Cursed
Authors: Christina Bauer
First Published by Ink Monster, LLC in 2016
Ink Monster, LLC
34 Chandler Place Newton, MA 02464
ISBN 9781943858088
Copyright © 2016 by Ink Monster LLC
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
For the Special Education Teachers at the Countryside School in Newton, MA Because they work real magick every day
Contents
Chapter One
My black cat, Lucy, tiptoed across the roof. I paused from hammering and gave her a hopeful smile. “Hello, there. You here to keep me company?”
Lucy shivered and leapt away. I frowned.
Lucy's not afraid of me, too, is she?
I leaned over the edge of the farmhouse. Below me, Lucy stalked past the front porch, her long tail flicking. “You don't think I'm scary, do you?”
Lucy looked up, bared her teeth, and hissed.
That's my answer, I suppose.
I was eighteen years old, owned my own farm, and could cast a little magick. Everyone I knew found that frightening. Well, everyone except Tristan, but he was away at sea right now. It felt like forever until I'd see my only friend again.
Don't think about it. There's too much work to do.
To keep my mind off my worries, I soaked in the view from my roof. An oak forest towered to my right, the leaves gleaming like they'd been dipped in emeralds. To my left, acres of golden barley rustled in the breeze. A broad road cut between the two sidesâI'd widened that myself last month. I sighed.
I love this place.
At least, I did until I saw what was coming.
A wagon lumbered up the road. It had an open back for hauling crops, but the cart was painted yellow, with tall red wheels. Fancy. A man in a straw hat flicked the reins of two gray chargers. With a ride like that, he could only be one thing.
Another suitor.
That makes the third one this week. It was getting ridiculous.
Ever since the courts had confirmed that Braddock Farm was mine, men suddenly saw me as marriage material. It was doubly annoying because of all the years I'd spent as a social pariah. But now that I owned Braddock Farm outright, the law would give any man I married half my land.
No doubt, whoever was driving was well aware of that.
Too bad for him, though. I knew exactly how to deal with unwelcome visitors. I still had some planks that needed breaking down, and splitting rails would mean using my Necromancer magick. That always frightened the locals silly.
Not that I made it a habit to scare them. As a rule, I rarely used my Necromancer power. And I certainly had no desire to join a Cloister for real training. What was the point of learning how to conjure skeletons and ghosts? Over the years, I'd just figured out a trick or two that made chores easier.
After I slipped behind the barn, I lined up some planks, jammed iron wedges into each one, and hefted a mallet onto my shoulder.
Here we go.
I closed my eyes and reached out with my extra mage senses. Ghostly energy was everywhere, if you knew what to feel for. The echoes of things done in the past were all around us. Kisses, fights, birdsong⦠It never went away, really. Necromancers could pull that power into our bodies and transform it into other kinds of energy.
I summoned magick into me. The power worked the best if you focused it all into your left arm, but it came in through each pore and kicked its way through every cell. Power hurtled through my limbs. I gritted my teeth and kept up my concentration. Conjuring magick reminded me of riding a spooked horseâyou needed just the right mix of firm grip and loose spine. If I lost control, I'd shake until I passed out.
Within seconds, the bones of my left hand glowed blue. Magickal strength flowed through my muscles. Now, holding the heavy mallet was no more difficult than lifting a teaspoon. I picked up the mallet and slammed it down with supernatural force.
Thud.
The first plank cracked just as my would-be suitor stepped around the barn.
I couldn't believe it. Of all people, Wyatt was here
â¦
The very man who'd complained to the courts that I was using my rogue magick to summon storms and destroy crops. Never mind that Necromancers didn't control the weather. And never mind that my crops always got hit by the same storms.
When he'd last visited, Wyatt had been dressed in black from head to toe. His shirt was even embroidered with pentagrams to deflect my evil eye. Now, he was dressed quite differently. His too-tight pants were tucked into his work boots and his white shirt was unlaced, showing off his firm chest. Clearly, he thought I was shallow enough to fall for a few muscles.
