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That’s when last night hit me like a speeding train.
Cursed.
Dawson
Ididn’tdrinkbecauseit made me spiral and that was what was happening right now. Too many people, too close, too hot. I wanted to run, but my body didn’t feel like my own, so I stayed frozen until panic suffocated me.
When I opened my eyes, the first thing they landed on was my right forearm. Cursive writing and a symbol… a fucking tattoo. I hated tattoos.
Then I remembered last night. A witch. An angry witch.
A curse.
Fox
OhGod,Iwasgoing to die. And then the after-effects of a hangover I didn’t remember getting were replaced with something else.
A memory.
A black butterfly.
Stories of magic and broken promises.
A witch.
An angry witch.
My fingers brushed over my right forearm, feeling the raised, burning skin.
She fucking cursed us.
Lea
Theroomspun,andI didn’t dare open my eyes. As I lay there, I tried to piece the evening together. The party I planned. Convincing the boys to go to some alternative club. Drinking that awful tea Fox ordered before we all found a corner away from the crowd. There was dancing, laughing… God, I think even Dawson danced; we had our tarot cards read and got a tour of the basement that had a long history of being used for dark magic.
Then Fox stumbled into a woman, the tray of drinks she was carrying spilling over her.
God, she was angry, yelling at him… then there was something about us being sorry, that she was a witch… a direct descendant of the original New Orleans witches.
The next part was hazy.
A black moth had flown out of her mouth.
Her eyes had turned dark.
The place had gone eerily silent, the candles decorating the room flickered, and then…
I cried out; the noise making my head feel like it was going to explode. Sitting up, I ran my fingers over my burning right forearm and the cursive text that was now inked there. I lifted it, so I could read what it said, staring at the symbol on my wrist.
I looked between us, noticing we all had the same words, but our own symbol, and I couldn’t ignore the sense of dread that sat heavy on my chest. “She fucking cursed us,” I whispered.
Realizing we were all awake and naked, Marshall shot from the bed, tugging on his jeans. I pulled the bedsheet up, covering my breasts, while Dawson and Fox leaned back against the headboard.
“Anyone else feel like they are dying?” Fox mumbled and we all quietly agreed with hums and nods.
“Did we really get cursed?” I muttered, still staring down at the words.
Four makes us whole. If one leaves, we all fall.
