Cursed Angel

Neve

The ether wrenched my body in a thousand directions and ejected me onto the littered street.

My street. Faebrook Avenue in Old Mud City.

My heart sank as I took in the wreckage caused by the efreet—and me—two days ago. The worst of the mess had been cleared away, but workmen were still sweeping up glass and mortar from the street and sidewalks.

Walking past a broken fire hydrant, I recalled the disaster that had unfolded—the firestorm unleashed by the efreet, Amira’s portal, Damian. And the hurricane that I had become.

I shuddered.

In that moment, I had focused only on destroying the efreet. In my rage, I’d lost sight of everything else. I’d devastated my neighborhood trying to save it.

I closed my eyes, pushing the memory from my mind.

Amira had magically healed my wounds in the Realm of Water, but my body suddenly felt ragged.

Amira and her father had left me with a thousand and one warnings that still rang in my head. Don’t get involved with a FireSoul—they’re monsters that kill to steal magic. Find a way to control your powers. And whatever you do, don’t grant any wishes.

She had begged me to stay. Even though Amira and her father were marids—water genies—she said they could help me master my magic and even learn to grant wishes safely.

But I had to return home. I had to make sure Rhiannon was okay, that my city was okay.

Stepping over the trunk of an uprooted tree, I looked up at the blackened brickwork skeleton of my apartment. All of my belongings were destroyed. My memories, my clothes. My books.

I stepped into the wreckage and winced at the crunch of glass and charred keepsakes beneath my feet.

Pushing aside a broken wardrobe, I searched for anything that might have survived the inferno, but everything was charred and damp. A picture frame peeked out beneath a pile of bricks, and I reached down, recognizing it immediately. The glass was shattered, and the photograph blackened, but two smiling faces stared back at me—Rhiannon and me in the Hideout, our go-to bar owned by our friend Diana.

Rhiannon.

I hadn’t spoken to her since I’d left for Cairo six days ago. She must be worried sick, but I’d lost my phone in the desert, and there wasn’t reception in the Realm of Water. Panic flared in my chest. We’d defeated the efreet, but the djinn was still out there. It had kidnapped her once, and she could be a target. I needed to find a phone to call her.

“Hey, girl. You okay?” The voice startled me.

I stood and turned, meeting the gaze of a woman in her twenties. Blonde hair, tank top and jeans, smoking a cigarette. Fae, judging by her pointy ears and signature.

She flicked the ash off the end of her cigarette and nodded to my ruined home. “You lived here, huh? What a mess. Can I help?”

“Do you have a cell phone? I need to make a call.”

“Sure.” She reached into her pocket and handed me her cell.

“Thanks.” I unlocked the screen with a quick swipe, then dialed Rhiannon. Her number was one of two I knew by heart. The other was the Hideout.

“Hello?” Rhiannon answered after two rings.

I let out a heavy sigh. “Rhia. Thank fates you’re okay.”

“Neve! Where have you been? Oh, my gods, I’ve been so worried. Where are you? I’m coming.” Her voice was frantic.

“Sorry. I’ll explain everything. I’m at my apartment—well, what used to be my apartment.”

Rhiannon paused on the line. “I know. I went by yesterday. I’m so sorry. It’s going to be okay…you’ll stay with me.”

“Thanks.” I breathed deeply, forcing down the rising sorrow in my throat. The important thing was that Rhiannon was safe. My belongings could be replaced. “Where can we meet?”

“Come to the Hall of Inquiry.”

“Not there. We need to talk privately.”

I had no idea where I stood with the Order. I had gotten a temporary suspension—as well as a promotion—when I cut work to rescue Rhiannon. If they found out that I was even partially responsible for destroying Faebrook Avenue with my uncontrolled magic, there would be hell to pay.

I could lose my job or get locked up. And there would be a lot of questions—ones I wasn’t ready to answer.

“How about our spot near Sammy’s? I can be there in fifteen.” Rhiannon meant Sammy’s Italian Gelato and Chicago Dogs at Exposition Park, where we often met during our lunch breaks.

