Cursed: An Urban Fantasy Novel (The Thrice Cursed Mage Book 1) (17 page)

And it kept not being a fluke for the next twenty rounds, which was when the dartboard vanished 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 something 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.

“I guess he lived up to his end of the deal,” I murmured, somewhat surprised he’d done as he said and let me through. Even though I’d played by his rules, I’d half expected him to come up with some excuse as to why I still could not pass. Evidently, he’d been a demon of his word. For some reason I couldn’t explain, that knowledge filled me with apprehension.

John yelled at me through his gag, snapping me back to reality. I ripped my gaze away from the burned floor and settled it on John. I don’t think I’d ever seen someone wearing a Spiderman T-shirt look so relieved.

It only took me a moment to have him free of the tape, and the first thing he did was wrap his arms around me and bury his face into my chest.

“Thank you for saving me,” he whimpered and though I don’t know why, I wrapped my arms around him and held him close, trying to stifle the sudden bout of sobs that poured out of him. I wasn’t sure how long we stood like that, but when he pulled away and looked up at me, tears glistened in his blue eyes. Sera’s eyes. “Are you going to save my mom too?”

“Yes,” I replied, and he put on a brave face and nodded at me.

“I’m sorry for glaring at you before.” He looked down at his battered tennis shoes. “She’s all I have left so I get sort of protective.” He kicked at the floor. “But I’ll try to be nice to you, okay?”

I laughed and reached out to rub his head with my demonic hand because sadly, it was the one not covered in my own blood.

“That’d be great,” I said, trying to give him a reassuring smile. I wasn’t sure how long the demon had delayed me, but I hoped there was still time to save his mom. The thought of marching the kid through that door to find his mom already dead filled me with horror. No, that wouldn’t be the case. I wouldn’t be too late. I knew it in my bones.

The boy smiled at me like an idea had taken shape in his brain, and before I could stop him, ran around the bar in a Spiderman-colored blur. He rummaged around for several seconds before reappearing. He held out a small plastic Ziploc bag to me. There was an object wrapped in a bloody rag inside along with several ice cubes.

“Here,” he said, shoving the baggie into my hands. “I saw it fall over there.” He gestured back behind the bar with one hand. “My mom’s a really good nurse. She might be able to put it back on for you.”

“Did you seriously just give me my severed finger in a bag of ice?” I asked, still partially in shock as he picked up my dart case and handed it to me like he could somehow pay for me saving him by fetching me things. To be fair, it was a good start, but I was really more of a beer and slippers type of guy.

“Yes. I wrapped it in a towel first like mom taught me so it wouldn’t get frostbite from the ice.” He beamed at me, filled with pride at having remembered this crucial detail as he handed me the dart case.

“And you’ve done this before?” I asked, arching an eyebrow as I took my case from him.

“Once, at a mother-son camping trip. One of the other kids chopped the tip of his finger off when he was trying to carve something out of wood. There was blood everywhere, but my mom was able to help him. She told the people to wrap the severed bit of finger in a towel and put it on ice from the cooler or it wouldn’t be any good.”

“Sounds scary,” I replied, sliding my dart case back into its original pocket while I examined the bag with my finger critically. I wasn’t sure about the whole wrapping it and putting it on ice thing, but since I didn’t have any experience dealing with my own severed limbs, I opted to trust him. That’s right. I trusted the fate of my severed left pinkie to an eight-year-old boy’s medical knowledge. I was so screwed.

“It was a little scary.” John looked at the ground sheepishly, color filling his cheeks. “But I got to see a real life ambulance and paramedics. It was cool, and they wound up putting Tommy’s finger back on, although now he has a wicked scar.”