The Living Curse

Chapter Ten: Masquerades





He had returned to their room at least four more times, pestering them and trying to get them to take a break from the book. He admired their dedication, but he had hoped to get to know them better before being forced to trust them. He had even brought small vanilla cookies in a tin, the ones his mother insisted on sending him periodically. He thought the things were bland and horrid, like chalk, but other people seemed to like them. It had been so long since he’d been around girls, and he slipped clumsily back into his charming skin.

They’d turned him down, and Mira had practically shoved him out the door, though Nameh seemed grateful for the distraction. Reluctantly, he’d retired to his room where his friends had, once again, made fun of him to no end for attempting to be hospitable. He was, of course, used to the constant verbal assaults, and usually was a part of them. Tonight, though, something was different and he couldn’t put his finger on it. Perhaps it was the new acquaintances, or the tragedy of losing so many Markbearers, but he couldn’t take it. He coped as he usually did when life was too much for him and grabbed the brown leather bag from beneath his bed. “I’m going out,” was all he said, and all he needed to say. His friends didn’t question him.

Now, he walked with a quick, forceful stride down the corridors of the Academy as he had many times before. He ran his hand along the cool stone wall, calming his nerves. It was so refreshing, that he stopped for a moment to lean against it, pressing his back into the cold. He reached the doors to the outside, his salvation, and his body ached to feel the battle that was waiting on the other side. He pushed open the heavy door’s golden handle, a thick bar across it, and took a deep breath of the midnight air. The cold filled his lungs and bristled the hair on the back of his neck. Like a drug, the Night filled his mind and brought him the satisfaction and peace that he so needed. He muttered the words to his silent step spell and softly padded at a jog down the street.

He broke into a sprint, feeling oxygen burning in his lungs, and his muscles rippling beneath him. Sweat began to accumulate on his brow, making a frigid barrier between him and the world. He imagined himself running from all of his problems, his family, and his secrets—leaving them far behind. Running made him feel free, and so did fighting. Doing both was pure release. Just as quickly as he had begun running, he stopped, his feet frozen to the spot. His mark had begun to burn, but not the burn that told him a magical creature was near. He had become familiar with the different kinds of pain soon after receiving the Shask, and now it was unmistakable. This burning was that of danger, unknown danger to be more exact. He whirled about, now feeling the follower with his own senses. He could see only shadows, though they seemed to ebb and flow like some great and terrible dark ocean. He saw movement from the corner of his eye, but as he turned, it ceased entirely, leaving no traces behind.

His heart quickened, he longed for battle, but longed more to know with what he would be battling. He stood in silence for another moment, only allowing his paranoia to set in further, like a monster embedding its claws into his mind. He walked now, his senses at the height of their ability, thanks to a small strength spell. He smelled the other, all adrenaline and excitement, but no fear. He felt their presence, like a thick fog suffocating him. He heard the faint whispers of movement, however concealed. He even tasted the other on the breeze, sweat and something else, almost sweet and pleasant but strong. Yet, he could not see the other, the only of his senses that was now being deprived.

He changed his destination, deciding that anyone tailing him probably shouldn’t know where he usually went. He stayed to the well-lit streets, not wanting to risk a late night metro or dark alley fight. Finally he stopped, tired of running, and realizing that the stalker was not going to relent. He drew his sword, chest heaving from running and fingers nearly twitching from adrenaline. There was a streetlight behind him, and a small grocery store that would be closed for several more hours. In front of him, there was a series of small, squatty buildings, strange for New York, home of the towering skyscrapers. He watched and waited, the rhythmic sound of his own breathing soothing him. Suddenly, he heard the movement again, coming from somewhere in the shadows.

A dark figure suddenly materialized, dropping from one of the squatty buildings, hitting the ground noiselessly. It stood and darted closer, taking him completely off guard. A voice sliced through the space between them like a thin razorblade.