What a horse's arse.
“Hello, girlie.” Wyatt took a half-step closer, his gaze locked onto my breasts. I had the sudden urge to vomit.
I hefted my mallet again, hoping he'd take the hint not to come any nearer. “Elea. My name's Elea.”
“Didn't I say that?”
“Nope.” I adjusted my grip to show my glowing bones. “Why are you here?”
“Some monk had a letter for you. Thought I'd help out.” He slipped an envelope from his pocket. I recognized the seal right awayâit was from Tristan's old Monastery, the one where he'd trained as Necromancer. He'd given that all up to become a merchant. Why would they write me of all people?
“Thank you.” I reached for the letter, but Wyatt pulled it away. “Not so quickly. I want to talk.”
Now, we get to it.
“So talk.” My bones glowed more brightly as my swing took on extra power.
Thud.
Wyatt jumped when the hammer hit. I grinned.
“You've grown into a lovely young woman, Elea. Eighteen years old, only ten years younger than me.” Wyatt clutched his hand to his chest the way that characters did in badly drawn illustrations of courtly love. “You're tall and fit with hair black as a raven's wing, smooth olive skin, and whiskey-colored eyes. A man could spend a lifetime looking at your sweet face.”
I stared at him, slack jawed.
Whiskey-colored? Did he really say that?
Wyatt's blue eyes narrowed slightly and he pursed his lips as if ready for my kiss.
Oh, no.
“Come now, Wyatt. Ever since the courts ruled in my favor, I've had suitors darkening my door day and night.”
Wyatt shook his head in surprise. He was really playing this up. “That's not true. You're a lovely maiden. The finding of the court is merely a coincidence. I've been hoping to be sweethearts for ages.”
“Sweethearts. Truly.” I smacked my lips. “For ages.”
“Of course.”
I gripped my mallet tighter and imagined it was his neck. “When my parents bought Braddock Farm, you painted the words âDeath to Necromancers' on the side of the barn.”
He waved his hand dismissively. “I was ten at the time. It was a joke.”
“It wasn't funny. My parents died of the plague soon after that.”
“I'm sorry for your loss.”
“Now you are, perhaps, because you want something. But you weren't sorry back then. And you weren't sorry when my guardian Rosie died, either. I was fifteen and alone, and you petitioned the court to take the land away from me because I was a minor and rogue Necromancer.”
“Mine was one of twelve families who signed.” Wyatt's shoulders slumped with sadness. With that, he switched from playing the handsome suitor to the mistreated man. “Now, you must understandâ”
“I've run this place for three long years,” I said, cutting him off. “If Rosie hadn't left me coin to pay servants, I'd have been totally alone. And lo and behold, as soon as I'm named the rightful owner, I'm overwhelmed with offers of love and friendship? Not likely.” I hefted the mallet again and imagined Wyatt's face in the middle of the nearest plank.
Thud.
That was satisfying.
Wyatt pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine, you win. I admit that I behaved poorly.”
“Poorly?”
This was beyond belief.
A muscle ticked on his jawline. “Terribly, then. Now, what do you say to courting?”
Even on my best days, I was quick to anger. Today wasn't one of my best days. I lifted the hammer once more.
Thud.
“Not a chance.”
“Why?” He paced a line beside me. “That Necromancer sailor's already courting you, isn't he?”
“Necromancer sailor?” I pointed the mallet straight at his nose. “You mean merchant Captain, right?” Tristan had trained as a Necromancer, but that was a long time ago. I looked longingly at the letter still gripped in Wyatt's hand. It had something to do with my friend.
“So, are you courting or not?”
My cheeks flared red. “No, it's not like that between us.” Tristan wanted more, though. I just didn't feel that way about him. We could talk for hours about my books and his travels, but it didn't go farther than that for me. There was just no spark.