Cursed: An Urban Fantasy Novel (The Thrice Cursed Mage Book 1) Read online

  “Okay, so what? What does it matter if I’m good at darts? What’s that even matter?” I said, pulling away from him a couple steps. He was being way too buddy, buddy. It was really strange because even though he was acting like we were old friends, I got the feeling he didn’t like anyone. No, his sudden interest in my dart case was weird, and it unnerved me. Another shoe was definitely about to drop.

  “Well, it matters quite a lot,” he said, moving past me toward a dartboard on the wall and picked out three darts with green flights from a tray next to it. “Since we’re going to play darts.”

  “Why the hell would I play darts with you?” I exclaimed in exasperation. I didn’t have time for this. I knew he was stalling me to help his Cursed, but Sera wasn’t my only concern. I had to save her and the woman from my memory. The last thing I needed to be doing was playing darts.

  “Because we need to pass time somehow. I did promise to stall you, remember? Try to keep up, Mac.” His smile reappeared again. “But I have no desire to sit here prattling on with you. It wouldn’t really be fun. You’d argue with me or call me a liar until I eventually got annoyed and ripped out your spine. So, instead, we’re going to play darts. Understand?”

  I nodded as a bad feeling swelled up in my gut.

  “Good. If you don’t mind, we’ll use the traditional rules for 501. We each throw three darts, three separate times. The cumulative total of our scores is then subtracted from 501 with the goal being to reduce it to exactly zero,” he said, approaching a white line painted onto the floor with the numbers 7’ 9 1/4” stenciled onto it in green. “You know what the crazy-making part of playing any game is? It’s really tough to tell when you just haven’t worked at it enough and when you really just aren’t good enough and never will be no matter how much time and effort you spend at it. The line between those two things is a tough one for anybody to draw. It’s why I love games like this.”

  “I’m failing to see why I’d play with you,” I said as he nonchalantly tossed the first of his darts at the board and sank it into the triple twenty. “Barring the whole spine ripping out thing.”

  “See, I knew you wouldn’t just trust me that this is the best way.” He tossed the second dart, landing it right beside his first dart in the little square for another sixty points. “That’s why I’ve decided to add some bonus stipulations.” He threw the final dart and wouldn’t you know it, got another triple twenty. “If I fail to clear the board and reduce my score to zero, I’ll let you through immediately with no more delays.” He moved across the floor and plucked his darts from the board. “But here’s the rub, kid. If you fail to clear the board, I’m going to chop something off, though I may let you pick what it is. It depends on how annoying you are.”

  “You’re going to chop something off?” I asked, surprised I could get the words out because it was suddenly very hard to breathe.

  “Yes, but not off you.” He gestured to my left, and even though he wasn’t there a moment before, Sera’s son John was suddenly sitting on the bar with his hands and legs bound in duct tape. The sudden appearance of the boy in his Spiderman T-shirt and jeans unnerved me to an extent I hadn’t thought possible. He tried to say something when he saw me, but no words made it through the gag over his mouth. He tried again and when he failed, panic filled his eyes to near bursting.

  “You can’t be serious?” I cried, spinning to glare at the man as the world around me died. If I didn’t play him long enough for him to miss, Sera was as good as dead, but if I missed, the boy was going to start losing pieces of his body. The room started to spin and nausea swirled up inside me. I couldn’t do this, couldn’t play for these odds. It was impossible.

  “Like a heart attack.” He appeared behind me in a flash and shoved me toward the line. “Now, throw the damned darts. You haven’t got all day.”

  Chapter 20

  “There’s got to be another way,” I said as he pulled a dart from my case. He pressed it into my hand and closed my fingers around it.

  “There isn’t.” He smiled at me and took a step back. “Normally I’d set a little timer or something to ensure you throw in a timely manner, but as I’m the one stalling you, I’ll just sit back and drink beer unless you want to just give up.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked, swallowing hard as I looked from the squat man trolling me to the little kid bound on the bar.