“Relax, if I wanted to kill you, you’d already be dead.” The voice laughed, filled with low and pleasant undertones, the voice of a woman, he realized. The figure stepped into view, revealing a girl with shocking silver-white hair braided down her shoulder, standing out against the deep black of her clothing. In the dim light, her dark eyes looked positively black and searching. Her skin was fair, and her features had a mix of delicacy and fierceness: high cheekbones with a soft nose and a prominent jaw. The girl stood with a powerful stance, her shoulders and hips set against him in constant challenge. On her belt glimmered swords and daggers, mostly silver and black, but some with gold. The entire image of the girl was overwhelming and unexpected.

“Nameh?” he said at last.





She nearly laughed at the boy’s surprise, and imagined that this feeling must have sparkled in her eyes. She had been following him for over half an hour, and had begun to tire of the game, so she revealed herself. It brought her a sadistic pleasure, the fact that he didn’t know how much magic she actually had. Not only had she known many spells from the book to begin with, but she had quickly learned many of those she had not.

“You followed me? Couldn’t stay away?” he poked slyly. His forward attitude was, as he probably hoped, a mixture in equal parts of irritation and charm.

“Funny how you think I intended to follow you.” She said with a nonchalant air. “I convinced Mira that we should get some sleep and snuck out. I’ve had a tracking spell on you since I sensed that you were watching me, and so I knew you were leaving too. I got curious and tailed you. It was easy.” She said with a sly smile. His face betrayed surprise when she mentioned the tracking spell.

“So, now you’re just teaching yourself magic?”

“It’s faster than waiting for you to do it.” She said with raised eyebrows and a tone that was not as challenging as she’d wanted it to be. He looked her up and down, and then studied her face. She thought of Daniel and the way he’d done the same thing in the dream. He had seemed to rip away one’s defenses to see what truly lay inside, but Max’s studious stare was gentler. He seemed to carefully chip away at the outer walls, not wanting to damage the gem inside the stone.

She noticed now what she hadn’t before: he had the same habit of examining subtleties that she did. She knew the conclusions she had drawn about him, but was curious of the adverse.

“What are you looking for?” she asked, taking him slightly off guard. “My habits, weaknesses, the northwest passage?” He laughed, understanding a joke she hadn’t expected him to.

“The former, but they’ve proved to be just as elusive as the latter.”

“Charming, a history nerd.” She said with a sarcastically curt tone.

“You were the one who brought fifteenth century explorers into the conversation. I would have left poor Vasco DaGama out of it,” he said with a grin.

“Funny, you strike me as a person that rarely leaves anyone out of it. Regardless of what it is,” she mused.

“So you think you have me pinned, do you?” he asked curiously.

“I certainly do.”

“Well then, why am I here?” He spread his arms in a gesture that welcomed her to answer. She paused only for a moment, weighing each of her words with care.

“You are here for one, or a combination, of three reasons,” she said matter-of-factly, ticking them off on her fingers. “One: you have a nasty habit of insecurity, and feel the need to prove your manhood on a nearly daily basis. Two: you were kept on so restricted a lifestyle when you were younger, that you now compensate by doing whatever the hell you want.” She paused for a moment, trying to glean reaction from his face, but he hid his emotion well. A smile spread across her face as she mentally constructed her final point. “Or three, my personal favorite: you’ve got a broken heart. I think that you’re betrothed. Your family is of high breeding, and has set you up with a girl of ‘their standards’,” she finished with proud and challenging look. “Of course, the tough guy attitude and sarcastic comments shouldn’t be neglected either; those come more from options one and two.”

