Andreea Petrescu

Extract from The Cursed

Eglantine – I wound to heal

Cordelia startled awake, her heart was threatening to jump out of her chest, and her hair was sticking to her face. Light filtered through the blackout curtains, as the fractured memories of last night fell into place. Her left arm throbbed painfully under the blood-spattered bandages. She could just make out Alexander’s shape in one of the armchairs, like the statue of the Sleeping Endymion, only his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm.

She had fallen asleep on the sofa in Alexander’s living room, too frightened to be alone in one of the bedrooms upstairs. She couldn’t remember what had frightened her awake, but her muscles were beginning to relax, and she laid back down staring up at the ceiling. What had she gotten herself into? She believed in many things, but monsters and fairies running around in the world was not something she could have imagined. Still, the cut on her arm was proof of the contrary. And if the creature was able to find her once, who was to say that it couldn’t do it again.

Someone knocked heavily on the front door and Cordelia scrambled off the sofa. The blanket polled around her ankles, tripping her, and she hit the wall.

“It’s just the mail.” Alexander’s raspy voice rang in the darkness. He stood up and waved his hand towards the window. On cue, the thick curtains pulled away, allowing the cold winter morning to fill the room. In the daylight, Cordelia took in the details she had ignored the night before. The cloud-grey curtains and dark blue upholstery made the room look like a photo from a luxury listing. Two baroque vases on round end tables framed the door, and sketches in delicate bronze frames hung on the walls. A map of the world on top of an antique French commode drew her attention. There was something about it that didn’t seem right, and Cordelia stepped closer to get a better look.

The tattered map was unlike anything she had seen before. The borders sprawled like mineral veins of bronze, silver and gold, and the names were written in an unintelligible medieval script. There were places where the parchment’s colour was darker, the countries overlapping into new territories, and tiny symbols in black ink scattered like freckles across the globe. Just on the coast of France, a looping Dara knot drew Cordelia’s attention, the intertwining lines the same as the ones carved on her parents[1]  tomb stone. “It’s a map of the supernatural folklore,” Alexander said, coming to stand next to her. “It belonged to an ancestor, and it was passed down from generation to generation. The symbols mark the places where different creatures live. The one who drew the map did it long ago before all the stories got muddled.”

“What do you mean by muddled?”

“Humans didn’t always write things down and a lot of the stories changed as they passed from mouth to mouth,” Alexander explained. “Take, for example, fairies. Most people think about the tiny, winged humanoids in animated movies, but there are almost as many varieties as there are cultures around the world.” He turned to walk away and gestured for Cordelia to take a seat. “Cáit is the kind you mostly find in the British Isles, but go to Greece and you begin to understand why dryads are the spirits of trees. Their skin is lined like tree bark, and their hair rustles like leaves in the wind.”

Cordelia sat back on the sofa. She thought about the pictures in her childhood books, orbs of light flying to the aid of some poor girl, stars twinkling behind them. How far away had humans moved from reality, the truth hidden under layers, like an onion peeled in reverse. Did she even want to uncover it? She drew her hands in her lap and saw the bandage speckled with blood. There were monsters in those stories. Creatures that the world pushed into the shadows and parents used to frighten their children with. How much more dangerous were they than the tales made them to be?

“Are you alright?”

Alexander stood far away from her leaning against the cold fireplace, his expression unreadable.

“I want to go home.”

“You can’t right now,” Alexander said calmly. “It’s not safe after last night, and it won’t be for a while.”

“You can’t keep me here,” Cordelia snapped.

“Please don’t put it like that. I’m not forcing you to stay, I’m just telling you that you’re not safe outside these walls. The Unseelie that tracked you down last night might try finding you again, so it’s best if you just lay low for a while.”

“How long is a while?”

“I can’t say, not without knowing why he attacked you in the first place. Until I know more, you’re better off staying here. There is a border spell around the neighbourhood, so no magical creature can enter without my approval.”

“I already told you I don’t want to have anything to do with this world. I don’t want to do magic. All I want is to go back to having an ordinary life with a boring job and normal friends.”

Alexander stepped closer, his presence filling the room, and Cordelia realised there wasn’t a single crease in his white shirt, as if his clothes were fresh from the cleaners and not the ones he had slept in on an armchair. His gaze was fixed on her, and in the light his eyes looked like translucent blue glass.

“And I told you there is no going back.” Cordelia opened her mouth to protest, but Alexander went on, his gaze sharp. “You are a witch and like it or not this is your normal now. I don’t know how you managed to avoid it for all these years, but everything in your life is about magic, and after yesterday the best thing you can do is accept it and learn how to control it.”

