Withering Rose (Once Upon a Curse Book 2) Read online

  So it's been for years.

  And I can't see the end.

  Which is why I walk now with my head down, clutching my books and ignoring the sideways stares that follow my every movement. I've traversed these gray, lifeless hallways more times than I care to count, and I don't need to watch where I'm going. My feet remember the path to my classroom, just as easily as my mind does. I don't stop until I reach the open door, pausing for a moment to scan for an empty seat before rushing to fill it. Only when I sit do I notice the vase of lilies on my teacher's desk.

  I gasp.

  Immediately, the magic surges, washing over me and demanding to be used.

  I close my eyes, trying to steady my breathing.

  Even from ten feet away, I sense every slowly decaying cell of those gorgeous flowers. Cut at the end, plucked from nature to sit in a glass container and look pretty for a few days, all the while slowly dying inside. I understand them. And the magic within me wants to fix them. All it would take is a single thought, one second of wishing it were so, and roots would sprout at the base of the stems, sinking to the floor, searching for dirt. I could give those lilies life.

  I could.

  But I can't. It would cost me too much.

  After a few minutes of steady breathing, I'm able to pull my thoughts from controlling the magic. And a few more minutes later, I finally register my name being called.

  "Omorose?"

  Snickers.

  Laughter.

  The sound grates against my ears, and I open my eyes quickly, flicking my gaze around the room. The girls at the front bite their lips, looking back and forth between one another, giggling not so quietly.

  I wish after so many years I could say I was used to it, that it didn't hurt.

  But it stings. It always has.

  "Yes?" I ask, voice quiet. In the old world, I was a princess, a ruler, a leader. Here, I'm a wallflower, always shrinking away. It's hard to make friends when I'm always pretending. It's hard to make friends when I know anyone in this room would kill me if they found out what I truly was.

  "Have you heard anything we've been discussing or were you just asleep in your seat?" my teacher, Mrs. Nelson, asks.

  I sink lower. "No," I murmur. "I didn't hear."

  More teasing.

  More laughter.

  "We're discussing everyone's plans for after graduation," Mrs. Nelson urges, bringing her tone to a gentler place. "The year is half over, and this week's focus will be on compiling applications for jobs. The world needs more teachers, doctors, soldiers, engineers, and physicists, especially out here at the bases. But in some of the cities, there are different opportunities, like journalists, broadcasters, politicians."

  I shake my head.

  I've never thought of what I want to do after graduation. There is no after for me. I can't leave my father, not after everything we've been through. All I have are endless days of walking these halls until he is finally ready to leave, a day I fear will never come.

  "Speak up," Mrs. Nelson commands.

  "I, I don't know," I respond, feeling my cheeks heat as my peers continue to stare at me.

  Mrs. Nelson holds my gaze a moment longer, waiting with a flicker of hope for me to be normal for once. After a moment, the flicker fades. Disappointment lines her irises, and she turns to the next student.

  "Dean?"

  He's the general's son. It's no surprise when he confidently says he wants to enlist and become a soldier in the war against the magic. I try to focus on his answer, to make myself present and pull myself away from my thoughts. But as I turn in my seat to watch him speak, a word filters into my ear.

  "Freak."

  A painful spike of heat shoots down my back.

  I sit up straight. I don't turn around.

  I know it's only worse when I give in.

  "Freak." It comes again.

  I can't help it. I snap, spinning to face Amanda and her cronies. She watches me with a sneer, curling her upper lip and daring me to respond.

  So easy.

  It would be so easy.

  I wouldn't even have to open my mouth. One thought and I could curl vines of ivy around her ankles, gripping her tight before throwing her across the room. I've imagined it a million times, daydreamed about the expression of shock on her face, the fear that would line her eyes, the knowledge that I was more powerful than she would ever be.

  It takes all of my strength to curl my fingers into my palm, to hold the magic in and turn away.

  "Ooh, I'm so afraid," she whispers again, voice triumphant. They all snicker at my expense, proud of themselves for besting me yet again.

  I take a deep breath, swallowing the clog in my throat back down.

  They're not worth it, I remind myself. Not worth the disappointment I would see in my father's eyes if I lost control. Not worth my life if the soldiers here discovered what I was. At least, that's what I repeat in the back of my mind for the rest of class, not paying attention at all to the lesson Mrs. Nelson planned, a lesson about a future I can never have.

  And then we're dismissed at lunch. The next half of the day will be combat training, basic skills everyone our age is expected to know—everyone except me. I come from the magic world, and they don't trust me enough to train me. Oh, I'm allowed to go to school and learn from books. Literature, biology, history, all of that is fine. But they'll never willingly put a gun in my hand and teach me how to shoot. Little do they know I don't need one anyway.

  "Hey!" A hand lands on my shoulder, stopping me. I turn, unable to keep my jaw from dropping as I look into Dean's bright blue eyes. "I'm sorry about before, with Amanda," he says, smiling at me encouragingly. "She can be a bit of a, well…"

  He trails off.

  But we both know what word was going to come next.