  He threw his arm around my shoulder and leaned in close. “If you want to go home right now, I’ll let you. The only catch is I’ll have to take a hand from the boy.” He shrugged. “It’s not really a big deal if you think about it. Jim Abbott pitched in the Major Leagues for ten years with one hand.”

  “I’m not letting you cut off John’s hand,” I said, nearly spitting the words at him.

  He threw his hands in the air and backed away. “Then throw the darts, just don’t miss. I’ll be over here waiting.”

  He moved over to the bar and reached across it before pulling a crystal bottle that reminded me of the ones people kept filled with expensive scotch. This bottle was filled with viscous red fluid, and without even bothering to pour it into a glass, he took a swig from the bottle before smacking his lips.

  “It’s the blood of a virgin, in case you wondered.” He smiled at me, showing a sheen of red teeth to me. “It’s actually not that hard to get if you don’t mind killing nuns.” He took another swig.

  I had no idea if he was really drinking virgin nun blood, but it didn’t matter. He was just trying to goad me. Getting mad at him about it wouldn’t help John or Sera. I turned away from him and rolled the dart between my fingers. Its weight felt familiar. I shut my eyes to tune him out when he spoke up, louder than before.

  “If you throw the dart at me, it will count as a miss, by the by. Do you really want to risk it?” He chuckled, and the sound reminded me of an evil bullfrog. “I’ll even let you hit me for all the good it will do. Face it, Mac, your only option is to throw the damned darts. Time’s a wasting.”

  Ignoring his words, I opened my eyes and looked down at the line at my feet. The dart felt so familiar in my hand, and as I hefted it before bringing it up, I knew everything was going to be alright. I threw.

  “Triple twenty. Nice start,” the man said before slow clapping. “Whatcha going for now?”

  I ignored him and picked up the middle dart from my case. I looked down at the pencil-shaped object and smiled, rolling it in between my fingers. There was a nineteen emblazoned upon it. A smirk crossed my lips. I got back in position and raised my arm before letting it fly.

  The dart struck the triple nineteen. Netting me an additional fifty-seven points and bringing my total score up to one hundred and seventeen. All I needed now was a bull’s eye. I snatched up the last dart and let it fly in one smooth motion, sinking it right in the center. Fifty more points for one-hundred-sixty-seven total. Exactly one third of what I needed to clear the board.

  “You know, some people say that three rounds of one-sixty-seven is considered a perfect score,” the man said, walking up to me and smacking me on the shoulder. “I knew I had you pegged.”

  With that, he flung his darts at the board in quick succession. All triple twenties, giving him one hundred and eighty more points. I dutifully threw another one-sixty-seven which he followed with a one-hundred and forty-one point checkout consisting of a triple twenty, a triple nineteen, and a double twelve which brought his score to exactly zero. I managed another one-sixty-seven and heaved a sigh of relief. We’d both cleared the board.

  “Ready to go again?” he said, smirking at me. “Or do you need a breather?”

  “I can go all night,” I replied, glancing from him to John and back again. The boy still looked terrified but marginally less so than before, presumably because he’d seen my awesome dart playing skills. I wasn’t sure how long I’d played the game, but I was confident my last game was not a fluke.

  And it kept not being a fluke for the next twenty rounds, which was when the dartboard vani
shed in the middle of my final throw. My dart smacked into the green wood behind the dartboard and clattered lifelessly to the ground. I stared at it laying there on the gray floor in disbelief. The dartboard reappeared, my first two darts still firmly sunk into the triple twenty and the triple nineteen. I had failed to clear the board, leaving me with a final score of fifty.

  “Too bad,” the guy said before making a tsking noise. “Didn’t you know my dartboard disappears after the twentieth round? No?” He shrugged at me from his perch on the barstool beside John.

  Before I could do more than blink stupidly, he had one arm wrapped around the boy’s throat while the other produced one of those old fashioned shaving razors.