Cordelia turned her head. There was something horribly final in those words, the weak flame of normality snuffed out. She didn’t want to cry, not in front of him, so instead she focused on a spot on the window that caught the light of the sun in an incandescent star. She clenched her fists in her lap as anger replaced sadness.

“What do you expect me to do from now on? Go to magic school and act as if I didn’t have a life before this?”

“I don’t expect you to do anything, nor am I forcing you to, but you can’t keep pretending that this is not real. You know what you can do. There are people out there who would kill for that amount of power, and you summon it unknowingly.”

Cordelia set her jaw and willed herself to stay calm, but she could feel the coil begin to tighten inside her. She hated being told what to do, and ever since their meeting that’s what Alexander kept on doing. No matter how calm his tone, he wasn’t making any suggestions, but giving out orders like a general.

“If it’s so great, why don’t you take it? I was perfectly fine until a month ago, I can go on living without it,” Cordelia shouted. The coil tightened.

“Except you can’t, because it’s tied to your life, and it will only be gone when you are dead.”

“Then maybe I should die!”

Cordelia felt the wave of energy rippling through her and heard the sound of breaking ceramic behind her. She stared at the golden swirls wobbling on the wooden floor and her anger was swiftly replaced by guilt and horror. She heard Alexander heave a sigh and turned around slowly, prepared to face the reprimand.

“Those were my mother’s. Actual 17th century baroque urns brought over from Italy,” Alexander said, resignedly. He sat down and propped his chin with his hand. He looked between Cordelia and the broken vases with the expression of a parent exhausted by their child’s antics.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that.” She didn’t have the courage to look him in the eyes and tried to put her regret in her voice. This was exactly why she hated her magic. One more thing to add to the long list of things she had destroyed since all of this began. She cringed at the thought of replacing the vases and the amount of money it would cost.

“It’s not your fault,” Alexander said, his gaze fixed on the ceramic pieces. “I pushed you too hard, but this is just more proof that I was right. You have no control over magic.”

Cordelia bit on the inside of her cheek. She didn’t have the strength to argue anymore, not when she was several thousand pounds in debt to him and without considering the mortifying fact that Alexander had treated her wounds and offered her shelter, only for her to destroy his mother’s vases. The silence weighed heavy between them.

“After breakfast I can begin explaining to you the basics, but in order to fully control it we’ll have to figure out exactly what kind of magic you have.”

She looked up at him startled. She wanted to push back against his command, but her mother’s voice rang in her head: Manners, Cordelia. She had been plenty rude for one day, and it was clear from his expression that he was done putting up with her protests.

*

Cordelia had looked on as Alexander carefully gathered all the broken fragments of the two urns into a box. While he couldn’t magically put them back together, he was sure his mother wouldn’t want to throw them away. They were a priceless reminder of her Italian upbringing, and he was going to find a way to fix them.

The kitchen was just as neat as the rest of the house with dark grey cabinets and marble countertops. Cordelia wondered how magic could exist in the sterile environment of the modern world. How did it claw itself out from under the dirt floor of forests and come to exist between walls of steel and glass and concrete?

“If you don’t mind, I would like to check on your arm first.”

Cordelia nodded and took a seat at the bare kitchen table. She still felt it was as if she was looking at a photo in catalogue. Everything was obnoxiously perfect, the kettle on the stove the only proof that the room wasn’t just for display. Her distorted reflection stared back from the stainless-steel container. She was pale and tired, her mismatched eyes two haunting specks of colour. She wondered if using magic would eventually make her look like Cáit with her sharp features, or maybe like the Unseelie with silver eyes devoid of emotion. Would that part of her that looked like her mother get eaten up by the unnatural in her?

Alexander put down a first-aid kit on the table and began taking out bandages and scissors. Wordlessly, he also took out a velvet pouch and opened it to reveal an assortment of fragile dried leaves and flowers. Cordelia remembered picking delicate cinquefoil and blue-violet periwinkle from her grandparent’s garden and pressing them between parchment papers, but these flowers were almost devoid of colour as if a thick layer of dust coated them. Alexander also lacked a certain gentleness when it came to unwrapping the bandages. His movements were swift and precise, with the determination of someone who wanted to get it all over with, even if it meant clenching your teeth through the sharp pain. Cordelia did just that but gasped when the final layer came off revealing the long gash in her arm, now the colour of a mouldy aubergine.

“Why does it look like that?”

“It’s from the Unseelie magic,” Alexander explained, his hands moving fast to clean the wound. “This is what happens when their spells cut into human flesh, they become like poison slowly seeping through your body, making you ill.”

Cordelia looked in disgust at her arm. Along the cut, the skin looked like rotting scales threatening to pull back and reveal the muscle underneath. She felt bile rising in her throat and looked away. She could hear Alexander rustling through the dried leaves, one hand still holding her arm in place.

