~Cover by Shanna Lei~

Some people believe they are cursed because they encounter a streak of unlucky events or a bad omen, but I can personally vouch for the fact that they are quite wrong. I’ve been cursed before, many years ago now, to know that no unlucky meeting or turn of the wheel can cause a curse. I should know—I’ve had a good deal of unlucky things happen to me.

No, curses must be very much intentional.

But that’s not to say all curses are bad. Even if it may be bitter at the time, even the worst of events may serve a purpose. The issue is facing the harsh reality that the purpose presents. But that’s why I’m here, isn’t it?

Let’s start from the beginning.

When I was eleven years old, the family who’d taken me in as an infant—my two lovely parents and younger sister, Juna—all contracted the spotted fever and died.

I don’t know whether it was a blessing or a “curse,” so to speak, that I never got their sickness, and I don’t think anyone else knew, either, because no one took me in after that. I worked whatever odd jobs anyone around was willing to offer in the hopes that one day I would free myself from the pitied looks and gentle murmurs that always seemed to follow me. Those, I knew, were a curse in their own right.

The year I turned seventeen, I finally scraped up enough money to move to the outskirts of town where a small, meager cottage met the woods in a quiet sort of haven. There, for a single moment, I couldn’t hear the voices of the children and the nuns and the shopkeepers. I couldn’t feel their gaze.

I quickly became accustomed to the peace I found at the cottage, surrounded by the trees and the smell of cedar and pine, and I enjoyed the misty mornings before the sun rose and the townspeople woke. I lived away from the bustle of my childhood and for that reason alone, I believed I was the most blessed person around.

I believed, yes, but that hardly meant I was.

In my hands sat an old, scrappy rod. I fiddled with it while I waited, slowly spinning it in circles on my lap and fingering at its imperfections. The town around me bustled as the people moved to and from their work, rushing to get back to their families and their homes.

I tugged at the cloak around my shoulders and twisted in my chair. “Mr. Hebel, are you done yet?”

I’d been working as a blacksmith’s apprentice for close to three years and had suspected for a while that Mr. Hebel, my mentor at the time and owner of the small shop, was giving me little raises the more he noticed how rundown my cottage was getting. He was a kind man, though strict and demanding, and loved his line of work.

Now, as he came out from the back of the shop, his large shoulders drooped and his eyes lacked their normal crinkle. He was not smiling when he looked at me. I put down the metal rod.

“Veia,” he said in a heaving sigh and I twitched at the sound of my name. He sat down beside me. “I’m afraid you can no longer be an apprentice here.” He ground out the words like he hardly knew them. “We have to close the shop by Monday.”

I stared at him for a long moment. “I’m...” I hesitated. I’m what? Confused? Angry? “I’m so sorry for the loss, Mr. Hebel. Tell Maryan I wish you all the best.”

He nodded to the shop behind us, then smiled sadly and pressed an ash-smudged envelope in my hand with both of his. “Thank you, dear. You’re an excellent worker.”

With that, he stood and glanced at the shop’s sign, reading HEBEL’S BLACKSMITHING in big bold letters, and started down the town’s dirt street, the evening sun casting a red haze on the remaining sets of townspeople drifting down the square.

For a moment I just sat there with the envelope in hand and stared. I let out a short breath, finally, then pocketed the paper and started down the path myself.

My home was not far out from the town, but it was far enough out that no one bothered to visit, which is exactly what I’d had in mind when I’d chosen the tiny cottage. It was really only meant for one person, I thought, which was perfect for my purposes. It had one small kitchen that also served as a dining room, one small living room with my chair and the fireplace in it, and down a short hallway, one small closet and a bedroom off from the rest of the house.

I had never bothered decorating or personalizing my house for any visual interest because I knew it was an utter waste of time and Mr. Hebel would be the only one to care. Because of this, throughout the two years I’d inhabited the little home, the only change that had come to it was switching the sheets and placing a small oil lamp on the desk in my room.

It was twilight by the time I got there, past the willow tree that marked my property and through the stretch of forest to my front steps. I knocked on my own front door just for humor, then chuckled dryly and pulled the key from my knapsack. However, when inserted into the lock, the metal did not make the faint click it usually did. I frowned.

It wasn’t locked.

I knew from my unconditional paranoia that I always locked the door when I left. The key slipped quickly back into my bag and I grabbed my knife in its stead, leaving the sheath in my knapsack. I silently cracked the door.

The living room was completely dark. I moved my way through the room, knowing only by experience where everything was placed so as not to run into it, and peered down the hallway. Also dark.

I made a quick jet past the kitchen, the closet, and to my room. All three were just as I had left them.

I pursed my lips and leaned on one leg, debating why exactly my door had been unlocked. If no one had done anything, why had they come?… I continued to ponder as I lit the lamp on the desk, then I froze as the flame started on the wick, spreading light across the pine wood.

There was a thick leather-bound book on my desk. I had never seen it in my life, and yet there it sat.

Whoever broke into my house had done something...

My eyebrows knit together and I inched closer to the thing, lamp in hand and an overanxious heart thumping against my ribcage. I tried to listen to the voice of reason hollering at my movement, but I outstretched my hand anyway and a horrible foreboding rang at the back of my head.

It was too late.

My finger brushed along the edge of the book’s leather, then I was thrown back as red sparks burst outward from the bindings. Flashes and pops sprouted from the desktop as I spiraled toward the floorboards and up against the wall on the other side of the room.

I shot a look down at my shaking hand and up again at the desk, my breaths fast and uncontrolled. What was that?

Something crossed my mind suddenly. I couldn’t see it, but somehow I knew there was a word on the cover of that book, carved into the leather as if someone had swiped at it with a knife. I saw the shadows of each letter as a scar in my mind and as the image faded, I heard a little girl whisper the word as if she were right next to me, but I was the only one for miles. A giddy smile painted her voice as if she were talking about her most prized achievement and I ran from my own room with the word still echoing in my bones.

″EXSECRATUS.”

I slept in my wooden chair that night, though it hardly counted as sleep. I'd sat for hours attempting rest, but with every creak of the floorboard or shift of the wind I was alert again. The only time I'd managed to doze off was when I lit the fireplace and curled up on the rug, my knife in its sheath by my side. It didn't last long, though. I would wake with a start, putting an end to the nightmare I'd had. I was filled with questions and I found myself wide awake until the sun peeked over the horizon.

That morning, a Saturday, I inventoried my whole house and discovered that nothing was gone or even moved at all from when I had seen it last. Everything was completely unaffected except for the book, which still lay on the desk in my room. I wondered somewhere in the back of my mind if my desk was charred now. I didn't want to have to sand it.

My chair creaked as I fell down into it, and I felt that awful paranoia itching at me again. What was the book? Why was it left here? What would I do with it?

Finally, I groaned and raked my fingers through the tangles in my hair. I would take it to town—no, if there was anyone who would know what this meant, it was Emrita Saravani.

Emrita was somewhat of a spinster. She lived alone near the edge of town in a tiny abode with no neighbors and a patch of trees directly in front of her doorstep. Most were led to believe she had a line of work, but no one had ever seen her associate herself with any given livelihood. She stayed inside a good amount of the day, only leaving to buy necessities from town, and probably slept during the night. My use of "probably" is because no one actually ever saw her after dusk, which only served to feed the nasty rumors from the group of old knitters next to Mr. Hebel's shop. Most of them I chose not to believe, others were not so easy to ignore.

One of these rumors involved witchcraft.

The chair creaked again as I stood and double-checked that my knife was still at my hip, then I made my way to my bedroom.

There, like the rest of the house, was exactly as I had left it, minus the leather book that still sat on the desk. There were no signs of last night's incident.

I crossed the floor slowly, my feet making small scuffs in the morning silence, and extended a frustratingly shaky hand toward the desk. The sweat on my palm made the knife I was holding hard to grip.

I poked the edge of the book with the knife.

Nothing happened.

The knife prodded tentatively against the edges of the binding, filling my head with more questions before the last ones could even be answered. Still no response in any form.

My face hardened. I knew last night wasn't a fluke. Books didn't just decide to explode. Little girls didn't make a habit of whispering directly into people's minds. At least not without magic, which was precisely why I was taking it to Emrita. The problem was getting it into my possession without killing myself.

I sheathed the dagger and took another step closer, then I thrust my hand out and swept the book to the floor in one fell swing. It landed with a heavy thunk, its cover open and the pages fluttering chaotically, then the paper settled and the book lay open on the floor, motionless.

I crouched down next to it and squinted at the pages with pursed lips.

There was no writing. No print. No handwriting. No ink whatsoever.

Then I did it again. I found myself touching the book without a single second of consideration. I flipped through the pages, fingering at the binding with my other hand all the while scowling profusely at the empty pages that met me. Nothing! Absolutely nothing! Why would it be empty?

My eyes caught on the very first page of the book as I closed it. I yanked it back open and stared at the letters, each in a carefully scripted writing that seemed to leap from the pages as I read it, lodging itself straight down my throat.

Ilyavei Phelde.

My name.

