Page 7 of Curses and Cures

I chew on the inside of my cheek remembering the difficulties Christy went through with The Masks. There had been so many times that I wanted to tell her everything, to confess what I knew. But I had to be a silent witness to their turmoil, hoping and praying it would all be worth it in the end. I’m glad that I got to witness their love blossom, that something beautiful and everlasting came out of something so filled with heartache and pain.

Then there is the not so small matter of the debt you need to repay. Your paths will cross with the Deana-dhe again on the night where everyone wears a mask. On this night, you must help Christy to convince everyone that The Masks are dead.

I have every faith in your abilities to pull this off. You are gifted in the art of alchemy, just like your mother had been before you. You know what you must do.

Give The Masks the chance to prove themselves worthy of my daughter. Love can only blossom when it’s given the space to do so.

They need time.

But time is something they do not have. Grim loves Christy, and she will not rest until The Masks are dead. Neither will the Deana-dhe.

So find a way to make this happen.

Do this, and you will help two families finally lay their pasts to rest.

Which leads me to your future…

I spent over a year living with my childhood friends before the Deana-dhe arrived to call-in my debt. By the time they came to claim me, I’d already witnessed The Masks and Christy fall in love. With Nessa’s foresight, together Christy and I had fulfilled the first part of her request, fooling everyone into believing she had killed The Masks with poison and allowing them the gift of time just like Nessa had wanted.

These past six months that I’ve spent with the Deana-dhe gave my friends time to strengthen their bond and it gave me time to forge my own path with Arden, Lorcan and Carrick.

I hope I’ve done enough.

With trembling fingers, I turn over the page and read the second part of the letter, the part I haven’t shared with Christy or the Deana-dhe.

It pains me to say what I must, but if I didn’t give you complete honesty it would make me no better than Malik Brov who was selfish as much as he was cruel…

I can’t lie to you. I can’t share everything that I’ve seen for Christy and not share this.

So I will tell you all that I know and give you the gift of choice.

I’ve seen two paths for you, both of which are equally possible.

One path leads to a life of happiness, albeit without the true love of your soulmates. It’s a good life Cynthia, and if you choose this path, you will be safe. You can practise your craft and heal many, many people, but the Deana-dhe will die.

The other path leads to danger, pain and trauma at the hands of the men with skulls for faces. Your strength will be tested, and you will lose something precious to you, but the Deana-dhe will live.

You have a choice, Cynthia.

Right now that choice may seem easy. You still hold resentment towards the Deana-dhe, hatred even. But I think we both know that deep down your feelings towards them are far more complicated than that. If you’re anything like your mother, I believe that I already know which path you’ll choose.

You’re a healer, it’s in your nature to do good, to sacrifice your own happiness and safety for the people you love, and even for those you don’t. However, I’m asking you to think very carefully about this decision.

Are the Deana-dhe truly worth your sacrifice? Are you willing to lose a part of yourself in order for them to live?

If so, you must leave with the Deana-dhe the same night you help Christy convince them of The Masks’ deaths. If you don’t, if you choose a life of safety and seek protection from Christy’s sister, the Deana-dhe will die a few short weeks later, caught in the crossfire of another battle between the O’Briens and the O’Farrells, stirred back to life when Grim takes you back to live with your mother’s family.

The choice is ultimately yours.

Choose wisely, dear one.

All my love,

Nessa.

I stare at the letter one last time, tracing my finger along the familiar curves of Nessa’s handwriting. For a long time I teetered between what my head was begging me to do and what my heart knew was inevitable.

My heart won out.

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