Page 53 of Curses & Keys
Made of grey limestone and clearly old, the stone altar stands about four and a half feet tall. There’s nothing spectacular about it except for the instant buzz of magic I feel when I get closer.
“Stop,” Jamison orders in a low, sharp tone. His arm reaches out and pulls me away from the altar. “The objects are imbued with dark magic.”
Warmth fills me, and I smile up at him. Eyes full of worry stare back at me. My gaze drops from his eyes to his firm lips. The last time we were this close, he kissed me. He dips his head closer but stops. Breathless, I wait, but it’s as if time suddenly speeds up, and he releases me.
“Don’t worry,” I tell him. “This is my kind of magic. The objects are cursed…”
Hawthorne lets out a guttural grunt behind me, and I whirl around to see the cross in his hand, his body arched in pain, jumbled words flying from his mouth. Tiny dots of blood appear across his arms, neck, and face, and I realize the nature of the curse. I throw an arm out toward Jamison to stop him from touching his friend.
“Don’t,” I order him. “I’ve got this.” He stiffens in protest, but I shake my head. “This is what I do. Trust me. Please.”
He reluctantly steps back, but the magic swirling across his hands darkens in response. I leave him and walk over to his friend.
Removing the cross, I take Hawthorne’s hands in mine and stare into his tortured green eyes. It takes me but moments to snare the curse invading his body, but it feels like eternity as I watch him suffer. Like a fish on the end of the line, the curse whips and tugs, trying to escape, but this is the power given to me. Mine to command. With a final whisper of fury, itleaves Hawthorne’s body and enters mine, where it’s instantly absorbed.
Hawthorne heaves a huge sigh of relief and closes his eyes for a second. “There were a thousand needles pricking me all over.” A white light encompasses his body as he heals, then it dims. He takes a deep breath and opens his eyes. “Where did the curse go?”
“I absorbed it,” I tell him. An angry expression settles on his face, but I know what he’s going to say. “It’s fine. Really. Ma…curses don’t work on me.” Actually, most magic doesn’t, but no need to give away all my secrets.
The anger in his eyes changes to a curious glint, but he simply squeezes my hands. “Thank you. That was really fucking unpleasant.”
Happy he isn’t delving deeper, I pull away and motion to the rest of the room. “Don’t touch anything. The objects on the altar might not be the only things cursed.”
Swiveling around, I hold out my hand over the bust and detect a curse. “This one is mild. It will put you to sleep.”
“Wished I’d picked up that one,” Hawthorne mutters.
I move on to the bowl. A reflection appears in my mind, and I know instantly what it means. “When this is full of water, a person will be compelled to stare into its depths and lose all track of time.”
The mortar and pestle bring a sharp, tangy taste to my mouth, and I quickly put it to the side. “Poison curse.”
The only object left is the box. Magic radiates from its surface. “Can you bring the light closer?”
Hawthorne conjures a small flame and shines it on the box.
Swirls appear in patterns on the box. The curse appears when the recipient opens the box. “Step back.”
“I’m staying,” he insists, his eyes moving from the box to me, and I can see the curiosity burning in him. Always seeking knowledge.
Jamison moves in closer to me and places his hand on my back.
Pressure builds inside me. Hopefully, I can contain the curse quickly. If not, he could be blinded when I open it.
My fingers slide across the swirls in a specific pattern. Every swipe changes the box from stone to lapis lazuli. Inlaid into the intense blue surface are jewels of different colors. A painted image appears on the top of the box. Portraits of two young girls dressed in white chitons. One with dark hair and the other blond.
Hands trembling, I stop and stare down at the box. A knot grows in my throat along with white hot anger. How dare they? With one finger, I press the center of the box and lift the lid. Blue velvet embroidered with two initials—P & P. It’s immediately obscured by a piercing white light that stabs directly into my heart. For a second, that terrible night in the past replays itself over and over. Captivated by the image of my sister and me, I watch every second. This is the guilt I carry in my heart and soul. And the curse attached to the box—to experience one’s worst moment again and again. Tears slide down my face.
Hawthorne and Jamison curse loudly, bringing me back to the present. With little thought, I shut down the curse and remove it from the box. The light disappears, and I hear them both heave a sigh of relief. With one last look, I close the lid and slip it into my coat pocket. When I lift my head, I see Mathias in the corner, staring at me with a speculative expression on his face.
28
PHAEDRA
Stone scraping against stone echoes across the chamber as a door opens to the right of the altar, revealing a dark-haired man wearing a light grey suit. Mathias is a blur as he positions himself next to the stranger. Jamison swiftly steps in front of me, while Gatlin sprints from the back of the room to stand beside us both.
“I mean you no harm,” the stranger states firmly. “We’ve been expecting you.” There’s an underlying note of excitement in his tone.
“Let’s just say your intent is lost when you present visitors with a table full of harmful objects,” Hawthorne interjects in a hard voice.