I threw the book down and leaped to my feet. It slammed shut on the scripted name and I saw the sharp EXSECRATUS scarred on the cover, mocking me with its foreign meaning, and for the second time since I had encountered the item, I fled from my own bedroom in sheer terror.

My head hurt from the many times I had hit myself. Stupid, all of it! Why couldn't I just grab the stupid book and stuff it in a bag? That's all I needed to do, and yet here I sat curled up in my chair again, too scared to face a book. A book.

For the millionth time, I ground my fists into my hair and strung curses through my teeth, then I stood and stomped down to my room again. I shoved through the door, my knapsack in hand, and snatched the book from the floor, thrusting it into the knapsack in a compartment separate from the rest of my things. I was sick and tired of being afraid of a godforsaken book.

I put the bag on the desk and quickly changed into a more presentable dress, then I buttoned my vest over my plain blue skirt and yanked a brush through my hair, each tight curl more tangled than the last until I was finally able to braid it into a fuzzy knot at the nape of my neck. I picked up the knapsack again and stole a glance at the small dresser mirror, noting still how bedraggled I looked, then started down the hallway to the door.

One of the only reasons I knew about Emrita Saravani other than from the knitting group was that I passed by her house every day on my way to work. I was pretty much the only person who lived farther out from town than she, so it was an inevitability that I would have to run by her house on the main road.

As I came upon the old cottage, much like mine but infinitely older, I noted absentmindedly that Emrita had actually done some housekeeping since the last time I'd passed by. Her yard, normally full of overgrown weeds and rotten leaves, was half swept and nearly under control; the doorframe that had been broken for years was crudely repaired using a patchwork of bent nails and a sappy substance I care not describe. The hole in the roof, visible from the ground, had been covered up using what looked like a pile of wood older than Emrita herself and quite just as frail.

I couldn't help but cringe. At least she tried—just for that, I had to commend her—but unfortunately, her efforts only made the place look more haphazard.

I wove through the trees in front of her porch and planted three sturdy knocks on the door, then I waited. I adjusted the knapsack on my shoulder. Cleared my throat. Shifted from one foot to the other.

I knocked again.

Letting out an impatient breath, I unlatched my knapsack and peered in at the book. My mouth twitched at the sight of it. "Exsecratus," I muttered. That would be my first question to Emrita. What the word even meant was beyond me.

Suddenly, with a loud crack, the door flew open and crashed against the wall on its hinges. I yelped and staggered back as a large woman barreled out at me, skidding to a heaving stop directly in front of my nose.

"Don't you ever say that word again, you hear me?" her voice echoed through the trees and rustled the birds, a furious alto with the slur of age to it.

I gaped at her, my ears still ringing, and nodded vigorously. I took a wide step back.

She had a circular face with sharp cheekbones and a piercing stare. Her clothes were just what I would have expected of a shut-in—a pair of baggy pants and a long blouse without any vest or corset around her waist. The blouse dangled helplessly at her knees, almost like a nightgown, and she wore a hideous set of chunky gray slippers on her pale feet.

"I, um..." I tentatively took another step back. "I'm Miss Phelde from down the road a ways. I work at Mr. Hebel's blacksmithing, but..." but he closed and now I'm unemployed. I've come to accuse you of being a witch, by the way!

Emrita pursed her lips and furrowed her brows in somewhat of a grimace. "What do you want?"

"I... wanted to know if you could help me with—"

"No." She grabbed the door and was halfway through shutting it when I scrambled forward to stop her.

"Please, Miss Emrita, Ma'am, I think you'll want to see this!" I didn't give her time to respond before I slung the knapsack from my shoulder and opened it to show her the book without having to touch it.

It was immediate on her face. The instant pull of her lips into a sneer, the obvious disgust showing through her pale eyes. Her mouth twisted into a frown and she pulled me inside and slammed the door behind us as if she thought someone might overhear.

"Where did you get that?" she growled.

"It—it just showed up, Ma'am..."

"Showed up where?"

"In, er— On my dresser."

She let out an exasperated grumble and grabbed me by the collar, then dragged me down the dark wooden foyer and into a room even darker than the last, where she spun me on the heels of my boots to face the only light, which emanated from a small flickery candle on a table in the far end of the room. The rest of the table was overshadowed by a single picture of a little girl with a cheeky smile and little brown overalls. A note sat next to the frame with the words Rest In Peace, Little Jereva written across it in neat black writing.

"Jereva, my sister, made the very same mistake you are." The shadows bathed Emrita's face like a veil and an eery coldness nipped at my ankles when she spoke. "Killed her before she was even done growing."

I held my breath and looked up at her carefully. "Mistake...?"

Even in the darkness, I could see her chin tilt upward, her ghostly gray eyes meeting mine like a dare to look away. "Magic."

My mouth went dry. "Magic... Ma'am?"

The shadows in the room seemed to loom around us and I wrapped my arms over my chest. Emrita's sister had been killed by magic?... Emrita had a sister?...

Her eyes went dark. "I hope, for your sake, that you aren't wanting me to participate in your mistake."

"Ms. Emrita..." my finger found the edge of the book in my knapsack. The dread pooling in my stomach told me to choose my next words very carefully. "I need to know how to get rid of this book, and I can't do it alone... please..."

Even in the dark I could see her eyes narrow, her mouth puckering. "And why should I help you?"

I thought about it for a moment. My mouth opened to say something, then it closed. Why should she help me? I'd essentially just shown up and accused her of witchcraft, then I expected her to summon the will to help me? My own ignorance left me speechless. I dug my heels in frustration.

Emrita stood there a moment, her sharp gaze penetrating my thin veil of authority, and I lowered my head. It came out as a small, sharp noise. "I don't know."

She huffed and turned away. "That's what I thought." A moment passed with no movement and she cast me a backward glance, a smirk etching her features. "However, you're lucky for two reasons: one, I know an awful lot about magic; two, I happen to be fond of having people indebted to me."

My eyes widened and I stumbled over my words. Apparently, living alone for too long made for a disturbing bluntness. I took a mental note and released a tight breath.

"How have you already attempted destroying this book of yours?" She fiddled with her nails and cast me a disapproving look when I didn't respond. "We have to start somewhere, idiot. Can't destroy a magic item like you can a normal one."

I looked back at the floorboards and chewed my lip. "I haven't actually attempted to destroy it yet."

Her disappointment was apparent on her face. She shook her head and motioned for me to follow her, and what a long day it would make out to be.

Emrita led me to her backyard, which, unsurprisingly, was no more cared for than the front. There, she had me set up a small fire and told me to throw the book right in the flame. It didn't take much effort to follow Emrita's instruction, but it took much more effort to run when the book started its firework explosions again, red sparks flying everywhere.

Emrita didn't seem the least bit surprised at this development, only letting out another huff and starting on her next plan.

This time, a pot of boiling water. Using a pair of metal tongs, I dropped the book in and didn't wait to run after the previous results. Not a second later, the pot began emitting cloud upon puffing cloud of hot steam until it ran out of water and the sparks died out. Each time, the book came out completely and entirely unharmed. Out from the water, the book came dry and crisp; from the fire, not so much as a single singe.

Emrita's ideas only continued after this, stretching late into the afternoon. By this point, I was panting and furious at the cursed object, which had been dipped in burning oil, stabbed with a dagger, thrown into a river at noon (Emrita said not to question it), and stomped on multiple times. Every time the book sensed it would come to harm, Emrita observed, it shielded itself. The barrier it used emitted fire and sparks at contact. I found this development positively maddening.

I also noticed that through all of this, really the only effort Emrita had expended toward the whole ordeal was her knowledge of magic. All of the physical preparation and execution was achieved through her hounding me from her chair on the porch until I was sprinting for firewood or a pail of water. This also meant I was at the receiving end of every failed attempt at the book's destruction. I got the brunt of every cursed explosion.

I puffed out a long sigh and plopped onto the ground as I awaited Emrita's next plot. She had put on another few layers of clothing to protect her from the nipping cold, but she still managed to look as unkempt as she had this morning. She still wore the same horrid gray slippers and a grimace that aged her face ten years.

"Well," she drawled from her chair, "seeing as nothing else has worked, I suppose it'll have to be buried."

She cocked an eyebrow at my merciless stare. I was certain she knew how much work I'd put into this project just for her to gaze at every failed attempt in mild amusement. I had half the mind to think she'd set the whole thing up to occupy her free time. Actually, I was fairly certain that was her reasoning.

"Burying magical objects is a great way to banish their magic." Emrita fingered idly at her shawl and let a smile play across her pasty face. Her tangled salt and pepper hair fell in a small mat around her shoulders and in that moment, I was quite convinced she actually was a witch.

"Do you mean to say"—I stood and raked an exasperated hand through my hair—"that you just bury things you can't take care of? Have I been wasting my whole day running errands and preparing experiments when we could have just buried the cursed thing?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Who did you say has been wasting their day again? I believe I remember a certain unruly girl showing up on my doorstep this morning demanding my help."

Oh, so that's how it is? She had a nasty side and she wasn't afraid of showing it. My lips twitched and I balled my fists, then, fuming, I snatched the book from the dirt and shot her a glare. "Where are you wanting it to go?"