“See you there.” I ended the call and handed the phone back to the woman. “Thanks again. Do you live here, too?”

“The orange two-story down the block.” She stubbed her cigarette out on a brick and stuffed it in her pocket. “Mine’s not so bad, but that don’t matter.”

“What do you mean?”

“Some rich donor—anonymous and all—is rebuilding the whole street.” She shrugged. “If you ask me, I think it’s the Order. They unleashed that fire storm by accident. Now they’re trying to cover it up.”

“Hmm. You’re probably right.” Of course she wasn’t, but conspiracy theories were better than the truth—that I’d unleashed a freaking efreet on Magic Side. Not to mention the maelstrom I’d become.

“Just be sure to check in with the MDMA.”

She meant the unfortunately named Magical Disaster Management Agency, founded in the 1940s—not the drug.

“There’s a stipend to cover your living expenses while all this is rebuilt,” the woman continued, gesturing to the dilapidated buildings. “Also from the anonymous donor.”

I had my own suspicions as to who that was.

Damian Malek.

Just the thought of him was like a blow to the gut.

FireSoul. Betrayer.

This had to be him, and I didn’t know what to think.

Nothing was ever direct with Damian. There was always a hidden motive, a second side to the coin.

So he was paying to rebuild the neighborhood using wealth he had stolen, blood money from the Chicago Underworld. Was this some form of atonement? A sign of compassion? Or just another move on a chessboard, furthering his own agenda?

While it brought me comfort that he was taking care of my neighbors, I’d rather sleep on the street than take a penny of his dirty money.

Of course, it had to be an anonymous donation. He was a compulsive liar and two-faced to his core. Even the good he did was masked in deceit.

How had I ever trusted him?

Amira’s warnings burned in my mind: Never trust a FireSoul.

I’d never met one before Damian, but I’d heard stories working in the Order. FireSouls were mad with a lust for treasure and power. They would murder you to steal your magic.

Was Damian pretending to care for me just to kill me and take my power? And even if he did care, could he control himself, or would he drain me dry like a blood-crazed vampire?

I had seen it in my dreams, twice: Damian had killed me without remorse and stolen my power. My stomach turned as I remembered how it felt to have my magic torn away.

Dreams, or were they premonitions, warnings from the fates themselves?

I needed to stay away from that man and his lies, no matter how pure his intentions seemed.

I walked three blocks and caught a trolley to the Circuit. The seats were largely occupied, and I didn’t want to sit next to the vampire in row three who was eying me suspiciously, so I stood next to a woman with pink hair. My temper was still hot, but the thought of seeing Rhia cooled me down.

After ten minutes, I hopped off at 56th Street. Skirting the Hall of Inquiry, I picked up the pace when I recognized two detectives leaving the building. I didn’t know them personally, but they used to bully me when I was a researcher in the Order’s Archives, and I was probably on their wanted list after what had unfolded at my apartment.

If they knew.

Best to avoid them.

I’d have to check in with the Order soon. Explain things to my boss, Gretchen. But I wanted to speak with Rhiannon first. I needed to get the lay of the land, and I had a lot to get off my chest—things I couldn’t tell the Order.

My hand went for my missing cell phone for the umpteenth time. I felt naked without it and my khanjar.

Judging from the position of the sun, it must have been close to ten a.m. as I slipped into Exposition Park, the living remnant of Chicago’s 1893 World’s Fair. Though parts of it had changed, much of it was the same, with several grand pavilions, a museum by the lake, amusement park rides, and idle pushcart vendors everywhere.

The park wasn’t busy at this hour, and I spotted Rhiannon in front of Sammy’s famous food truck. She was decked out in an embroidered cotton jacket, black jeans, and some mean cowboy boots. As if sensing me, she turned. “There you are!”

We hugged, and I had to pry her arms from me.

“You have to tell me everything. But first”—she turned and grabbed two Chicago dogs and a giant cup of lemon gelato from the takeout window of Sammy’s—“I ordered your favorite.”

It was a little early for lunch, but I was starving. I took the Chicago dog and dug into the gelato, its tangy sweetness reviving my spirits. “You’re the best, Rhia.”

