“What do we do?” Torrin asks.
Fabien turns his head to look at his cousin and shrugs.
“Anything would be helpful,” I grit out through clenched teeth.
“Well, first you need to find out what kind of curse it is.” He turns his attention back to me. “That might help you figure out how or why you have it. Next, I’d say try and find a way to slow it down until you can figure out how to break it or reverse it.”
“You can reverse a curse?” I cringe hearing how it rhymed.
“It depends,” he tells me, not looking very hopeful. “I suppose some simpler ones can be reversed. Like, uh, ah, hair loss and boils. But this…” His eyes went to my chest again, his gaze going a bit hazy for a moment before he blinked himself back into focus. “This is big. It’s deep. Whatever this is, it has old magic behind it. But what’s worrisome is how shaky the magic seems to be.”
I shudder at the thought. Old magic was very powerful. It’s been left to history books and stories now because a witch had once wanted more power than one should have, and she nearly shattered the city. A hundred years hasn’t been nearly enough time for Dark Grove to forget that night. There are still cracks in her streets from it and lines in buildings which have since been patched up but not covered over.
“I want to say this curse was brought about because something was broken.” Fabien steps closer to me. He’s studying me like a doctor looking over a patient. Gone is the nervous kid who blushes easily. He leans over, really studying my chest. Then his hand goes to my forehead. I’m sweaty and sticky, but he doesn’t grimace and pull away quickly. “Symptoms are similar to the flu or a bad cold, I’m sensing?”
“Yeah. He’s been bitching about his aching bones and sweating buckets,” Torrin teases with strained humor. I appreciate how he’s trying to bring this situation back to normal, but it’s so clear how serious this has gotten.
“I have not, you dick!” I give my best glare across the room, noticing for the first time how the room around me seems a bit hazy. I turn my gaze back to Fabien. “How do you know so much?”
He stands a little taller and smiles as he tells me, “I majored in Social History and minored in Arcane Symbols from Different Cultures. I work for the National Historical Society of All Things Magic, helping to preserve my people’s practices. I’m also working on a book about the lost arts of Southern American Witchcraft.”
Wow. I didn’t know the universities for magic would offer things like that.
I blink at him, impressed and blown away. I knew he had potential, but I never imagined something like this. Torrin and I had made the right decision to shelter and protect him from the world we live in. I’m happy for him. Truly happy.
Torrin proudly smiles at his cousin, not a hint of surprise about the information just shared, as if he already knew all of it.
“Anyway,” Fabien says when the room stays quiet for too long. I meant to say something, but the moment has passed. I’m sure he’s well aware of how impressive it all is. He roots around in his bag awkwardly with one hand, pulling out a pencil and holding it in the air like it’s some kind of victory. He flips a few pages before starting to sketch. His eyes stay locked onto my chest. “I’m going to go and research this. I think I have an idea, but I want to be sure. I’m going to ask around, too, but don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone it’s about you. They’ll probably just think it’s more research for my book.” He lets out a nervous laugh and continues to sketch. “Got it.”
He snaps the sketchbook closed and shoves it in his satchel. Then he pulls out a small bag filled with a cornflower blue powder and hands it to Torrin.
“Mix it in hot water like a tea. A teaspoon as needed. It should help to minimize the symptoms. Well, the little ones.” He looks at me. “If death is the end result of this curse, it won’t help with that. But for now, while I figure this out, the powder should help.”
“What is it?” Torrin asks. I don’t care. I just want him to make the fucking weird powder tea right now so I can fucking start feeling better and get on with my life.
“Something Thissa taught me to make.” I know the name. She’s the head elder of his coven, if I’m not mistaken. Torrin has never been interested in magic, but most of his family practices with the Southern Grove coven. “It’s kind of a cover-all powder, but I know it will work for this.”
Dark Grove has three major covens. Each person who practices witchcraft within the city limits has to align with one of them, it doesn’t matter if they’re naturals—born with abilities, which is becoming more and more rare as the years go on—or crafters—those who use words and ingredients to weave their magic. They have to follow their assigned coven’s rules and take their punishments should they be deemed necessary. Magical trials are left up to the individual covens, and the city puts trust in the elders’ hands that no magic will hurt the city again. But there hasn’t been a magical trial since before I was born. As far as I know, there hasn’t been the need for one.
This system was developed over a hundred years ago by the factions of witches themselves. It’s still holding strong today.
I don’t question Fabien. I trust him, as stupid as it might sound. I’ll drink the tea because I’m desperate for any kind of relief.
Honestly, hearing it might be a curse has me a bit shaken.
Shakenandpissed.
I know better than to go off half-cocked, but I’m itching to get my hands around Aubert’s neck. Somehow, he has something to do with this. I know it in my bones.
“Okay, well,” Fabien rocks back on his heels, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his tan chino pants. “I’m gonna go. I’ll call when I know something.”
Then he shoots out the door, and I’m left staring at Torrin, neither of us ready to acknowledge the bomb that has been dropped on us.
FIVE
Astra
Something’s wrong.
