Read Online Cursed: An Urban Fantasy Novel (The Thrice Cursed Mage Book 1) by J. A. Cipriano - Free Book Online Page A

brunette’s slowly simmering rage. I got the distinct feeling they’d done this particular dance many, many times. It made me wonder what the status of their relationship actually was, and if that was the reason for her reluctance outside.
    “Mac,” she said, shooting me a little wave. It was a little weird because we’d been separated for all of thirty seconds. Had she thought I was going to leave her this close to meeting the people she swore could help me?
    Before I could take even a step toward her, the old man turned abruptly and shot a lopsided grin at me. His dark hair was clearly a dye job, identifiable partially because he looked to be in his seventies and partially because the new growth along his sideburns was white as snow. I didn’t really see the point, but then again, my hair was pretty light. If a bit of silver speckled it, no one would be able to tell. Besides, I looked like I was in my late twenties or maybe early thirties. I wouldn’t have much gray to hide anyway.
    “Can I get you something?” he asked, voice like a rough leather strop being pulled across a knife edge. He moved along the bar in my general direction, and the brunette shot the back of his head a glare that could have melted glass. It made me immediately glad she hadn’t turned it on me.
    “What do you recommend?” I replied, my mouth practically salivating at the idea of drinking something. I was so thirsty I’d have drunk pretty much anything, even light beer.
    “Real men wet their whistle with whiskey.” He raised an eyebrow to me. “But if you’re one of those yuppie pussies, there might be some Michelob Light in the back room somewhere. Want me to go fetch you one along with a little pink umbrella?”
    “So no Zima then?” I asked, and the look of horror on the man’s face was worth a thousand words. “Whiskey is fine,” I added before he could recover, almost relishing the thought of the amber liquid in a glass with a couple cubes of ice. “You’d better leave the bottle.”
    The old guy shook off his shock and turned to the counter behind him, grabbing a dark, dusty bottle with no label before snatching a glass from some unseen place. He set the glass down in front of one of the empty stools and poured a heavy dose of dark liquid inside. His lips separated into a wry smile that revealed a few missing molars along the sides.
    “Here you go, tough guy. One Zima.” He set the bottle down beside the drink. “I’ll leave the bottle here. Don’t go making me regret it. I swear to the Holy Mother herself, if you wind up spitting whiskey all over my bar, you’ll be mopping it up with your face.”
    Before I could reply, the brunette stood up abruptly, making her chair skid backward across the concrete floor with a sound like nails on a chalkboard. “If you guys are all done being macho assholes, maybe we can get this show on the road. I need to get back to my son.”
    The old guy glanced at her like he was seeing her there for the first time. “Sera, how nice of you to drop by. Didn’t see you there.” His gaze flicked from her to me and back again. “Is the dumbass with you?”
    “Unfortunately, yes.” Sera let out an exasperated breath. “That’s why I’m here. I was attacked Duane. The werewolves are getting more serious about their advances. The Cursed saved me, but he doesn’t remember anything before this morning. I thought you might be able to help him.”
    The old bartender glanced back at me and gestured toward my drink. “Guess that one’s on the house. Thanks for saving my girl.” His girl? What the hell did he mean by that? Was he seriously implying he was dating the brunette even though their age disparity could be counted in half-centuries?
    “Just give the wolves what they want and call it a day,” the Indian from the back called before a thunderous break sent billiard balls flying across the table in front of him. “It’s not like you won’t enjoy it.”
    The brunette, who I was