Her smile returned. "Come, come."

She passed down the porch stairs with a lilt to her step and traipsed right into the forest past her backyard. I hurried to follow.

We dodged large trees and passed small creeks for at least thirty minutes before Emrita slowed her pace. The afternoon was letting out to evening and the sun was setting, which made visibility difficult when the heavy darkness of the forest blocked what fleeting rays of light were left. More than once, I tripped over a hidden root or scraped my boots on the thorns in the shrubbery. I had to wonder how Emrita, being at least fifty years old, had enough energy to traverse the forest for so long. I also had to wonder why she was willing to go through so much effort for me—all the rest of her contributions had been while sitting in her porch chair.

Suddenly, Emrita's arm flung out to stop me. I ran right into it and she scowled at me, then she aimed a bony white finger toward the soil at her feet. "Bury it right here." She saw my hesitation and scowled again. "What did I say about questioning me? Do it!"

Not ten minutes later, that exact spot had a hole as deep as my elbow and just wide enough to fit the book. With a last glare at Emrita, I placed the book in the ground and watched the dirt pile on top of it until all that remained was a small lump in the ground where the hole had been.

Both of us waited to see what would happen, Emrita from a safe distance, of course.

A minute passed. Nothing. I glanced up at the darkening sky, then at Emrita. I guess we'd done it. I didn't feel the rush of pride or relief I'd been expecting, though.

It was dangerous to be in the forest at night, so on the way back, Emrita stopped waiting for me to get up when I tripped, only quickening her pace and bringing her shawl tighter around her arms. By the time we reached her yard, Emrita was already pushing me out the door with excuses like "I have things to do tomorrow" and "You've deprived me of enough sleep already." I hardly had enough time to collect my wits before I was on the path to my cottage again with the cold dark of late winter nipping at the backs of my legs.

It was peaceful that night, and I opted to sleep in my bed rather than in the wooden kitchen chair again. It seemed like as soon as I closed my eyes, the birds in the forest were singing their morning melodies and the sun had risen into the brightening sky. The night had literally passed in the blink of an eye and I didn't feel any less tired than when I'd pulled the covers over my face the night before.

I groaned heavily and heaved myself out of bed. My eyes were immediately drawn to my desk, checking its every nook and cranny, and I relaxed when I saw there was no cursed object on it. No book, no magic, just the clean pine wood. I smiled and stood, stepping into my slippers.

It was a Sunday. For most, the week started today as yesterday was when the town church met, and the first work day of the week was naturally the most ideal day to go job hunting.

Knowing this fact, I sighed at the need to look as if I cared about my appearance. After putting my pale legging on, I wore another three layers of skirts and my finest white blouse. My light blue vest perfectly complimented my royal blue skirt, and I tied my coarse black hair with a matching blue ribbon. Since today was an important day for impressions, I even got out my foster mother's set of fine brushes, dusty from disuse, and painted my eyes and cheeks. My skin, normally a soft dark brown color, was almost glimmering by the time I had finished and I was worried I'd used too much. Would I come across as vain?

My lips, now glossy, pressed into a thin line as I put away the brushes and tied my boots. I hoped I hadn't messed anything up. And what about Emrita? Was the book still in the forest where we'd buried it last night? I had only the chirping of birds to answer my questions.

I stepped out the door, my eyes drifting downwards, and I screamed before I could collect myself, bringing all my strength into the kick that sent the book flying with sputters of sparks and crackles of magic.

The book. The same cursed pages, the same cursed binding, the same horrid word carved into its cover as it slammed down unceremoniously on the opposite side of my yard, a final burst of sparks erupting from its fall.

Holy fire. I cupped my hand over my mouth as I strung more swearwords through my teeth like seething poison as a product of my utter rage.

It was back.

It was back. The book was back. Right there in front of me when I quite clearly remembered burying it last night in the dead middle of the woods.

My hands shook as I tromped across the yard and to the cursed book, then I screeched in frustration and threw it into my knapsack. I would take it to town and "accidentally" lose it somewhere on my way looking for jobs. I never found the things I lost, so it seemed like an excellent idea.

That's right. Just because it didn't work yesterday didn't mean it wouldn't work today. With anything less than this mindset, I would never get rid of the book.

The town had already woken by the time I'd come far enough down the path to see it. The early cold had fled from the air, replaced by a cloudless sky and a bustling urgency as the townspeople began their work for the week. It was the perfect peaceful day.

If only I could say the same about my circumstances. No job, no friends, and a cursed book trying to kill me. A perfect day, clearly.

"Veia!" A high-pitched voice called from a nearby shop. My brows scrunched and I walked faster. "Miss Veia Phelde! Hello? Veia!"

Before I had a chance to cross the square from her shop, Tremie Tervor grabbed onto my wrist and swept me inside. "It's just wonderful to see you again, darling! How are you doing? Have you talked to Deivan yet?"

Allow me to explain. Tremie Aluisse Tervor was the owner of the first shop that hired me when I came of working age at the orphanage. At the time, I only worked a few hours each week hemming old dresses, but Tremie treated each of her employees like adorable little children—like tiny elves that helped her with her work, basically. She had a very strong first impression, to say the least, and it explained why she had one of the busiest dress shops in town. Everyone came to hear the talk of the town from Tremie, but that was just the problem I was faced with. Talk.

I didn't want anyone talking about the book in my knapsack.

"Tell me how it went!" Tremie continued, singing in my ear while she danced around the glamorous storefront holding me by the shoulders. "You and him would just be dreamy, don't you think? Oh, just imagining it is exciting! I wonder what your children will look like..."

That was the other problem I had with Tremie Tervor. She was a born love nut. I swore she knew the names, faces, and birthdays of every male in town—especially the ones around my age. Half of me thought she enjoyed tormenting me with my awkwardness around boys, but every time I saw her, I had to remind myself that that was just Tremie. It was just who she was.

Precisely the more reason to avoid her.

"Veia!" She peered at me suggestively as she released my shoulders, drawing my name out with a dramatic lilt. "Did you finally find the man you've been waiting for? Is that the silence? You simply must tell."

"Miss Tervor—"

"Just Tremie, dear, I don't know how many times we've gone over this."

"—I'm just not looking for love."

She blinked, caught off guard for a split second, then her smiled played again as she wiggled her eyebrows and wrapped her arm around my shoulders. "Why, that's just the thing, isn't it? Love always finds the ones who aren't looking."

I resisted a grimace. "Miss Tervor, that's mawkish."

She laughed heartily and gave me another glance, then walked behind the counter and gestured to the elaborate dresses filling the store on racks and laying over mahogany chests and on shelves. Her shop was extravagant, as it always had been. "Why don't I help you find a new dress, dear? The one you're wearing is sure to impress the grandparents, if they're your crowd."

My mouth fell open and I looked at the buttons of my vest down to the lace lining my skirt. This was my finest outfit...

"But..." I trailed off as I looked around the shop. The dresses were all so beautiful, with their vibrant colors and designs down to the corsets and lacy petticoats, but they all looked so... expensive...

I frowned as I looked back at Tremie and her eyes suddenly went wide, her glossy pink lips forming a big O. She jetted out from behind the counter and looked at me up and down, her hands tugging desperately for a hold on her skirt until finally, she stopped and gave me a despairing gaze. "Veia, you didn't tell me you lost your job..."

I back-stepped. "What? How could you tell?"

"I know when a customer looks at something they can't afford, and you, my dear, are as good at budgeting as any. The only reason you wouldn't have enough money for one of my dresses is from a cut in income. I should have noticed Mr. Hebel's strained looks earlier."

My mouth pressed into a tight line and my toes twitched. Would it be right for me to comfort her? No, that would be backward... But she looked so conflicted... I shifted my weight and folded my hands to keep from fidgeting.

Tremie let out a loud gasp and her eyes went from troubled to beaming as another smile broke across her face. "I have it! You can work here! I'll set you up with Lefeli and it'll be just like when you were young!"

I gaped at her, my brows raised, but I found my usual refusal stuck in my throat. She had always wanted me back from the day I'd accepted Mr. Hebel's job offer, but I couldn't refuse her now like I had then. This job was exactly what I'd wanted, and yet I couldn't find the words to accept it.

Something in Tremie's face fell and I knew she'd seen my hesitation.

"Will..." I bit my lip. "Will you really let me work here?"

She jumped on the opportunity and pressed a hand to her ample chest as if my question was hardly a question at all. "Of course I will, darling! Come, it's still early, let's get you set up!"

With that, she hurried through the purple curtains leading to the back of the shop and returned a minute later with a set of papers in her arms. "We can have this official before noon!" She whooped, then slammed the papers down and closed the doors to the shop. "Today's an important day, darling!"

True to her word, Tremie had gotten me through all the paperwork before the sun hit midday, and even after working the cramps out of my writing hand, it felt too good to be true. As soon as I'd lost my job, I was hit instantaneously with the next and bam, it's official. I didn't want to be rude to Tremie, but everything was going way too fast for me to process and some part of me wished for something different.

