An Uncommon Curse by Devan Barlow

Author:Devan Barlow
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: fantasy, fairy tales, musicals
Publisher: Devan Barlow
Published: 2023-04-11T06:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fifteen

“Looking for a magical focus?” Dorian Westflun asked smoothly as I approached, his eyes assessing me without seeming to. A trick I’d long ago learned from Bellona.

I nodded, trying to look like I often purchased instruments of magical power. His grin finally reached his eyes, and I wondered what he thought he’d seen.

Because he hadn’t recognized me.

Joan had grudgingly let me use the ice transformation. Now the illusion hung on my frame, make me feel like I wore a slightly too-big coat. I was still freezing. Arthur had assured me that I looked exactly like Joan had — that is, exactly like Perdita Morain — but from what I could see of myself, I still looked like me.

“Please, come in.” Westflun drew back the fabric under his sign, the rich raspberry color stitched with abstract designs in warm oranges and golds. The space inside shimmered oddly, my eyes adjusting as I stepped through as if moving from a dark night into a brightly lit room, though the quality of illumination didn’t actually change.

I stilled before I thought better of it, overwhelmed by the sense of attention crawling all over my skin, like hundreds of eyes had swiveled toward me.

There were so many curses here.

The trees on Westflun’s land had been the anchors for dance curses, forced to hold the ghosts of those who’d died in such dancing. Too confused by the unnatural proximity of so many dance curses in such a small space to do anything but continue.

The ones I sensed here, though, were like my curse. The remnants of magics meant to have dissipated, which had instead clung to the nearest available person until Westflun ripped them away.

I nearly staggered under the force of these curses’ despair. Since they didn’t have musicals reinforcing them, these curses were withering like they were supposed to, but they couldn’t actually dissipate because they were trapped within whatever magic Westflun was using.

I looked discreetly to see if there was anyone else in here, but no figures other than Westflun resolved, his smile slipping slightly as if preparing to be annoyed by me.

Raising my chin, I attempted the same kind of arrogance I’d seen on Westflun’s own face when I’d met him. I had to hope Arthur knew his curse casters well enough to have given me a story that would pass muster without reminding Westflun too much of any casters he actually knew. “I’m in the process of setting up a new lair.” I lowered my voice a little, imitating Bellona at her most convincing. “And I can’t abide being limited by panels.”

He hummed in sympathy, his face falling into a practiced look of consideration as he surveyed his wares. “Let’s start here.”

He hadn’t recognized me. I was still massively disheartened by Morain turning out to be an impostor, but there was an undeniable satisfaction in fooling Westflun. Stifling another shiver, I followed him.

The entryway branched off into three aisles surrounded by fabric-swathed tables. Atop these were dozens of large, flat trays, stacked on top of one another in a geometric arrangement that reminded me of beehives.

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