Page 38

AVERY

T he night wind was cold but the Cursed Drake’s scales were so warm I didn’t feel a bit chilly. I curled up on his back and after a while I drifted off to sleep, lured by the long, slow flaps of his huge, powerful wings.

I had no dreams and when I woke up, it was morning and we were flying over a kind of low swampland that didn’t look all that different from the part of Florida where I lived.

The scent that rose from it was fetid and rotten—the smell of decomposition and death.

This was what might be called in a romantasy novel, “an ill-fated place”—no doubt about it.

The Drake was still flying steadily so I assumed we hadn’t reached our destination quite yet but I had a feeling we were almost there.

Despite the rotten swamp smell, my stomach growled.

Luckily, I had thought ahead and had packed several protein bars, a bottle of water, and a bottled latte that was full of cream and sugar, which exactly how I like my coffee.

I drank it now as I waited to land. As the caffeine went to work on me, I felt stronger.

I would need my wits about me if I was going to face the Bruja who had placed this curse in the first place.

The Drake seemed to know I was awake. He sent me a message that we were about to land and that I should hang on to him.

Obligingly, I put down my breakfast—such as it was—and reached for the enormous dorsal fin-like spine that was closest to me.

It was nearly as big as I was. so I couldn’t get my arms around it but I gripped it tightly as we began our descent.

I could feel the Drake being careful to land gently just for me.

It still felt surprising that something so enormous and full of magic would love me so completely and unconditionally.

It was nice in a way—though still scary.

It made me think of those cute videos online where people rescue kittens that hiss in fright when they reach for them—only in this case, I was the kitten.

At last the Drake touched down in the middle of the swamp, not far from a ramshackle hut that seemed to be built of sticks and mud.

It was tilted heavily to one side, making me think there must be some kind of spell on it to even keep it upright.

Whoever lived here certainly must have magic.

Or else they lived the most miserable existence possible, since building a hut in the middle of a swamp wasn’t exactly conducive to happiness—unless you’re an ogre with a taste for solitude and mud, I guess.

The sound of the Drake landing must have stirred the occupant because they came to the door of the hut and peered up at his enormous head.

I expected them to run back inside—not that the crooked, rickety hut offered any kind of safety or shelter from a creature as big as Saint’s Drake, but instead they came out and I saw that it was a woman dressed in rags.

Was this the Bruja who had cursed him in the first place?

She certainly looked like a witch from a fairytale but it was impossible to be sure unless I talked to her.

“Let me down,” I said to the Drake. “I need to speak to her.”

I felt his reluctance and he pointed out that he could keep me safe much more easily if I was still up high on his back.

“No, let me down,” I repeated. “I need to get close to her. I can’t break the curse on you any other way.”

Again I felt his reluctance but at last he extended one huge, clawed hand and I stepped onto it. The Drake let me down gently and I was able to step out and stand in front of the ragged woman.

She had greenish skin which I realized, after a moment, was because her face was smeared with swamp mud. Her hair was in long, greasy tangles and when she lifted her hands I saw that all of them had too many joints—her fingers were long and tipped with dirty claws and all had four knuckles apiece.

Oh yes, she was most definitely a Bruja— which was a special kind of witch native to the Sky Lands. They only dealt in Dark Magic and after a while the evil effects started to show on their faces and bodies. Which was presumably why Ms. Scissorhands here was looking so rough.

I wasn’t quite sure what to say, but the Bruja beat me to it.

“So you have come at last,” she said in a high, screechy voice like nails on a chalkboard. “You hope to break the curse upon this beast!”

I felt a shiver run down my spine but I kept my chin up.

“I don’t just hope to do it—I’m going to do it,” I said firmly.

“Unless you’d like to save us both some trouble and just take it off?

” I offered, thinking maybe we could find some common ground.

I gestured at her ragged appearance. “After all, I can see what the effect of holding up such a powerful curse has had on you. I’m sure you’d love to be rid of it.

Then you could maybe go to a spa and get a nice facial—one not involving mud—and relax. Wouldn’t that be great?”

But my pleas for self-care obviously fell on deaf ears.

“This Drake is cursed and ever shall be!” she screeched. “His Sire killed my only love—for this he must live in the same torment I endure daily!”

“Look, it’s awful to lose a loved one,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “But I don’t see why you had to curse Saint—or rather, his Drake. Why not curse his father instead? He’s the one who killed your husband.”

“Nay, for the agony of a cursed child is more painful to any parent than their own pain,” she snapped. “If you have come to reason with me, boy, go home again. Your words mean nothing—they do not ease my grief or loss.”

The Drake snorted and put his head down, his burning lava eyes glaring at the Bruja . His meaning was clear—he was threatening her—he wanted the curse lifted.

“Kill me then!” she shrieked at him. “But know that if you do, the curse will never be lifted. My death will only seal it to your soul for all eternity!”