  “Now you remember our deal, right?” and with those words, the razor lashed out, removing the boy’s hair in a flash. As it fluttered around them to the ground, my heart hammered in my chest so hard it physically hurt. “That one’s a freebie on account of I’m pretty sure you didn’t know the dartboard would disappear, but next time, I will remove something he’ll want.” With that, he rubbed the squirming boy’s bald head before setting him back down on the bar. The whole incident had taken less than four seconds.

  I hadn’t even managed to pick up my fallen dart in the time it took him to stride over to me and fling his three darts one after another at the board, timing it just so the dartboard reappeared in time for his darts to strike home. I had half a mind to call him a cheater, but as I watched in disbelief, I realized the dartboard disappeared and reappeared according to a pattern.

  Even though it was my turn, I watched the dartboard vanish and return for a good five minutes before I gripped my first dart in my sweaty fingers and let it fly toward the naked wall. My heart thundered, and I could barely watch as the dart sailed through the empty air toward an unknown destination. Just as the tip was about to smack into the wood, the board reappeared and my dart sank into the triple twenty.

  I let out a whoop of relief and spun to see the man watching me carefully. He nodded once and a strange sense of elation fell over me. I’d done it, and if I could do it once, I could do it again. And I did. Eighty-seven more times.

  In my defense, I probably would have made it that last time too if I hadn’t literally caught fire. Emerald flames burst from the floor and licked up my pants, swallowing me in an agony of burning pain. The dart slipped from my fingers and clattered to the ground as everything burst into flames.

  “I’m half-inclined to not count that one,” the man said as he watched me writhe in agony on the painted cement. “You know on account of you being on fire, everything around you being on fire, and this being Hell and all, but well, I’m a demon, so yeah. It totally counts.” He knelt down next to me and flicked out his razor, holding it over the flames filling me with indescribable agony. “Instead, be thankful this fire isn’t actually damaging you. It only feels like it is.” The blade began to glow under the flame, turning from dark silver to cherry red in the span of a second. “I know that doesn’t feel like a consolation, but it will once you cool off.” His lips twisted into a lopsided smirk as he stood and meandered over to the boy.

  John’s face was awash with terror as he tried to scream through his gag, but no sound sprang from his lips. I tried to crawl toward him, forcing my body to slither along the ground like a burning slug, but try as I might, I could barely make myself move, let alone reach the guy in time to stop him.

  The man grabbed hold of John and slammed him backward on the bar. He began whistling as he calmly slapped John’s left hand on the bar, splaying the boy’s fingers on the obsidian surface. John struggled, trying to pull free as the guy leveled the razor over the boy’s left pinky. “How’s about we take the little one. It’s a good choice all things considered. I mean it may not end there, but it’s a good place to start. Why, I remember this one time in Atlantic City where I wound up walking out with a matching set of ten fingers, ten toes, and an ear besides.” He shrugged. “Some people always think they’re going to rally.” He raised the razor.

  “Wait,” I cried, surprised I could make my mouth work between cries of agony, but hey, I wanted it really badly.

  The guy stopped and shot me a sly look. “Yes?”

  “Take my finger instead,” I said, thrusting my burning hand toward him.

  “That’s not how this works at all.” He shook his head. “It’s supposed to be the boy.” He nodded toward John. “But what can I say, I’m a fan of deals. I tell you what. I’ll let you trade, a finger for a finger, and all I’ll require is a small favor to be collected at some point in the future. How’s that sound? I think it’s quite generous.”

  “Deal!” I cried, forcing myself to my feet and slapping my hand onto the table. The blade came down in a whoosh and my left pinky went flying in a spray of blood. John screamed into his gag as I fell to the ground clutching my hand to my chest, staining my white shirt crimson. It was all I could do to lay there and keep from dying as the flames surrounding my body went out.

  “You only get to do that once,” the demon said, smiling brightly at me. “Now, how’s about we go back to throwing.”

  Chapter 21

  The guy stepped into the green fire. It didn’t seem to bother him much. He stood there, adjusting his feet in the emerald flames and as he did so, the shadow behind him grew horns and a forked tail. He saw me looking behind him and shot a glance at the wall. His lips curled into a smirk that made my blood run cold.