  I shrug, trying to ignore the way my heart is pounding in my chest. Is it the brilliant color of his eyes? The fact that he's speaking to me? The fact that someone is being somewhat nice to me for the first time in years? I don't know, but warmth floods my cheeks, and I shake my head.

  "Don't worry about it," I mumble. Internally, I curse. What happened to the girl I used to be? She was tough, wasn't she? She stood up for herself, didn't she? Is this who my father wanted me to become?

  "Are you okay?" he asks, peering closer.

  The urge to run takes over. In that instant, I realize I don't want his attention. I'm the girl I've become for a reason. I don't want the general's son learning my secrets, looking at me like I'm not invisible, gazing at me like a mystery to solve.

  But before I can step away from his touch, another voice calls. "Omorose!"

  My father.

  Dean jerks his hand away. I press my back against the wall.

  Did we look like two teenagers in love?

  Is that why my father's voice came out high-pitched with panic?

  "I have to go," I whisper.

  Dean looks at me for another moment. I don't want to like the interest in his eyes, yet part of me, deep down, does. "A few of us are going to the surface tonight if you want to come. Just to hang out, party a little, get away from the adults." He shrugs.

  The surface.

  I sigh, unable to stop the smile that spreads across my cheeks at the thought of going to the surface, of breathing in the fresh air, of shaking off the stale underground. The smile that also spreads a little bit at the idea of being included, at the idea that someone might miss me when I don't come.

  Dean smiles too.

  I grasp the moment tightly, locking it away in the corner of my mind.

  And then I turn abruptly away without responding because I know I can't go with him, not ever. And I know it would only hurt me more to think for a second that I could. He's just like everyone else in this world. He wouldn't like me if he saw the real me. And I can play pretend with my life, but not with my heart.

  I'm better off being alone.

  "Omorose," my father says urgently when I reach him. "Follow me, so
mething's happened. Something we can't discuss here."

  "What's happened, Papa?" I ask, ignoring his unspoken request for obedience.

  He glares at me. "Not here."

  "But—"

  I stop speaking as alarms blare, drowning out the sound of my voice. My eyes go wide as I realize the panic in my father's voice wasn't from finding me with Dean. Something's happened. Something that must affect everyone on this base for the alarms to be sounding.

  "Is it the beast?" I ask softly as we race down the halls in search of our underground apartment. That's our name for the mysterious king who resides in the mountains, the one whose magic the Midwest Command Center is responsible for tracking. He is at the center of the hazy circle closest to us on the map, the one we watch day and night for any changes. Some say his magic is to take different animal forms, wolf and bear and hawk. Some say he can hide in plain sight. Some say he rules an entire kingdom of shape shifters. And some say that we still don't know what his power truly is, because even with all of our technology, we've never been able to get close enough to find out.

  In the old world, my people were afraid of those mountains and the beasts who watched over them. In the new world, I've found myself wondering which side of the fight I should really be on. After all, wouldn't these people label me a beast too?

  My father strengthens his grip and pulls me ahead, not bothering to answer. I am still a princess and he is still a king, so I bite my lip and stay silent, finally adhering to his command.

  But if the alarm isn't about the beast, then what?

  The ringing quiets down, and a static crinkle takes its place. Everyone who was moving stops. Trying to blend in, we stop as well, but I can feel my father's pulse thrumming with nervous impatience. And then the voice of the general takes over.

  "I hope that got your attention," he says lightly. A deep chuckle reverberates through the speakers, and all around us people release the breaths they didn't realize they'd been holding. I scrunch my brows, glancing toward my father. The general sounds happy, elated. So why is my father so afraid?

  "Today is a glorious day," the general continues, his smiling voice coming through loud and clear despite the crackling of the microphone. My father grips my fingers so tight his nail beds turn white. "Today, after a decade of fighting the magic that turned our world upside down, the people of Earth have finally been victorious."

  Murmurs rise up around us, excited chatter.

  The general pauses for effect, as though he can hear all the whispers spreading around the base, all the hopeful theories about what that victory might be.

  I, on the other hand, can feel the color draining from my face. A knot has formed in the pit of my stomach, twisting tighter and tighter with each prolonged moment of anticipation.

  "We've just received a report that the Northwest Command Center has taken down the queen they've been fighting for ten years. The magic vanished from our radars late last night, and it has been confirmed this afternoon that the queen is dead, and that with her death, the magic plaguing New York City has finally disappeared."

  Cheers erupt from everywhere at once, drowning out whatever the general's next word might have been. Some people are crying, others are shouting, more are hugging and laughing and beaming with joy.

  I meet my father's eyes.

  New York City.

  New York City.

  Why does it sound familiar? Why have I heard it before?

  The knot coils tighter.

  My mind races.

  I'm missing something. I know I am.

  But I can't think straight. All I hear over and over again is, the queen is dead. The queen is dead. They killed her. And everyone is cheering for the sheer joy of that fact.

  I clench my fists as the magic stirs deep inside of me.