I pushed through the front door of the dress shop and into the street, which was even more crowded than it had been in the morning. Most people wore coats or capes over their normal work clothes to combat the lingering nip from the winter air. I couldn't help but think the extra layers made them look like twirlers bustling through the streets past each other in a festival dance—a dance that was all too fast for me to fall into, so I edged along the side of the storefronts until I met the town square.

There were still many people in the street, so I took the opportunity to rummage through my knapsack, making it obvious that I was searching for something at the bottom, and discreetly pushed the book out of my bag. By the time it had dropped to the cobblestone street, I was already half way through the square. I slung the bag back over my shoulder and let out a breath. After I passed the shops, pushing past various groups of people, I followed the quickest route to the edge of town until I could finally breathe again.

I knew the fields outside the town like the back of my hand. Past seemingly endless patches of budding flowers and fable-like perfectness, the forest stretched as a dark green line on the horizon. Though many townspeople lived in their shops, there were also homesteads near the woods and every now and then on a sunny day, some families would picnic out in the flower fields. I hoped they wouldn't mind me stealing their idea.

Shivers enveloped my arms as the breeze worked its way in from the east. I brushed away the melting snow and sat under one of the lone trees just off the main road. It was quiet out here and I could find nothing nicer than the pleasant simplicity of the budding flowers.

I sighed, relaxing onto the tree trunk and fumbling lazily to open my bag for my lunch. My arm became tired and I gave up opening the latch, instead resting my hands on my vest. The weather was so nice today... such a shame to spend the whole morning inside.

A distant snapping sound woke me. Wait, had I fallen asleep? I couldn't remember. My brows knit together and I rubbed the weariness from my eyes when the snap sounded again, followed shortly by a growing sense of foreboding. Crashes and shouts came past the hill soon after, and before I could register what exactly was happening, a barrage of carts and wagons and horses burst out on the road from the forest. Not a second after, another group followed, this one all riders. They looked like villagers. They rode as if they were furious. It finally clicked.

My eyes snapped open and I shoved myself to my feet and sprinted toward the road the carts raced down. The road that led directly into the crowded streets of the town. We weren't prepared for speeding wagons bounding through the streets. We weren't prepared for horses driven mad with whips and reins. We weren't prepared for a chase.

The people weren't prepared for a chase.

But I just might be.

The wheels in my head were turning before I'd even gotten to my feet. The group with the wagons was bandits, that much was clear. That would mean the riders were the villagers from whom the bandits had stolen whatever was in their carts. I was racing toward the town where the chase would ultimately lead in... two minutes? I let out a panicked squeak and ran faster.

If I could get the guards to close the gates with enough time for the wagons to turn, the bandits would be forced to scatter. The horses would either stop at the gate or follow the bandits, but since wagons can't ride through muddy fields, the bandits would be forced to stop long enough for the watchmen to take hold of the situation.

My stomach dropped. The bandits probably had weapons. If they stopped, would there be more danger for the villagers or the guards? Did they have hostages?

I had to think of another way.

My feet hit a patch of mud and I slipped, falling head over heels to the ground near the road, the cold muck getting everywhere. At the same time, the chase bounded past me and an object came careening in my direction. A shout ripped at my throat as I threw myself backward deeper into the mud, but someone grabbed me beneath the arms and swept me off the ground just as the object—a wheel as tall as my hip—whirred past and crashed into the mud with a loud splash.

Then I was dragging behind a horse as the rider grappled for a sturdier grip under my arms. We slowed to a near stop and he let me go. I dropped to the ground with a huff, then whirled on him, but he quickly gave a curt nod and nudged his horse again. A breath of desperation rose and I stumbled forward and caught his arm.

"Close the gate!" I jerked my head toward the town. "Close the gate or they'll trample the townspeople, and then find cover as fast as you can! Please!"

I could see the look he was giving me even through the dusty scarf covering his face. Me, a random crazy girl covered in mud giving him orders.

I pushed him away. "Just trust me!"

After a second, he rode off, but I didn't have time to watch where. I ran back toward the tree, harder and slower than I would have liked with a layered dress heavy with muck, but somehow I made it to my lunch bag and skidded to my knees. I snatched it up and pulled it open, shoving my muddy hand inside and rummaging around until I found purchase, then I snatched the object out and swiveled back, running again toward the chase. The town gates were closing. The bandits were approaching fast.

Once I knew I was close enough to the commotion, I threw the object with all my strength, then cupped my hands near my mouth and screamed, "Get away from the road, quick!"

A few might have heard me, but not in time for them to register what I said before I clamped my eyes shut and covered my face, my skirts slapping against my legs as I stopped. Surely enough, two seconds later a loud explosion sounded and I could see the blinding white light through my hands as the object I'd thrown hit the ground. Shouts and crashes followed as the bandits lost control of their horses, the villagers hitting the ground and running. It was chaos.

But the townspeople were safe.

I uncovered my eyes and jetted for the commotion. I didn't look at the eight-foot flames covering the road in front of the carts, but the light threatened to blind me anyway. The heat licked my arms as I passed it even though I was a good distance away from the fire, then I reached the gates, breathless and partially giddy, and noticed a guard cowering from the flames.

"Mister! Guard!" I waved my arms. "You stupid half-wit!" That got his attention. "We need sand, quick! It's the only thing that'll quell the flame!"

He scowled at my name-calling, hesitated, then ran inside the door to the gate. Meanwhile, the bright light from the flame cast shadows even in the midday sun and a loud fwoom accompanied them. Someone was cursing, and I realized a fight had broken out between the bandits and the villagers.

"Don't put water on the fire!" I was running again, now toward the stopped wagons and panicked yells. "Don't water the flames!"

I skidded to a stop before I reached the fight and saw the villagers holding whatever weapons they had with them—swords, pitchforks, whips—out at the bandits, who had formed a small circle after the villagers corralled them.

My breath caught. It had worked.

The fire made a loud snap and I remembered the urgency of the situation.

I swiveled around to search for sand, but before I could do anything, the guard returned with several others, each holding a sack full of sand. I motioned to the fire, my heart thudding heavily in my chest as I attempted to calm down.

The sand kept coming, though. I didn't know where or why we kept a dozen sacks of sand handy, but I was thankful for it.

Before the fire had even a chance to leave the road, it had been drowned and extinguished, leaving only a pile of pale sand in its place. The men who had carried the sacks celebrated as they attempted to regain their breath and the watchmen arrived from the post at the front of town to take the bandits. I didn't allow myself to breathe until I had convinced everyone to get away from the remnants of the fire, though, and back into town.

And by then, everything was a complicated mess. A crowd had formed near the gate to see the commotion, but the watchmen somehow managed to dispersed them. They had a time with it, too, since the flames had been so bright and loud and had caught quite a bit of attentipn from people passing by.

At some point, Tremie had come by and was fussing over how terrible I looked. I had to agree with her as she brought me back to the shop and in front of a mirror. My curly black hair had taken on a gray haze of dust between the mats of mud and tangle, and dried soil and smudged makeup caked my skin and made it itchy. My wet layers of clothing clung to my skin with cold desperation and Tremie wasted no time in declaring my dress irretrievable. She insisted on replacing everything I was wearing without charge on top of drawing me a bath to wash up in. She would simply have it no other way, so it's not exactly like I had much of a choice in the matter. I didn't argue and let her pick what type of perfume she wanted the bath to smell like.

Not quite three hours later, everything had been cleaned up. The road had been repaired, the smoke from the fire had dispersed, Tremie had recycled my dress for rags and aprons, and the town went back to its normal ways with the stories over the dinner table as the only reminder of the day's events. So without further disturbance, Tremie let me retrieve my knapsack from the field and promised me a "big surprise" for when I got back. I was simply brimming with excitement at the thought of it. Note the sarcasm.

When I approached the shop, Tremie was waiting at the front of it with a girl standing beside her. Both of them rocked on their heels eagerly. When they noticed me, Tremie was the first to react with a jump and a giggle.

"Veia! Surprise! Allow me to introduce you to Lefeli, my lovely assistant and wonderful friend."

The girl, maybe a year younger than I was, leaped forward into a handshake and had the most excited smile on her face. "Veia! I've heard so much about you! I'm so glad we've finally had the chance to meet after all this time!"

"After all this time?" I looked at Tremie.

"I take care of keeping the shop tidy and deal with customer service when Tremie's away. Tremie put me in charge of getting you comfy here and I've been just dying to meet you!"

They were exactly alike. Lefeli was Tremie but twenty years younger, and by some dark magic she wasn't Tremie's daughter. They had different face shapes, Tremie's round and Lefeli's petite, Lefeli with wide eyes and pale brown hair, Tremie's powdered features soft but joyfully crisp, a single beauty mark under her left eye.

Lefeli took my hand and dragged me inside the shop and through to the upstairs apartment, where a small table sat in the middle of the floor. A decorative tablecloth covered the wood and supported a delicate but incredibly elegant tea set. Small problem, though. I did not like tea.