I waved at Sammy, who popped his head out of the window. His eyes glowed orange like a furnace, and he smiled, his hands occupied with four gelato cups. I hadn’t yet figured out what species Sammy was, but his gelato and Chicago dogs were bomb.

We walked to a bench overlooking a pond dotted with water lilies and sat. Rhiannon waited until we’d nearly finished our dogs before turning to me. “Spill it. I can’t wait any longer. Where the hell have you been this past week?”

I spent the next twenty minutes telling her everything—Helwan, Matthias’s betrayal, Amira, the efreet, and Damian being a FireSoul. A weight was lifted off my shoulders, but the ache in my chest was still there.

“Holy hell, you’ve been busy,” Rhiannon said. “And Damian. Fates. I knew there was a darkness to him, but a FireSoul?”

“Yup. My life is a mess.” I sighed. “But first things first, I need to find Matthias and figure out what he’s up to.”

“I hate to say it, but I think you need to tell Gretchen—about Matthias, at least.”

I knew it was true, and though I’d probably get reprimanded again, a part of me felt relieved. Now that it was just me, this burden was too heavy to bear alone. I looked over at her. “Will you come with me when I go in?”

Rhiannon smiled and gave my hand a light squeeze. “Of course. I’ve always got your back.”

Maybe things weren’t so bad.

I was home with Rhia, and the sky was bright. I leaned back, feeling the sunshine warm my face, enjoying a brief reprieve from the stress of it all.

“Speaking of which!” Rhiannon sat upright and reached into her purse. “Here, I picked this up for you. Your number is the same, and all of your contacts should be on there.”

She handed me a sleek black cell phone.

“How did you know?” I asked, shocked. She’d also loaded my favorite wallpaper, too—a picture of Elvis, Rhia’s fat cat.

“I figured you lost it when you called me on that wack number. Plus, your phone has been going to voicemail for days.”

I hugged her. “Thanks, Rhia. You’re seriously the best.”

“I’m just glad you’re back and safe. Also”—she unzipped her cotton jacket and handed it to me with a wink—“Your tattoos are wicked, but I think you should keep them under wraps.”

“Good point.” With everything going on, I’d completely forgotten about the white tattoos that now snaked up my arm and much of my chest. The tank top I was wearing made them all too obvious.

Rhia suddenly froze, her face focused on something behind my right shoulder.

The hair on my neck stood on end, and I spun, half expecting to see the djinn or Matthias. Instead, a tiny glowing dragon hovered behind me, flapping its wings.

“Spark! You’re alive.” Joy flooded me, and I reached out my hand. I hadn’t seen him since we left the Realm of Fire.

The little dragon landed on my outstretched fingers and nuzzled my palm with his nose.

“Rhia, this is Spark, my familiar. Spark, Rhia.” I gestured to Rhiannon, who was staring at me blankly.

“You have a dragon familiar?” she replied, astonishment pulling at her words.

“He’s actually a fire sprite, but he likes to pretend he’s a dragon. He’s been with me since my first planes-walk as a kid. He hasn’t been able to fully appear until recently.”

Spark hopped onto Rhiannon’s shoulder and began nibbling on her neck.

“That tickles!” She laughed, as he disappeared beneath her shoulder-length blonde hair.

I like her. She smells good, Spark said.

“I think that’s the Chicago dog, Spark.” I broke off a piece of my hot dog and raised it to him. “Hungry?”

Spark’s head appeared from Rhia’s hair. Looking at me curiously, he hopped to the edge of her shoulder, sniffed my fingers, and grabbed the hot dog chunk with his little paws, eating it in two bites. It turned to ash and drifted to the ground.

Delicious, he said and launched off Rhia’s shoulder, heading in the direction of Sammy’s food truck.

Rhia grinned. “He’s adorable, and I love him. If you ever need me to watch him, just let me know.”

I laughed. “I think he does as he pleases. But yeah, he’s great.”

We watched Spark devour another Chicago dog that he’d likely stolen from somebody, and I felt truly happy for the first time all day.