  “Toasty, but not nearly as bad as it is back home.” He tossed all three of his darts at once. They struck the triple twenty as one. “Oh look, another one-eighty.” He put one finger to his mouth mockingly before striding over to me and kneeling down next to where I was still lying on the floor clutching my agony-ridden left hand to my chest. “Just so you know, stuff starts getting really bad at round one hundred and ten. I’ve had people actually go insane by round one-hundred and thirteen.” His teeth flashed. “And round one fifteen makes round one hundred and ten seem tame.”

  I shut my eyes and sucked in a long, slow breath. As my lungs expanded, I reached out to my happy place. It was blank and empty, but strangely calming anyway. I exhaled slowly, allowing my pain and rage to leave along with my breath. My eyes snapped open, and I got slowly to my feet, much to the amusement of the demon. He sat back on his haunches watching me with a mischievous “you haven’t seen nothin’ yet, sugar” grin on his face. It made me want to sock him, but I refrained, mostly because I was sure he was a demon who could turn me into a toad or skin me alive with the blink of an eye.

  Darts in hand, I stared at the burning green fire, and something prickled along the back of my mind. I held up my demonic hand and stared at the red lines crisscrossing the flesh. I’m not sure if it was real or just in my head, but as I stared at the strange geometric tattoos emblazoned on my black flesh, a word popped into my head just like it had when I’d learned to fling around hellfire.

  “Tueri,” I whispered, and the temperature in the room dropped fifteen degrees. Cold sweat formed on my skin as my arm flared like the sun, spilling crimson light down my body like running water until I was completely ensconced in a thin layer of glowing scarlet.

  I stepped into the flames and was unharmed. As fire licked at my pants, unable to find purchase through the red shield covering me, a smile crossed my lips. I was protected. For now. I readied my darts. It was time for a change of plans.

  This turn I didn’t go for perfection so I’d have more of a chance to come back if something screwy happened. If things kept getting worse and worse, John was going to be dead long before the demon missed a shot. I’d have to do something to change that. I let my darts fly. Three triple twenties. Our scores now matched.

  “Neat trick. It reminds me of something I saw long ago,” the demon replied wistfully.

  Ignoring him, I snatched my darts free of the board before standing aside to let him throw. His gaze had something strange in it as he looked my shield up and down, almost like he was puzzling over som
ething at the edge of his memory. He let out an exasperated sigh and shook his head before stepping into the fire. He threw his darts in quick succession for another one hundred and eighty points.

  I matched him, scoring one eighty on my second round as well. Now I had several combinations left to me for the final round. I just needed to score one hundred and forty one points, but I could do it however I wanted. If the board started spinning at the last second, I wanted the best chance possible. Oh and the cat in the back of my head told me to do it. I may have neglected to mention that.

  As the green-eyed demon stepped into the flames for his final round, a strange tune filled my head. Before I could stop myself, I began to hum along to it. The sound spilled out of me like a wave breaking onto a beach bringing with it the promise of power, victory, and death. The demon glanced at me as his first dart left his hand. It struck the wire on the triple twenty and fell to the floor with a near inaudible thud that seemed to resound across the room.

  “You know, you can’t win now,” I said after finishing the tune. “There’s no way to clear one-hundred and forty-one points with two darts.”

  He waved his hand dismissively at the board. “Where did you hear learn that melody?” he asked, and I could have sworn there was an edge of fear to his voice. Then, before I could tell him it just popped into my head, he recovered, and a smug look filled his features. He glanced back at the dartboard and shrugged. “You are correct, sir. The best I could do now is bring my score down to twenty-one. That means you may pass.” He stood aside, making a sweeping gesture toward a door that appeared on the far wall.

  It was framed in black steel with an emerald V etched into the center of its polished ebony surface. It slowly swung open, scraping along the bottom with a sound that would make a cat go all poofy and scared. I know because that image flashed across my brain. When I turned back to look at the guy, he was gone, but the spot where he’d been standing was marred by two charred footprints.