Just as Lefeli sat me down in one of the three chairs and took hold of the ceramic teapot, there was a loud knock on the door to the shop downstairs. Tremie jumped up with an "I'll get it!" and hiked her skirts as she rushed down the stairs. Lefeli and I paused to listen to the bell on the door as it opened, then a very quiet interaction ensued. I had no way of knowing what was going on. A second later, Tremie audibly squealed. "Veia, dear, someone's here to see you!"

My stomach dropped. Who would want to see me? Was it because of the book? It couldn't be. No one could have traced that back to me in that crowd. Judging by Tremie's squeal, though, it could be a boy, but there's no reason why anyone would know I'm here, male or female.

My chest tightened as I pushed through the curtains to the main shop and wound through the dresses to the doorway as Tremie brushed past me with an indiscreet giggle.

There in the entrance stood a figure clad in worn, dusty clothes with a light gray scarf covering his face and a hood over his head. He stood rigidly and nodded toward me.

I had seen that nod before from this man, if I remembered correctly, this morning when he was on his horse after pulling me from the mud. This man was the one who had closed the town gate. This man had saved me. But why was he here now? How did he even know who I was? I took a wary step backward and folded my hands in front of me.

"Hello, Miss," he said, his voice low but surprisingly youthful, and underlying sound I didn't recognize under his breath. "I have a few questions I think you could answer."

There was a chill down my pale green corset like fate's bite at my spine as I faced the man in front of me. I couldn't see his face through the scarf and hood, so I had no way of telling what he was going to do. He'd said he had questions. What was he going to ask? I didn't know anything about him other than the fact that he looked like a ruffian, so it would be plain dumb to go outside with him to talk in private, but if we stayed in here, Tremie and Lefeli would undoubtedly be listening to every word. Even I know that safety comes before comfort, though.

"Please hang your garments and come inside," I said, motioning to a bench away from the dress racks and attempting a smile. "Ask away."

He unwrapped his scarf, revealing disheveled black hair, and when he turned around I got a good look at his face and my shoulders tensed. He was devilishly good-looking, and probably not much older than me. His pale skin made the color of his hair richer, his face sharp with a set jaw but also with a gentle upturn of his lips that made me want to stare. There was no girl I could think of that wouldn't be fawning over him, but I forced a straight face and kept my posture rigid. No weakness.

He sat on one side of the bench and I sat on the end opposite him. He looked me straight in the eye as he spoke. "Where did you get magnesium?"

I snapped out of my stupor. "What magnesium?"

"What other substance makes a flame that bright? The thing you threw on the road was a piece of magnesium, wasn't it?"

My eyes narrowed. "Yes, it was." He didn't need to know I'd gone to a magician out of town to have it enchanted in secret. A flame bright enough to blind, and incredibly sensitive to water. He would never find a more dangerous piece of magnesium no matter how hard he searched.

A moment of silence revealed a series of soft giggles from upstairs and I shifted uncomfortably. If the boy noticed the sound, he didn't show it.

"Just who are you?" He said after a beat.

"None of your business."

"Why not?"

I scowled. "Why not? And who are you to be asking me that?"

He let out a breath and sat straighter. There was another short pause before his face lit up. "Do you happen to know chemistry?"

"Why should I tell you?"

"Just answer, please."

I pursed my lips and folded my arms over my chest. On one hand, I didn't know this boy and he seemed awfully sketchy. On the other hand, though, I didn't see any reason not to answer since his question wasn't really intrusive or personal. "Yes," I decided. It couldn't hurt. "My father was a chemist."

"I see. Is there any way I can meet your father?"

"Why?"

His eyebrows knit in what looked like irritation. "Why do you keep asking that? I'm wanting to learn about chemistry."

"Well that's too bad," I said. "He died eight years ago."

His face blanched and a heavy feeling settled in my stomach. This boy confused me. I had lived in this town my whole life to know that not very many people confused me. I covered the unfamiliar feeling with sturdy resentment, putting a firm hand on my stomach and bringing my chin up.

Finally, he spoke. "Let's make a deal. I want to know about chemistry, and you know chemistry. Is there anything I could trade for your time?"

"I need nothing you could offer me."

I stood and brushed off my skirt. I gave him a cold look as he got to his feet as well, then I strode over and unhooked his scarf and cloak from the stand, shoving them into his chest with just enough force to get the point across. He took them from me carefully.

"It's, um, been a pleasure meeting you, Miss..."

"Veia."

"Veia," he repeated with a smile not unfit for a painting. "I'm Atlas Jeims."

"I'll consider your offer, Atlas Jeims." What a lie.

Still, the thought made his smile brighten even further as he dipped into a short bow and slipped out of the shop. My questions came flooding back to me just as the door clicked shut and the unfamiliar heaviness returned, creeping up through my shoulders and to my head. I sprung forward and crashed through the door into the dark street. Atlas swiveled around, startled.

The question burst out before I could stop it. "But how did you find me if you didn't even know my name?"

He relaxed, his gaze settling in a way I was positive was hiding something. "A peculiar girl told me."

Then he turned his back and kept walking, and I could only stand there and watch him leave.

The door to the shop closed behind me as I went to grab my bag. Lefeli and Tremie just stared, dead silent, and only offered a small wave as I left the shop again. I could hear an intense fit of whispers break out as I walked out into the street.

The night was a quiet one. The darkness loomed in the shadows, creeping up through the tree branches and pooling in the underbrush. It began to pour as I came upon my house, and the rain slammed down on the roof above me in unforgiving torrents. Each drop seemed to sing a thunderous song of warning, conveying in silent voices a tragedy I couldn't hear.

I was exhausted beyond the point of fainting by the time I collapsed in my bed that night, but no matter how hard I tried, sleep was not a ghost that graced me in the dark hours that followed.

Dreary mornings were the worst. Since I wasn't accustomed to wearing makeup, I had forgotten to wash my face the night before and I arose with ashy smudges painting my pillowcase.

The thunder grumbled threateningly outside as I tied up my leather boots and hiked up my skirts, stuffing the multiple layers of thick fabric into a belt at my hip. I propped open my umbrella and started out into the continuing rain.

The town peeked over the horizon in the same place it had been the day before, but today the shutters were closed and the morning chatter gone, replaced by the splash of water on the muddy streets and umbrellas fanned over hurried runs from one building to another.

I entered Tremie's dress shop to glamorous skirts all aglow despite the dismal gray that fogged the windows. Several customers lolled about the shop like placid birds and Lefeli stood behind the counter laughing with a girl half her age, both of them poking at a small doll between them. She looked older when placed next to a child.

I hung my umbrella on the rack next to several other more decorative ones, then puffed out a breath and strode directly to the back of the shop to locate Tremie. Lefeli noticed me before I got far, though, and excused herself from her conversation. She was next to me in seconds, giggling frivolously.

"Veia, wait here a second. I'll be right back!" She twirled around and raced into the purple curtains covering the entrance to the upstairs, popping back out almost immediately after with a book clutched to her chest.

I stiffened.

"Someone came into the shop this morning and said this was for you," she twittered and curled her mousy brown ponytail around her finger. "Wasn't that sweet of them?"

She held it out and I sickened. Surely enough, my efforts yesterday had been for naught. The etching on the otherwise unharmed cover taunted me still.

I lifted the cursed book from her hands and laughed dryly. "You're absolutely right, Lefeli. I'm touched."

Just as I turned past her, the door opened and another customer came in. Lefeli squealed and ran to welcome them, and I brushed through the purple curtains where I would be alone.

It was darker back here without the light from the windows and no decorative lamps. The walls were as small as in my cottage and led straight up the stairway to the apartment above, but the floorboards were still polished and sanded, the stairs a deep pine. It was a cramped space, though, I had to admit.

I released a breath and stared at the leather of the book, then opened the cover to look at the pages. Nothing had changed. My full name on the first page, written in scripty lettering. The second page and every page after was as white and as blank as a slate.

Just as I finished the thought, a dot appeared on the middle of the page, then I watched the spot grow into a letter and a word and a sentence like an invisible pen was dancing over the paper.

I dropped the book abruptly and tripped over my foot, falling backward and hitting the ground with a yelp. Just like that, the book slammed shut on the contents, closing off my view of the words.

Lefeli peeked through the curtains and made a little "Oh!" before rushing up and asking if I was okay, prodding a grip down my arms for bruises or cuts.

"I'm fine." I batted her hands away and stood up, but Lefeli was next to the book before I even saw her move.

"Did this cause you to fall?" Her wide eyes looked up at me.

My eyebrows scrunched. "Why would—?"

"What's going on here?" Tremie's voice made me jump again. "Veia, dear, are you alright?"

I patted the dust from my dress and nodded, then snatched the book from the ground and shoved it in my knapsack. "I'm here for work."

Her face lit up. "There's a sack of fabric in the corner of the shop, if you could go get it, and we can start teaching you the newest designs."

"Yes, Ma'am."

I pushed through the purple curtains and immediately ran into someone, smacking my head against them and stumbling backward. A firm hand wrapped under my back before I could fall, though, and I focused enough to see the gray scarf from last night, then I looked up into stunning blue eyes and heat flushed up my neck. I had run headlong into Atlas, and he had caught me. How mortifying.