“Isn’t there a spell for this?”

“I thought you didn’t want to use magic.” There was an undertone of amusement in Alexander’s voice, that made Cordelia’s ears burn with embarrassment.

“I’d rather you didn’t, but if there is a magical cure-all spell wouldn’t it be easier for you to use that instead of covering me up with dried leaves, as if I’m a steak you’re getting ready for the dinner?”

Alexander laughed. “It would be easier, but that’s not how it works. If a healer is good enough, they can mend bones, close cuts, and stop the bleeding, as long as those wounds are made by something natural.” Cordelia felt him press a leaf on the cut, her skin sizzling with pain.

She struggled to pull her arm away, but Alexander’s grip was iron. “What was that?”

“Rowan. It protects against witchcraft and enchantments. It’s meant to draw out the magic.”

“Is it also meant to burn my skin off?” A new leaf sent a jolt of pain up Cordelia’s arm, and she put her knuckles in her mouth to stop the screams.

Alexander went on unfazed. One leaf after another covered the cut until Cordelia could taste blood in her mouth. The pain was ten times worse than what she had felt when the Unseelie’s sharp fingers cut through her flesh. She was beginning to feel dizzy, then the pain abruptly stopped. When she looked back, Alexander had placed one single dried flower on top of the leaves. It was as blue as his eyes when he looked up at her and answered the unspoken question.

“The druids used comfrey to ease the pain. By tonight all that magic should be out, and then I can use a cure-all spell to heal the skin.”

He wrapped the cut in clean bandages and began putting everything away without any more explanations. As she cradled her arm, Cordelia studied his movements. Alexander didn’t seem to offer any information without being prompted and she had a thousand questions bouncing around in her head. She was quickly getting used to getting vague answers to her questions, but it wasn’t going to stop her.

“How do you live knowing all this?”

Alexander turned on the burner under the kettle and turned around to face her. He looked so domestic.

“What do you mean? I wake up in the morning, do my work, go out for a drink sometimes, travel, read, make mistakes and fix them, just like any other person.” He gestured around the room as if that was enough proof that he was just an ordinary human.

“Right, but how are you so comfortable doing all that when you know that there is something more out there? Aren’t you afraid that someone will find you out?”

Alexander ran a hand through his hair and leaned against the counter, his eyes fixed on the tiled floor. He took so long to reply, Cordelia thought he was pretending not to have heard her, but when he finally did, his voice sounded hollow, as if coming from somewhere far away.

“Being the way we are will always set you apart from the rest of the world,” Alexander began, “but when you live with it, you come to realise magic is not a burden. Sure, there is a whole other world out there, but knowing about it is the same as sharing a secret with your best friend.”

Cordelia didn’t think she could feel pity for him, but the way his shoulders dropped made him look like someone who was out in the rain without an umbrella. The elements were boring down on him. He finally looked up and smiled. “Besides, there are worse fates than ours.”

The kettle gave a long whistle and Alexander turned off the burner. He took out cups and tea, butter, jam, and cheese, and made toast, as Cordelia followed is every move. She was out of place with her knotted hair and borrowed t-shirt, but for a moment she was at peace. She couldn’t remember the last time she stood in a kitchen and had someone make breakfast for her. When was the last time she ate with her father? They were supposed to meet for lunch that day. He had got off his shift at the hospital and made reservations at their favourite place. He was tired but insisted on eating out. Maybe if she had argued for them to eat at home…The memory of another day bloomed like a bruise in Cordelia’s mind: her shoes sliding in the mud as her screams filled the air, the two names carved in stone, the family she had lost. She shuddered.

“Do you want milk with that?”

Cordelia nodded. She blinked to get rid of the sting behind her eyes, as she reached for a slice of toast. She felt Alexander analysing her movements and peeked at him. There was a crease forming between his eyebrows. He sighed.

“You have this look on your face as if the world is ending but trust me it isn’t.” He put one sugar cube in his tea and stirred it. “I know it’s not easy having lost your family and then discovering that you’re different, but you’re not alone in this.”

Cordelia looked up at him expectantly. It was the most gentleness he had shown her in the past couple of days, but she knew he was sincere.

“I’ll make sure you’re safe while we figure out everything, and if you don’t want to use your powers you don’t have to, but at least try to understand what you are and what you can do.”

Cordelia looked down at her bandaged arm. The pain had disappeared and the swelling had gone down the moment Alexander put that blue flower on it. Was it really so bad being a witch? Her father had been a doctor, and he did everything he could to save people. If she could help others with her magic, wasn’t she at least supposed to try? And if there were worse fates out there, maybe, just maybe she could do some good, lessen the burden, save at least one person.

“Alright, I’ll give it a try.”