Max merely stood, frozen where he was. He still didn’t betray any emotion, but Nameh was now sure that she had hit her mark. “Let me guess,” she continued, “she’s beautiful and high class, but she’s doted on. Daddy gives her everything she wants, and that’s what she expects of you.” She began to stroll back and forth, fully enjoying the creation of her fantastic woman. “She’s stiff and self-centered, and a nag. She doesn’t understand your jokes, and would rather be taken prisoner and wait for you to save her than even think about fighting her own battle. That’s when you gained the fascinating tendency of cutting out when things stop going your way, like now. It’s better just to run, and trap yourself under the heat of battle than to try and fight yourself anymore.” She paused now, meeting his gaze, and sharing a breath of understanding. They weren’t so different. “So you ran for good,” she said simply. “You ran the only way a self-respecting upper class boy like yourself could. You joined the Guardians; there, you wouldn’t disgrace your family, but you had a reason for putting off the wedding. Have you told them that you’re not coming home?” she asked dangerously, raising an eyebrow. There was a silence; she could hear nothing but distant traffic and the whispering of the wind.

“What do you think? Have you?” he asked, now unexpectedly returning her challenging stare. She gave him a surprised and approving look with a small nod of her head.

“Touché, I’m impressed.” She said simply.

“You’ve run away too, but for a different reason.”

“Enlighten me,” she said dryly.

“My current theory is as follows: your parents held impossibly high standards, though I don’t think you’re of extremely high class birth.” He didn’t pause to see if this offended her, he didn’t need to. “There wasn’t any way for you to make a name for yourself without marrying, and that wasn’t a bullet you were willing to take. You can’t bear the thought of opening up to someone because you’ve buried your pain so many times you can barely tell where it ends and yourself begins. I’d bet you think that you’re doing the world a favor, too, to keep your twisted soul inside. I might even go so far as to say that you’ve sworn off love.” He wore on his face the same pride that she had a moment ago. Jokingly, he added “Or is there some strapping young man waiting patiently for you to return from monster slaying back home?”

She absorbed his words for a moment, measuring them against her own. She had never heard such a raw analysis of herself, and had never felt someone relate to the turmoil burning inside her. “Well,” she began carefully, “it’s not exactly that I’ve sworn off love, but it’s not really my thing; making relationships work and all, being tied down.” She said these words in a playful tone in an attempt to lighten the mood, but they were true. “So it seems we do have each other figured out… to a certain extent.” Despite her nonchalant demeanor, she was relatively surprised at how much Max was able to infer about her. It had always been a talent of hers to gather small amounts of information and make drastic assumptions which generally proved to be true; in fact, character judging was something she took a great deal of pride in, and finding someone who matched her blow for blow was intriguing.

In the same breath, they both laughed, shaking off the serious moment that had just taken place. With the laugh, the fragile shell they had built around the two of them shattered like glass. Not another word would be spoken about carefully guarded pain, about false fronts covering endless sorrow and angst. Each now had a distant soul close at hand, silently mourning for the other, when no tears would be shed. Their moment apart from time was over, and they resumed their masks like two people who met at a masquerade, and for just a moment, had shown their true faces.

Up ahead, there came the most horrifying screech of anger that Nameh had ever heard. The sound pierced the night air and cut through the long distance between the pair and whatever monstrosity had begun its fearsome song. She turned her dark eyes toward Max, but only found a knowing grin that ignited a thirst for battle stronger than she had felt in a long while. She did not know where they were headed, but she was ready for a war.


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Congratulations, you’ve finished this book! I want to thank you for your purchase and I sincerely hope that you’ve enjoyed reading it! If you liked my writing, I would be very grateful if you would consider writing an honest review of the book where you purchased it. Thank you for reading!

To be released early 2013:

The Frozen Moon, Book two of The Living Curse series

Flames Among Ashes, Book three of The Living Curse series

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About the Author

J.D Swinn is a young author who specializes in fantasy and science fiction. In her free time, she loves to read both of these genres, as well as write short and long fiction. With loving and supportive friends and family who encourage her every step of the way, she hopes to continue writing for as long as possible. She hopes to inspire fantastically flawed worlds and characters who follow her readers even after the pages close, just as they do for her.