I righted myself and bobbed my head quickly in thanks, then rushed past him and snatched up the cloth sack from the corner. I stood for a long moment with the sack in my hands, then my shoulders slumped. On the way back to Tremie, I would have to pass right by him again. I knew he wanted to talk. Why else would he be here? He didn't look like he wanted to purchase a dress for someone. I groaned inwardly.

I had no wanting to talk to him. Or even be near him. Ever.

I crossed the room and passed the sack of fabric to Tremie. Her face told me she knew Atlas was here and she swatted me away with a suggestive smile. Lefeli had returned to the counter, but stared at me inconspicuously and wiggled her eyebrows with an expression similar to Tremie's.

I approached Atlas, who folded his hands behind his back in reply. "Hello, sir." My service voice, sweet as honey but false as old ladies' rumors, made me want to barf. "Is there anything I can help you with?"

"Do you practice magic?" He pointed to my bag.

My back went rigid and I chuckled coldly. "Why would you say that, sir?"

"Oh," he cleared his throat. "I suppose you didn't just mess up your magic book, then. The one in your bag."

A customer standing nearby cast me a lingering glance and my smile faltered. This guy. This stupid boy. I couldn't stand him. "Would you follow me outside for a moment?"

"Absolutely."

We grabbed our umbrellas, mine navy blue with silver lining, his a dismal black, and popped them open as we left the safety of the shop and went out into the street. We huddled near the wall.

"How did you know it was magic?" I raised my voice over the rain and shot him a look clearly portraying my frustration on the matter.

He shrugged casually. "That book just looks like magic. As we speak, actually, it's letting off some sparks."

I looked down at my knapsack, where the corner of the book was peeking out and sparking when rain hit it. I then looked back at Atlas, but no words came. I fumed.

"Are you struggling with it?" He offered a curious look.

"Am I—" I stopped and clamped my mouth shut. "You want to know about the book? Fine. I'll tell you." I explained how it had shown up on my dresser, then the events of the past few days with Emrita and how I had attempted to rid myself of the curse since then, and Atlas just stood and nodded occasionally, his face frozen in a look of thoughtfulness. I was breathless by the time I'd finished, my grip on my umbrella causing my nails to dig into my palm.

"You know," he said after a moment, putting his hand to his chin, "it sounds like a pretty complicated curse. I would bet a pretty bit you have a fine witch in town who's taken an interest in you."

"No," I gasped dramatically. "I thought it was a little elf trying to help me set my house on fire!"

He raised his palm in surrender, his eyebrows raising at what I assumed was an unexpected move from me. "Well I just happen to know a town of magic practitioners. It's sort of infamous, but I know a few people who might be able to help."

The rain pattered in the silence. "Do you mean Azareba?"

"Ah, you know of it!"

I stared at his smile. "I don't like the way you do things, Jeims."

He mocked surprise and took a step closer, a strand of his dark hair falling into his face as he grinned. "So, your shot at chemistry for a trip to Azareba?"

"Dirty conman," I muttered, but he had already turned away and was holding the door open for me. The smug look on his face prompted my hands into fists as I shoved past him, my umbrella hitting hard into the stand as I tromped to the back of the shop.

To Azareba it was, then.

The look on Tremie's face when I'd told her about my trip to Azareba led me to believe she thought this was a honeymoon. She'd hesitated at the thought of giving me vacation only a day after hiring me, but agreed to make it a business trip by bringing Lefeli along to buy materials from out of town.

When the rain lightened that afternoon, I found myself with a large satchel strung from my shoulder and the hood of my traveling cloak pulled over my unruly hair. Lefeli joined me in front of the shop with a small bag of her own, and together we started for the forest skirting the flower field from the day before. More than once during our walk, one of us had to pull the other's boot from the deep, thick mud on the road.

Finally, we came upon the edge of the forest where a cart waited. When we approached, I recognized Atlas as he jogged up to us.

"So glad you came!" His formality disgusted me. "Let me introduce you to my traveling partners."

A head of pin-straight black hair popped up from behind the cart and made me jump. A girl maybe a bit older than me walked around the obstacle between us and gave me a scrutinizing eye, then gave Atlas a look that portrayed a message I couldn't understand. Atlas met the girl's gaze and raised his eyebrows, shrugging, then motioned to Lefeli and said, "This is Lefeli, who works at that dress shop you were eyeing yesterday, and"—his hand moved over to me—"this is Veia. She knows chemistry."

The girls dark eyes narrowed at each of us, then she cast Atlas a suspicious look and finally thrust her hand out toward me, leaning on one hip with her eyes still narrowed. "I'm Evyne Jeims, unfortunately related to a certain no good blight patch named Atlas. I run this sideshow circus we've got here, so don't get any ideas about you knowing the better way."

Aside from her slightly awkward accent, her voice was callous in a feminine way and her hand felt much the same when I took it. She knew the road, it looked like, but she was also nearly a head shorter than I was with perfect skin and a perfect eye for clothing colors, though she fashioned a pair of dark green traveler's pants and seemed to like clothing with a fair amount of mud on it.

She shook hands with Lefeli, who sprung off into a long explanation of how she came here but got cut short by the kick and snort of the horse by the cart.

"This"—Atlas pressed forward and brushed the horse's neck—"is the fair Lady Alberta, but we just call her Birdy. She likes it better that way, too."

Evyne came up beside the animal and grinned, leaning against it and scruffing its hair, then she looked back at us with darkened eyes, the smile still on her face suddenly a deadly dare. "No funny business on or anywhere near my cart, you hear? Just try it and see what happens."

We understood perfectly what she meant—she was comfortable with getting down with us—but Atlas shook off the tense silence with a chuckle and motioned for us to climb into the cart.

The bench creaked beneath us, the sturdy wood worn where the seats were, and I peered into the back. A large beige tarp was roped down over its contents, which I had only to assume were none of my business, and I smacked my lips, sitting down and putting my bag on my lap.

It was a tight squeeze with Lefeli, Atlas, and Evyne after me on a single bench, but no one offered to sit in the back, so with that, Evyne yipped to Birdy and we were off into the woods with a splash on the muddy road.

I figured out about fifteen minutes into the trip that I didn't like bumping hips with Lefeli on every hitch in the road, and it wasn't very long after that that it became apparent Atlas felt the same. Evyne showed no crack in her shell, though. She shot us beady eyes every time we made a move to shift positions.

"So," Lefeli finally said with a pained smile after a particularly large jostle, "you wanted to take this trip because of that book, right? Tremie told me you needed help with it."

I was tired of hiding the stupid book. I leaned back and sighed. "Yeah, that's about right."

I could feel Evyne's eyes on us.

"Can I see it?" Lefeli asked.

I pulled my bag open and handed it to her. She took it comfortably, then ran her finger across the scar on the cover. "This word means 'cursed.'"

I shouldn't have been surprised that she would know something like that. She was weird, as she'd continuously proven to me, and yet I still sat up straighter, sucking in a slow breath.

She opened the book to the first page, then the second, and her eyes squinted, one brow arching up. "Hey, do you know what this sentence means?" She tugged on my sleeve and I shook my head, an uncomfortable feeling settling in my gut. "It's Latin—like most magic things, I suppose. It means 'She who stands still yet shall move.'"

The conversation extinguished like a candle devoid of air, the whisper of the wind the only noise for miles, and Lefeli cleared her throat, confused. It dragged on, the crackle of the gravel below us and Birdy's clip-clop suddenly earsplitting, until Evyne moved forward in her seat a little bit.

"What does it mean?" She said quietly.

Lefeli hesitated for a moment, pursing her lips almost seriously, then a grin broke out across her face and she shrugged, giggling again. "How should I know? I can read Latin from my mother, but that's about it."

We all collectively sighed, and the ride continued on painful bump after the next. What was I expecting her to say? Something mystical that would just solve everything nice and clean? Everyone else seemed to think so.

I glanced over at Evyne, her black hair bouncing more and more around her face with every rock we hit on the road. Every minute or so, she would brush it out of her eyes and keep staring forward. How much had Atlas told her about the situation? With all the off glances when she'd greeted us, I had a feeling she and Atlas had a secret language of facial expressions. Did she know about the curse?

My stomach tightened and I gazed at the book in Lefeli's lap. She just smiled at it, thoroughly entertained, and flipped through the pages with her fingers.

Then the book shuddered and convulsed, and Lefeli slammed it shut, her eyes going wide. She shot glances to either side, giving us bewildered looks, but my eyes trained on the book still in her hands. That had to have been from a bump of the cart. The book had never visibly shaken... or maybe I just hadn't noticed it before.

"Oy, this is Fairlay's trade post up here a ways," said Evyne, pointing up the road and interrupting my thoughts. "We're gonna stop there for tonight and continue traveling tomorrow since there aren't any places between there and Azareba and I don't fancy sleeping on forest floors when I can help it."

"Sounds good." Atlas continued fiddling with something wooden on his lap and sighed, staring up the road blandly.