  I know in that moment that they would kill me without hesitating. I've thought it before. I've told myself that a hundred times, to keep my heart guarded, to keep my magic in control. But I never believed it until now. Freak. That’s what Amanda and her friends have been calling me under their breath for years. Freak. That's what everyone who watches my father and me out of the corner of their eyes believes. I am a freak to them. An outsider. Someone who doesn't belong and never will.

  The queen is dead.

  But all I hear in my head is Omorose is dead. I am dead. My magic and my legacy are dead. All I hear in my head is their uproarious applause.

  "Quiet down, quiet down," the general says between laughs. He's partaking in the merriment. And why wouldn't he? He's devoted his life to fighting magic, to fighting me.

  No one is quieting down. In fact, they just get louder.

  Someone next to us grabs my father, pulling him in for a hug. My father instantly turns off the panic in his face, flipping his expression to a jubilant smile, hugging the man and joining in with the cheers. He glances at me, expression pleading.

  Blend in, his eyes are saying.

  Pretend. Join in the revelry. Don't let them notice you are different.

  "Quiet down!" the general repeats, still laughing.

  Suddenly, his words sound like they are meant only for me. Quiet down. I've spent my entire life being quiet, looking down, bowing my head to keep everyone from noticing me. I can't do it anymore.

  My father reaches for me, but I step back. I shake my head. I can't meet his eyes, can't stand to see his false happiness for another moment.

  Instead, I flee.

  Everyone is so consumed by their joy, they hardly notice me as I swerve my way between them, walking quickly but not running. The general keeps talking, but I'm not listening anymore. Blood pounds in my ears, and it drowns out everything else. Magic thrums through my veins.

  When I finally reach my bedroom, I do the only thing I can think of doing to release my anger, my hurt, my frustration. I scream until I collapse on the floor. Then I scream again. And when my throat is too raw to scream anymore, I finally notice the salty tears dripping down my cheeks.

  I crawl across my carpet and reach beneath my bed, using my shaking fingers to pull out the box I've hidden there—the box I haven't opened in five years. My heart skips a beat, and everything in the world turns peacefully quiet. As my breath becomes uneven, my throat clogs, growing tight.

  I open the lid and pull out the torn, stuffed bear I hid inside.

  Mr. Winky.

  A gift from my sister.

  It's the only thing I still have from my old world, my old life. The crown I was wearing on the day of the earthquake was confiscated, as were my family ring and the necklace my mother had given me—all jewels that could be sold for profit. My dress was thrown out when I grew too big. The trunks my father and I had packed for our journey had either vanished during the earthquake or were stolen from us. This little bear with a missing eye and patches on its seams was the only thing deemed not worthy enough to take, a toy no one had the heart to steal from a frightened child. And I'll be forever grateful for that fact.

  I hug the soft fabric to my chest, letting Mr. Winky take my tears and my fears as my mind opens up to a memory I haven't allowed myself to think of in years. But no matter how much time passes, I will never forget the day my sister gave this to me.

  It was the last day I saw my mother and her alive.

  It was the last time I ever felt truly at peace.

  The last time I ever felt that I belonged.

  It was one week before the earthquake. I was standing in the courtyard outside our home, a grand castle at the very center of our kingdom. The carriage door was open behind me, and my father had already climbed inside, settling himself in for the start of our journey. But I was afraid. I was crying because I didn't want to go. I didn't want to have a fiancé, I didn't want to leave my mother and my sister for so long, I didn't want to grow up.

  "Hush, darling," my mother whispered, kneeling down to my eye level as she wiped the tears from my cheeks. "You'll be a queen someday, just like me. You'll have magic, just like me. And Princ
e Asher will be your king, just as your father is to me. You will grow to love each other. And trust me, at this moment, I would bet he is just as afraid as you are."

  I sniffled, lifting my chin to meet her gaze. "Do you really think so?"

  She smiled lovingly. "I know so."

  "How?" I whined.

  "Because once I was just like you, a little girl afraid of what the future held for me. And then, just like you will, I learned how to be brave, how to swallow my fears and see each challenge as an opportunity for growth, as an opportunity to be a leader for my people."

  I shook my head. "I'm not brave."

  She cupped my cheek in her warm palm, rubbing the last tear away. Then she leaned forward and kissed my brow. "My darling Omorose, you'll learn to be brave. And this journey with your father is the first step."

  "Ro Ro," a little squeaking voice said from behind my mother.

  I smiled at my little sister. She was barely two and still wobbly on her feet as she walked closer to me.

  "Ro Ro brave," she said confidently.

  I laughed. "Thanks, sissy."

  But she shook her head as though she could sense the defeat in my tone. "Ro Ro brave!" she repeated adamantly, and then she held out her stuffed bear, an offering to me. It was the same bear I grew up playing with, the one I doubted she remembered that I had given to her on the day she was born.

  "You keep Mr. Winky until I get back," I murmured, peeking at my mother to see her eyes shining proudly at both of us. I was trying to be brave, to be an example for my little sister just like Mother had told me to be. But my sister just shook her head and stomped her foot, even more stubborn than me, and held out Mr. Winky again.