in the bars. Ain’t so uncommon. I ain’t tellin’ tales outta school,” she added, looking around nervously as though some unseen force might be eavesdropping. “Everybody’s got a weak spot.”

“Just like the Fae’s weak spot is staying undisclosed to human view through a glamour… and Phoenixes must be able to transition from flames, and Yeti and Unicorns rely on being elusive, and Dragons count on brute strength that might fail in a firefight,” Clarissa said softly, her voice gaining a far-off tone. “If all that changes…”

“Bingo,” Madame Cottrell said with a triumphant smile. “Pixies and Faeries got to be sure their dust works, too… even they can get thrown off. But you didn’t hear that from me.”

“And wolf packs have to observe serious territorial protocols between clans… between brothers.” Clarissa closed her eyes. “This could get really, really bad, if Hunter perceives a threat, and Sasha, under the influence of dark magick, stokes that in him… or a rival. It could tear the Wolf Federations apart. We’ve got to get back, Bradley. We need to let Silver Hawk and Doc know, stat.”

“So you’re saying dark magick is at the root of it? Then how do we counteract what’s been done?” Anxious, Bradley leaned forward, but Madame Cottrell sat back and placed a gnarled finger to her lips for a moment.

“I ain’t saying nothing.” Madame Cottrell folded her arms over her bony chest. “Common sense be your guide, not me. Just stands to reason that when folks tend to make a really ugly spell, they generally seal it with a backlash. I ain’t fittin’ to be backlashed. This reading is over.”

Bradley looked from Madame Cottrell to Clarissa as the old woman began collecting her cards. “This thing has what amounts to a dead man’s switch. That’s why none of our usual contacts will talk to us.”

Madame Cottrell just nodded with a sad smile. “You folks have a blessed day.”

She’d transitioned so quickly that for a moment all Hunter could do was stare at the majestic silver wolf that graced the stage. Her clothes floated down to pool at her paws. Quiet murmurs of awe wafted through the room and in the next second she was one with a shadow and gone.

The righteous fury that he felt fled him the instant she disappeared. He felt his brother lunge forward in wolf form too late. Sasha had chosen the shadows-a place that Werewolves couldn’t navigate. The choice, therefore, in his mind, was clear. She’d chosen him over a rival.

He wouldn’t turn around to witness Shogun’s distress, would allow his rival to save face, and wouldn’t acknowledge that his endurance had shattered… That might start a war-and they were still brothers, after all.

Without turning, Hunter leaped up onto the stage in two easy bounds, swept up Sasha’s clothes, and found her shadow haven.

The moment he saw her, saliva burned away from his mouth. She was sitting in the shadow land mist with her arms wrapped around her knees, shivering violently in her human form… beautiful eyes closed. There were a hundred points he needed to make, a thousand injustices to correct. The way she’d treated him had been outrageous; she could have started something no life mate should have to endure-a dominance battle for the affection of one’s chosen.

He dropped her clothes at his feet to make her aware that he was there, fury on a collision course with desire. Then she opened her gorgeous gray eyes and held his complaints for ransom.

“Why?” His voice came out sounding gentler than he intended. He hadn’t wanted her to hear the hurt within it. Any other questions he’d had got trapped behind his Adam’s apple when she stood in one graceful move, nude.

“It will never happen again,” she said quietly, walking toward him.

“It can never happen again,” he shouted. “Not like that! Not with him! Not with any fucking body, Sasha!”