Lefeli handed me the book and scooted up in the seat to peer with childish anticipation at the horizon in hope of seeing the town of Fairlay.

Unlike Lefeli, though, the only reason I wanted to get off the cart was to get closer to breaking the curse. My fingers ran across the cover of the book and my stomach dropped further.

The forest thinned quickly and in what seemed like no time at all, the tips of stores and houses peeked over the hill. As we continued toward the entrance gate to the town, something struck me as odd. I didn't know what, though, and dismissed it.

Evyne stopped the cart for the guard near the gate, and I took the time to survey the town. The buildings were pale and green and blue and red, the paint peeling off in places, and the storefronts advertised their goods in fairly average ways. The houses and apartments in the area looked normal enough, the road was the same cobblestone as in my hometown of Esterwilde, and yet something was off. I rubbed my hands on my skirt. What was it?...

We scooted over as Evyne hopped back on the bench again and we began down the street. We rode for another few minutes to a stone plaza and my eyes caught on the colors of the sunset, showering the square in an orange haze and leaving deep shadows between the buildings.

The inn we were staying at was like any other. Its walls looked thin, but the lights from the windows were a welcome sign of warmth from inside. I curled my toes as the cart stopped and Evyne untied Birdy, then I glanced again at the streets as a breeze chilly with the evening brushed past my arms. I shuddered and tightened my cloak around myself, then my breath hitched in my throat as I realized what was wrong with this place.

After the rain had dried earlier today, it had warmed up and stayed that way, the sun peeking out regularly from its hiding place behind the clouds, the wind a welcome reminder of spring. In Esterwilde, the children always bounded through the streets in nice weather. The people chatted, traveled, shopped, worked. The town square was full of life, the shops were juggling customers between them, the workers heading to and from their jobs, smiling, laughing, arguing, playing, the smell of bread from the bakery wafting through the streets, the metal from the blacksmith's and the perfume in the old lady's knitting shop always choking the passers by.

But past the guard at the gate, I hadn't seen a single soul break the unsettling stillness of this town.

Evyne and Atlas parked the cart near the back of the inn, then we started back toward the entrance.

"Why are there no people here?" I asked, unable to contain my worry. "Back in Esterwilde, there was always someone."

Evyne's expression was unrecognizable, but Atlas gave a fake smile and said, "Esterwilde is a little busier than most towns. I'm sure it's nothing."

He opened the inn's wooden door to let us through and the faint scent of beer and smoke wafted from inside. I furrowed my brows and glanced around the interior as I walked in.

The walls were painted with a faded off-white pigment and strong wooden pillars lined and crossed the walls and along the ceiling. Several mugs and brooms hung from hooks near the corner and a stack of large wooden wine barrels sat near those. A staircase on the right side led to a second floor, where it connected to a hallway with several doors and a dim lamp.

A tall, burly man jumped up from behind a counter and I fumbled back a step, my heart skyrocketing. He immediately spotted us and started forward, and Atlas swept up to meet him.

"Hello, strangers." His bushy mustache rustled as he spoke, his eyes crinkling in a welcoming smile. "Do you wish to purchase a room, or perhaps a drink for the lovely ladies?"

Atlas cast us a backward glance, then smiled himself and told the man of our need for a place to stay. He was actually quite charismatic, I realized, as he negotiated half the original price for the room and got away with a practically stolen round of drinks.

Actually, what was the financial situation on our part? After Atlas finished with the innkeeper, I tugged on his sleeve and cleared my throat. "How are we splitting prices? I'm running on twenty sabets"—I jangled the light coin pouch against my hip—"and if given the choice between a bed and a drink, I would take the bed."

"What?" He seemed offended. "Of course I'll pay for the drink!"

My eyes narrowed. "So how much is the room, then?"

"I don't know. I haven't learned any chemistry yet, if you're wondering." He winked.

I huffed, unamused, and took the mug from the innkeeper when he offered it.

We all sat at a table near the staircase and Evyne wasted no time quietly pounding her fist down on the tabletop, muttering swearwords under her breath. "What's with the smell of this place? It's rancid!"

"Evi, it's fine," Atlas waved his hand nonchalantly to calm her, then he lowered his voice further. "Besides, there's no way we're going to get anything cheaper, so unless you want to sleep on the forest floor in the dark with the insects, this'll have to do."

Evyne scowled so deeply a vein protruded from her neck, then she continued hissing swearwords and tapping her fingers on the table incessantly.

After the first mug, Atlas insisted on another round, but I deliberately sipped slowly so he'd skip over me with refills. After finishing her second mug, though, Lefeli began to wobble in her seat, her voice going light and her smile becoming delirious, and I used her inability to hold alcohol as an excuse to stop the conversation there. No more half-headed stories about the mistakes Evyne and Atlas had made when they were younger. Such a shame we didn't get to discussing how big a mistake it was tagging along on this stupid trip.

I had Lefeli's arm wrapped around my shoulder as we made our way to the top floor, which was apparently the only place with any unoccupied rooms. I still hadn't seen anyone other than the innkeeper, but I didn't say anything about it.

Once we reached the right door, Evyne pushed it open and groaned. The only light in the room was the dim gray from the moon filtering through the window, and a single bed crouched against the wall to the left. Altogether the room was fairly minuscule, but I doubted any of us had enough money to get one with more space, so the four of us would just have to share. One bed, one window. There was also a pot in the corner, but I didn't have to see it to know it was there—the smell was enough to confirm it.

"I'll take the floor, then." Atlas cleared his throat and pulled a mat from his bag.

I glanced sideways at Lefeli, who hiccuped and chortled, then I plopped her down on the bed and motioned for Evyne to take the other side of the bed, but she shook her head in mild disgust and fluffed out a mat next to Atlas on the floor.

Well, then.

I let Lefeli settle for a moment, then I climbed in bed beside her, the stiff mattress making a heavy groan when I yanked the thin covers up over my shoulders and let out a breath, the clouds outside the window covering the moon and enveloping the small room in complete darkness.

Then from the darkness, fire erupted everywhere.

I stood at the gates of the orphanage staring at giant ribbons of bright reds and yellows, the heat radiating off the building and warming my shoulders and face.

The mother of the orphanage stood behind me, several children clinging to her dark robes. A grim settlement in her eyes told me something a twelve-year-old girl never should have had to endure. Wet streaks ran down my cheeks and the roar of the fire continued like a deafening storm even as the townspeople threw wave upon wave of water upon it.

There was death in the mother's eyes. There was death in the fire. There was death in my home.

Did I even have a home anymore?

A wandering ghost of a girl... a lost soul sending lonely cries through the darkness that surrounded her—the darkness that caged her.

I gasped awake, my hands clutching my pillow, my nails digging into my palms. My chest heaved as I collected my surroundings. No fire... no fire...

The blankets from the bed were thrown in a furious heap on the floorboards and only then did I realize Lefeli was staring at me, her eyes wide and watery.

"You kicked me," she stated.

"I... sorry," I muttered, raking a hand through my hair and throwing my feet off the bed to retrieve the blankets, but my knees began to wobble and I lost my balance, hitting the floor with a loud thunk. Someone on the mats rustled. Lefeli asked if I was okay and I nodded, picking up the blankets and placing them back on the bed.

Then a pained wail sounded through the floorboards from downstairs and my back went stiff.

It could've been anything. Someone could've just fallen off their bed or gotten a bad bruise on the corner of a table, but that uneasy feeling was back in the corner of my mind and I knew I wouldn't be getting back to sleep tonight. I snuck around the edge of the bed and snatched my knapsack from the floor, then emptied its contents onto my lap, vaguely aware of Lefeli's curious gaze over my shoulder. The book fell out and hit the floor with a thump.

I opened it to the newest sentence from this morning and studied the foreign symbols in the dark. I looked up at a Lefeli. "What did this say again?"

"She who stands still yet shall move." Her mouth puckered.

Evyne let out a loud snore and I sighed again. "She who stands still..."

Then the book began to shake under my hands and it let off a dim light, but I kept my mind straight this time and kept a firm hold on it. The page flipped on its own to a new set of empty papers, and a dot appeared on the page just like it had this morning. It glided along the page in a straight line with an almost nonexistent scratching noise and Lefeli gasped, ruffling the blankets under her, but I didn't turn to see her face.

The ink settled with a whole line of Latin words and started on a second and my eyes glued to the mechanics of the process. There was no possible explanation other than magic. No source of ink was within sight, let alone anywhere close to the book, and the scratching sound echoing softly throughout the room had no source. No source, no cause, just magic. I was in awe.

Suddenly, the ink stopped and the room went dead silent. Lefeli shuffled quietly from behind me and I gave her a questioning look. She motioned to the open book, reading aloud. "By morn the poison sets like iron. The sunset ceases travel goers."

So those were the two sentences.

"What did it say again?" Atlas sat up wearily and rubbed his eyes.

I guess I shouldn't have been surprised they woke up. Evyne grumbled and kicked up to a sitting position, then gave the whole room a dead glare and looked as if she'd be sick.

Lefeli repeated the readings on the page, then we all paused when another cry similar to the one I'd heard only minutes before carried through from below us.

