“Your art?”
“Same thing.” If forced to stop his custom work, he’d likely die for lack of anything good in his life.
“Unless I’m missing something, you haven’t lost control of much.” The rigid stance, hands on hips, and scowl made Judith’s small frame intimidating. “You’re still the boss of you, as you used to say. There are worse fates in the world than traveling. At least you have the means to do so.”
Fuck. “I hate when you’re right.”
“I’ll do my best always to give you opportunities to hate.” Judith smiled. “You don’t get to my age without learning a thing or two.” Her smile fell.
“Too bad you don’t know how to break the curse.”
“No, I can’t. Vern might still have a trick or two up his sleeve.”
True. Though Vern didn't say when he’d return.
At least the painful blisters from wood chopping kept Slade more focused on his palms than on the back of his hand. Sometimes.
At last, Vern returned, dislocated a few cats, and sat on Judith’s couch. Slade spotted Judith’s old dog through the open front door. Duke didn’t appear to have moved since Slade arrived.
Judith lit candles, closed the door, and started a fire.
“A fire?” The weather remained warm for fall in the mountains.
“It’s necessary,” Judith replied.
If she said so.
She tossed a handful of weeds from a container on the coffee table into the flames. Sweet-scented smoke filled the air.
Slade shot to his feet. “No drugs!” Oh, hell no. Damned if he’d add to his troubles, curse or no.
“Sit down!” Judith snapped. “There are no drugs in my house, nor will there ever be.”
Best to keep his mouth shut about beer and caffeine. Slade sat, keeping wary eyes on the two witches, taking shallow breaths. After a few moments, he relaxed some.
Vern held Slade’s hand, palm down. “I can’t undo this curse. No one I know can either. Toning it down some is the best I can do.”
At first, Slade barely registered a low hum before Vern grabbed his wrist, holding tight. “Don’t move!” Vern barked.
White-hot pain seared into Slade’s hand, straight up his arm. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! He bit down on a throw pillow, screaming into the cotton. He’d spit out the mouthful of cat hair later. Oh, dear God. Taking his hand off at the wrist wasn’t an option Slade wanted.
Far too slowly, the agony faded to a dull ache. “What the fuck, dude?” Slade cradled his wounded appendage to his chest. “What the fuck did you do?” Folks needed to stop trying to burn Slade’s hand off.
Vern ran a hand over his face, eyes tired. “It’s like a river. With no way to dam the flow, I gotta cut a new channel. I’m afraid you’ll still have to stay on the move.”
Well fuck. “Then how did you help?”
Vern steepled his fingers, giving Slade a searching look. “I gave you an out. The curse is based on your damaging a relationship. If you give up someone who means as much to you as the sorcerer’s mate meant to him, then you’ll create a balance, ending the curse.”
“That’s all I gotta do? Fall in love and leave them?” Leaving, Slade excelled at. Falling in love? Not so much.
“Yeah.”
Fuck. Vern hadn’t helped at all. Slade stood a snowball’s chance in hell of falling in love.
Judith shuffled over. “I have my own addition. While I’d never make a love potion or control feelings, this will guide you to someone who can help when the time is right.” Her tone grew stern. “Don’t expect miracles tomorrow.”
Slade managed a “Thanks” while Judith slipped the chain of an amulet over his head.
