Page 10 of Curses and Cauldrons

Bram has a special kind of dislike for Diana Blackthorn. He lived with his own mother until he was six years old, but when she died, he came to live with us. My mother didn’t speak to him at first, at least not around my father. After a few months, she took every opportunity to whisper nasty comments about Bram’s mother to him. She made attempts to hide it, but I saw her. I tried to help and keep her away from Bram whenever I could. Our father didn’t give a damn. Much like his loyalty to his marriage vows, he doesn’t give two shits about his children.

“Carrying on the Blackthorn genes.” I spot her pointing in our direction, her hand on the arm of Anastasia Lexington. At least she’s in her mid-twenties; that’s the most complimentary thing I can say about her. I know her by reputation. Anastasia is a social climber from a middling magical family. They’re determined to find their way into the founding families’ circle.

Anastasia rolls the glass she’s holding against her bottom lip, her tongue coming out to touch the rim as she stares at me. Even across the distance, her icy eyes lock onto me with a heated desire. Maybe I should be interested. On paper, Anastasia is perfect. Her long blonde hair is a shiny sheet. Her tan skin is fresh and dewy. Her eyes are a perfect sky blue.

And absolutely devoid of humanity.

I shudder at the thought of touching her—even if I could feel.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here.” I drop my glass on the closest surface and stalk out of the house I grew up in without another word.

We slip into the limo I hired for the night. Most of the town has drivers who take them to all the parties. They’re famously known to be drunken disasters. None of us can stand to be sober through the tedious night.

“Where to next?” Bram settles back into his seat before pulling a bottle of whiskey from his coat. He twists off the cap, takes a swig, and holds it out. Odie swipes it from him and gulps back an impressive amount before handing it off to me.

“We still have all the Lumen parties to hit.” I’m not drunk enough for the impending torture. I take a drink to rival Odie’s and pass the bottle onto Ambrose. What’s the possibility that I’ll run into Josephine at the Delvaux family party? Visions of snaring her in some dark corner slip into my head. The way her wide green eyes would peer up at me, words failing to form on her perfect lips.

My brow creases. Why do I keep thinking about her? When I saw her earlier today, she had dark circles under her eyes. Her cheekbones were too pronounced, and her lips were pinched as though something pained her. Then there’s someone like Anastasia, who’s practically glowing with vitality. Granted, there’s a good chance it’s from a purchased spell, but why doesn’t she do a damn thing for me?

“Let’s do the Vandenbergs, then the Beaumonts, and finish up with the Delvaux party.” If we’re late enough, then Josephine probably won’t be there. It’s best if I stay away from her. Even if I can’t think of a reason why at the moment.

Bram groans, snagging the bottle from Ambrose and taking a pull. “I don’t know if it’s better to save the worst for last or if we should get the Delvaux party out of the way first.”

Odie signs, “They all suck.”

“Good point. Let’s just get this over with. Then we can celebrate Roman’s impending nuptials for real.” Ambrose grins at me.

“Fuck off.”

6

JOSEPHINE

My mother’s nails dig into my arm the second we walk through the front doors of the Delvaux mansion. Ava steps forward like she’s going to tear my mother’s head off, but I give her a small head shake. My friend’s mouth presses tight in irritation, but she doesn’t interfere.

Over our heads in the domed entryway is an aerial artist gracefully climbing up a flowing ribbon of fabric. My heart pounds as she lets go and unravels herself, hurling toward the ground, only to stop with a twist of her leg.

“You should have been here before now.” Francesca Delvaux drags me through the party, smiling widely for her guests while causing me pain every second her skin touches mine. My arms are bare in this dress, so there’s not even a small layer of protection between her skin and mine. I know better.

My mother’s dark hair is sleek in her freshly cut chin-length bob. She’s wearing a navy A-line cocktail dress in structured satin. It looks stiff and uncomfortable. Her heels match and are, as she would say, an appropriate three inches. She denies usinga beauty glamor to hide the fine lines in the corners of her eyes, but she’s full of shit.

She tows me to the far wall where my father and sister Camille are waiting. Neither one of them greets me.

“And what is this tawdry disaster you’re wearing?” Francesca leans in, snarling in my ear so no one can hear her vicious tone. She still hasn’t removed her hand. I focus on my breathing, counting with the inhale and then again as I slowly exhale. I’ve become an expert at pretending I don’t feel pain. It’s my tiny rebellion, even though it’s stupid. My mother wants to hurt me. She wants to see me wince and plead. To acknowledge that I’m not strong enough to carry the burden of our family’s curse.

I refuse to bend. Which only makes her try that much harder to break me. I wish I knew why.

“The other dress was too tight,” I lie.

My sister eyes me and makes a crude sound as her gaze lingers on my stomach and hips. I nearly wrap my free arm around my waist. I’m not a size four, but I’m fit and healthy. My friends told me I looked fantastic in this dress, and they wouldn’t lie to me. I don’t think. Definitely not about something important. But a dress?

No. I shove aside my intrusive thoughts.

“Are you drunk?” Francesca hisses in my face. Oops. She must have asked me something while my mind was spiraling. She drops my arm only to clasp my chin tightly, using her magic to turn her fingers into blocks of ice that burn my skin. Forcing me to look at her, she gets in another chance to inflict pain.

My healing magic comes from the Delvaux side of the family. My mother has more elemental magic, and is very good at manipulating water. My father’s family was one of the original founders, but my mother’s line is just as powerful. They both suffered curses, although neither of them does any longer. The perks of giving birth to a new generation, I guess.

I shrug, knowing there isn’t an answer that will satisfy her. She pushes my face away and turns toward Camille. “You may go now. Your sister will take over duties for the Delvaux party for the rest of the night.”

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