We were all silent for a moment, then several loud hits and thumps from downstairs shot us to our feet, but just as we did, Evyne doubled over and Atlas staggered, his hand flying up to head as if he were dizzy. Lefeli and I rushed over to catch them, but Evyne retched on the floor and crumpled further with a groan and we jumped back.

"Bloody death." She uttered several more profanities with a hoarse voice. "I never get hangovers."

Atlas stared at the floorboards unsteadily, but took a moment to clear his breath and seemed to shake some of it off. His step was hesitant, though, and surprisingly wobbly.

Lefeli agreed to stay and watch over Evyne, who merely responded with more swearing followed by a groan, and Atlas and I would go see what was going on.

By the time we reached the hallway, the heavy hitting sounds from downstairs had grown louder and several voices were shouting about something.

We raced down the steps, Atlas trailing behind slightly, his breaths exhausted but managing, and the short staircase let out to the main floor. The fireplace was roaring and the lamps were turned to light the whole room, and multiple people rushed around, seemingly panicked.

I spotted the innkeeper digging through shelves behind the bar and I pulled Atlas through the room to him.

"What's going on?" I said, slamming my hands down on the counter. "Mister Innkeeper?"

He swiveled around and fumbled with his step. His hands were shaking. "Find a doctor... find a doctor..."

"Sir, answer me!" My voice cracked.

His eyes locked on mine with a cold desperation, his jaw quivering, his knuckles white on the counter. "Everyone's been poisoned."

I couldn't breath. "Poison?"

The innkeeper nodded, disbelieving of his own words, then returned to digging through shelves, shoving bottles and vases and glasses to the floor. They shattered loudly. Was he looking for medicine?

"What kind of poison?" Atlas asked, his face drained of color.

"I don't know," the innkeeper shouted.

"Come on," I pulled Atlas by the arm, my mind racing and my limbs struggling to keep up. I fumbled up to the open door of a room similar to ours and saw a figure hunched over a pot, moaning and hugging themself. Next to them were two others curled up on the ground doing much the same thing. The smell was horrible.

A little boy pushed past us into the room and dropped to a crouch next to one of the victims. I approached him, but he hardly paid me any heed.

"Do you know what the symptoms are?" I asked him softly, my heart thumping against my ribcage. It was worth a shot.

The boy glanced up at me with scared eyes and shook his head. He couldn't have been any older than thirteen.

"Will you let me see them?"

He sniffed, then nodded and scooted a few feet backward to let me through to the woman he was cradling. I stifled a sob and glanced back at Atlas, then I crouched next to the poor woman and whispered that it would be alright, even though I was quite sure of the opposite.

Her skin was red and swollen, her eyes sunken and her hands shaking so hard the rest of her body convulsed. She had dried vomit clinging to her tunic and in her hair, which hung in messy locks around her face.

She didn't even look up at me. I didn't think she was physically capable of it. Her breaths became labored suddenly and the boy thrust forward a bowl as she emptied the contents of her stomach. Atlas groaned from the doorway and I held my breath, pulling the lady's hair away from her face. This was horrible. Was it intentional? How could it be? I didn't think anyone was sadistic enough to cause this much pain to so many people.

So did the poison have a natural cause?

Eventually, I was forced to let my breath go, and instantly a wave of nausea hit me from the putrid smell. I wobbled a little bit in my place next to the woman, then something clicked in my subconscious and I lost my balance, stumbling backward onto the bottom of my nightgown and shaking my head profusely, my hands falling away from the woman.

It couldn't be...

I shot to my feet and ran from the room, brushing past Atlas and racing up the staircase to our room. My bare feet barely touched the steps beneath them before they were onto the next. I hardly noticed when I slammed my shoulder into a corner and pushed off the wall to the door. I couldn't move fast enough.

Lefeli yelped in surprise when I burst in panting, but she quickly recovered and offered help, though with what I didn't know. Evyne had been moved to the bed, where she lay with her hand on her forehead.

"Arsenic," I spat. "Everyone's been poisoned by arsenic and we have to find the source before the situation worsens."

Atlas crashed up against the doorframe, his eyes frantic and his breathing even more so. "Bloody death, Veia, don't run so fast!"

"Don't talk like Evyne," I retorted, spinning past him again. "We have to find out how these people got arsenic poisoning."

"What?" He followed behind me, his voice breathy between gasps.

"Arsenic smells like garlic, and I was up and close enough to know how much that woman smelled of garlic." I crinkled my nose as I crossed the last steps. "I hate your questions. Stop asking them."

He dropped silent as we turned into the main floor and this time, it took me longer to locate the innkeeper. Now he stood near the wall and tugged on his shirt, shuffling from foot to foot and adjusting his collar.

"Mister Innkeeper, where do you get your water?"

The wrinkles on his forehead ran down to his eyes, which showed only horror and fear. He had gone through so much in just one night. Still, he answered, his voice audibly shaking. "From the river near the forest. The whole town uses it..."

Holy fire...

"Thank you, sir." I turned to Atlas and grabbed his shoulders. "If my guess is correct and the arsenic is from the water, there's a good chance every person, animal, and beast in Fairlay is poisoned."

"Then..." he paused, his mouth tight, "what about you and Lefeli? The innkeeper? Everyone who isn't sick?"

I let him go and my arms dropped to my sides. "Could it be an immunity...? Did Evyne drink something last night that the rest of us didn't?"

He paused to think, taking a step back and furrowing his eyebrows. "Evyne and I water down our wine."

"Then that proves it." I addressed the innkeeper again and told him to cut off all water, then we returned to the room where Lefeli remained, nursing an unconscious Evyne.

I lifted a green bottle to Lefeli and ordered her to impose it upon Evyne. By this time, she had awoken.

"Do you want me drunk again?" She cursed at me, staring halfwittedly at the bottle. "Generally speaking, wine isn't great for an upset stomach."

"You, lovely Evyne, are not drunk, you are poisoned. You cannot drink water, so drink the stupid wine." I shoved it into her chest and swiveled to face Atlas with much the same expression. "And was I not supposed to notice how slow you were earlier? I don't run fast, Atlas, and you said you watered down both your wines." Another bottle thrust out to his chest, causing him to trip on his step. "Drink up, little ladies, we've got quite a ride ahead of us."

I stayed awake the rest of the night alone, helping the innkeeper tend to the victims and talking to various healers and pained family members. Apparently, the hotel had gotten the water from a peculiar spot in the river that was to be investigated in the morning, and we would be safe to go after only a few days of healing, but we couldn't afford to wait that long. There were a few conversations that stuck with me into the early morning hours, though, and would likely stick with me for much longer than the sunrise.

Five people had died in one night.

Five people. Five human beings, and not even all of the poison had taken effect. It was quite possible that people would continue to grow weaker and weaker over the next two days. Every time they crossed my mind, my gut twisted and it felt as if I had been the one to water down my drink.

I returned to the room by dawn, just before everyone woke, and watched the colors flood into the sky like watery pigments distorting the blackness of an inkwell. The colors blended and brightened and strengthened until the sky took on a stunning pink hue, but I could not appreciate the sunrise no matter how hard I tried.

Atlas and Lefeli had long since gotten ready and packed up the wagon by the time Evyne stirred, and we helped her into the back of the cart where she could rest again—after Lefeli forced her to drink more, of course.

Once we got out of town, things settled down a bit and I found a chance to study the book again. Lefeli stayed in the back with Evyne and Atlas sat at the far end of the bench holding the reins, so I had significantly more room than the ride yesterday.

With the book splayed on my lap, I stared at the Latin phrases, the backward lettering and the odd feeling in the back of my head when I remembered Lefeli's translations, the mesmerizing loop of the ink on the ivory paper. Everything written so far had made no sense and I just couldn't wrap my head around it all. There were too many options...

We hit a bump in the trail and a bottle slipped out of my bag and rolled, falling to the wood near my feet with a loud clink. I stared at it for a moment, brows furrowed.

Oh.

I realized something as I outstretched my hand slowly, picking up the bottle and holding it up to the sunlight so it cast beams of light across its surroundings.

That's very, very bad.

"Hey, Atlas," I said, replacing the bottle and running a hand through my hair. "We might need to get to Azareba a little sooner than anticipated."

He cast me a sideways glance. "Really? Why's that?"

"Well, at this point I'm pretty sure of it." I rubbed my eyes with the heels of my hands. "The arsenic poisoning was predicted in the cursed book by the first line written last night, and the next line in Lefeli's translation says, 'The sunset ceases travel goers.'"

By this point I had his complete attention, his mouth open and his eyes narrowed. "So in other words," he said slowly, "we're the travelers and something really bad is gonna happen at sunset?"

"Yeah." I stared at the words again, but something else was pulling at me. If the poisoning of a whole inn and the deaths of at least five—five people—were because of the book I currently held in my hands, I had a horrible feeling I could only fathom what else it was capable of. To what end would the curse go to satisfy its lust for misery? The most pressing question played at the edge of my mind as I watched the sun inch across the sky.

What would it do next?