Though this is a slightly better scenario, it’s still going to take a delicate touch, especially if he believes I’m not in my right mind.
Max tilts his head back and laughs, but it’s cut off with a grunt when the man presses the knife a little further into his ribs. “Listen, man,” Max says, hands still up. “I swear by Amphitrite, I’m not charming her. Actually—”
The man snaps and Max’s jaw slams shut. “We don’t need any more of your pretty words, my friend. I’m guessing you’ve stolen enough of this poor girl’s life with them.”
“No really,” I say. “He’s not using his magic on me.”
Or at least not its full power, my constant and consistent paranoia reminds me.
Max has been up front about this — that he can’t turn it off, only amplify it — but that doesn’t make me feel much better. It’s not his fault, the way he was born, and over the last few days I’ve seen him do everything within his power to prove that he hasn’t been manipulating me. Still, I can’t shake my naturally suspicious nature.
And somehow, I doubt this man will believe me either.
Head coasting to one side, the newcomer slides his ocean blue eyes between me and Max. “One under the charm of a water spirit would say just that. But there is a way to prove your state of mind.”
I sit up straighter. “There is?”
“Yes. If you’ll allow it.”
Resting an elbow on the back of the chair, I sharpen my gaze. “If it will prove his innocence, then yes, I’ll allow it.”
“It will require me to touch you. Is that alright?”
I clench my fists, my skin crawling at the idea of a stranger putting his hands on me. If he’s telling the truth though, if he really can confirm that Max isn’t messing with my mind, then it’s absolutely worth it.
“Fine.”
With the knife still in place, the man reaches out and gently presses two fingers to my temple. A cool rush like water spreads across my face. Music floods my mind, calming my rushing thoughts. Lyrics accompany it. The language makes no sense to me at first but gathers meaning quickly.
Mermish.
This man is one of the earth-realm mer-people. Gifted with powerful healing, they are particularly capable of dispelling manipulative magic. Unlike their water spirit counterparts, they mirror gargoyles in their quest for the greater good. Which explains why he’s so set on helping me.
A slow sigh escapes my lips as his touch falls away and I open my eyes to his smile. He sheaths his knife, then rests back in his chair. “Her mind is devoid of charms. You were telling the truth. What a refreshing discovery. My apologies for rushing to such a conclusion.”
My nerves settle at his statement. “Not something you find often?”
“I’m afraid not.” He laces his fingers together and rests them in his lap. “The number of tourists I have to save throughout the year would shock you.”
“Not me,” Max says, rubbing his side. “My people are full of shenanigans.”
“So, I’ve seen.” The man dips his head. “My name is Zephyr. You may call me Zeph. Now that I’ve given you a bit of a fright, is there a way I can be of service?”
Max and I exchange a look, then the water spirit scoots a little closer in. “Actually, I’ve been water traveling us from the states and I’m pretty tapped out. My friend Kia — she’s a mermaid too — can sometimes help me recharge a little faster. Think you could do that too?”
“It would be my honor.”
Shutting his eyes, Zeph places a hand on Max’s shoulder. Faint blue light seeps out past his lids to coat his lashes. Its warm glow spreads through Max’s veins. The cracks seal up, the gray smudges fade, and the quiet wheeze underlying his breath smooths out. Releasing the hunch of his shoulders, Max visibly relaxes.
When Zeph looks at me again, I speak without thinking it through. “Can that magic break curses?”
A wrinkle cuts a path between his brows. “That depends entirely on the nature of the curse.”
Rubbing my throat, I press my tongue to the roof of my mouth. I shouldn’t be wasting time on this. Not when any minute a real rival bounty hunter might catch up with us. But it’s far too tempting not to ask, especially after what I’ve witnessed him do in the last few minutes.
“Daily death,” I say in a scrape of a whisper. “A twisting of my phoenix power wherein I die at least once every twenty-four hours and have no opportunity for rebirth.”
That wrinkle deepens and Zeph extends a hand toward me. “May I?”
Throat tight, I manage the barest of nods, hindered by the weakest grip on hope. Zeph’s fingers touch my temple once again. This time, I feel nothing. At least not at first. Then, slowly, gently, magic brushes against magic. Something at the core of my being hums, trembling like a plucked harp string.
Zeph drops his hand, scratching the scruff of his jaw, eyes now storm dark. “This is ancient magic. Ancient, and terribly powerful. The likes of which I’ve never personally encountered. What kind of witch placed this on you?”
Hope disintegrates and I sag in my seat. “A very angry one.” I pick dead skin off my cuticles. “She wanted revenge on my dad, so she aimed a curse at me, thinking that might hurt him more than anything else. Jokes on her. He doesn’t care.”
The lump in my throat from last night returns with such force even my fury can’t hold back the tears. Using a fist to scrub them away, I drag in a lung-full of air to stop the stupid downpour. Stress must be getting to me. I’m