Well, so much for reasoning or threatening her.

“Okay, so I guess we’re doing this the hard way then,” I said.

Taking a breath, I reached into an inner pocket of my blazer—yes, I was still wearing my Nocturne Academy uniform—and pulled out the Curse Breaker. The many splinters and spikes on its surface pricked me as I closed my fingers around its roughly spherical shape.

Most magic, as I’ve said before, needs multiple ingredients and also time to call a proper circle. But this was Blood Magic, as Megan had pointed out. It was much more direct—all I needed was a simple incantation to make it work. Well, that and my own blood.

“Forged in fire

Doomed by ire

My blood I take

This Curse to break!” I shouted and then I squeezed the Curse Breaker ball as hard as I could.

It pierced my palm and fingers and I felt intense pain—not just from the many jagged points and spikes but from the Curse which was running from the Drake into me.

I aimed it at the Bruja, channeling all the pain and shame and misery both the Drake and Saint had gone through because of it.

As the blood dripped down my palm and stained the immaculate white cuff of my uniform shirt, I focused all my attention on her.

“Take it!” I growled, my voice going low and hoarse in a way it never had before. “Feel the pain you caused—the innocent lives that were taken because of your curse. Feel it all!”

“No! No!” She threw up her arms, her long, crooked fingers looking like an animal’s claws as she shrieked in agony. She sank to her knees as years and years of madness and sorrow and hate rushed over her in a hot wave of horror.

“Release the curse!” I urged her. “All this can stop if you just let it go! You’ve ruined so many lives—including your own. Let it go. Let it go!”

I could feel my own blood running faster now as the pain of the curse moved through me.

My whole shirt sleeve was wet with it. It felt like something inside me was breaking and being drained at the same time but I knew I couldn’t stop.

If I did, Saint’s Drake would remain cursed forever.

This was my one and only chance to set him free.

I loved him and I wasn’t giving up.

So even though I was starting to see black flowers blooming in my vision and the world was getting wavery all around me, I kept squeezing the spiked wooden ball, harder and harder.

At last the Bruja’s will seemed to break.

“All right!” she sobbed, in that high, shrieky voice. “I will release it…I will remove the curse!”

She raised her hands to the sky and began to chant something in a language I didn’t recognize. It wasn’t Spanish—possibly it was the Drake Mother Tongue.

But though I didn’t understand the words, the meaning was clear.

As the Curse bore down on me, it felt like I was standing at the bottom of the ocean with millions of tons of water pressing down on me.

But as the Bruja chanted, the awful pressure began to lessen and the pain began to ease.

Little by little, the Curse was lifting.

I turned my head to look at the Drake and felt a stab of hope.

His eyes were no longer burning pools of lava—they looked normal and sane.

His scales no longer had the blood-red glow.

Instead, I saw a warm, golden glow taking its place.

And the insides of his sail-like wings had gone from crimson to gold as well.

Good! I thought. The curse is lifting!

But I didn’t dare let go of the Curse Breaker yet. I had to be sure every last bit of the curse came free from the Drake. It’s kind of like scraping something sticky, like gum off of something—every little bit has to be gone before it’s completely clean again.

I could feel my own blood and life-force waning—flowing down my arm and away in a trickle of scarlet. Can you bleed to death from your hand? I had a woozy feeling I was going to find out. But I still didn’t let up. I wanted Saint and his Drake to be utterly healed and this was the only way.

“My Curse is lifted,” I heard the Bruja say.

Her face was sagging and her whole body was bent almost double with the weight of the magic she’d done to remove it.

“But beware,” she snarled at me, her features contorting with rage.

“You may have had your way with me, but I will have mine with you as well. You lose the Curse, then you lose yourself as well, witch-boy!”

Then she muttered something else in the Drake language, though I couldn’t tell if it was magic or just something obscene and fell over into the mud. As I watched, her body melted into the stinking ooze and she was no more.

I fell to my knees as well—I couldn’t help it. I was so dizzy . The magic had certainly had its way with me too—it’s not easy to conduct seventeen years of hatred and pain through your body without getting overwhelmed by it. I didn’t know how much longer I could keep it up.

Saint’s Drake lifted his head to the sky and gave a bugling call—then he lowered his long neck and nudged me anxiously with his snout. I could hear him asking if I was all right…and then he disappeared.

In his place was my boyfriend. Saint was naked but I didn’t care about that. The look on his face was one of pure horror.

“Avery! Avery, let it go!” he begged, reached for my hand. “It’s over now—it’s done. Dios , you’re bleeding yourself dry! Let it go!”

I tried—I really did. But by now my fingers were locked around the Curse Breaker and the spines of it were buried in my palm—I literally couldn’t release it.

“Trying,” I whispered faintly. “Can’t…sorry. Love…you.”

And then everything around me faded to blackness and even Saint’s beloved face was gone.