Chapter 1 – Fleeing a Fury
“I told you that was a bad idea,” I admonished my master, Sant Lar, a respected Sikh mystic. He had been teaching me how to break curses. Usually, my grandmother had cared less about this. However, between us, we had broken one of her jinxes, and she was pissed.
I had to admit that her affliction had been particularly unfair. Sure, the Mayor of Parramatta had been a slimy, oily fella. It was bad practice to let people curse every politician that fit such a description. If people like Sant allowed that practice to continue, there would be a collapse of parliaments and governance worldwide.
“I had not thought your family would be so angry. She would not look crosswise at me – the Rakshasa would take offense. I am their rightful prey, and she does not want to start a war.” Sant looked at me curiously, then asked, “Do Furies really think so little of family?”
I shrugged at first. The Furies were my family on my mother’s side, and I still felt betrayed by my father abandoning me. That affected my opinion of what family meant to most people.
I had to think carefully before answering my master’s question. “Family is important to them like it is to most. But rage is core to their nature. They come by their name honestly.” I was his apprentice, but he was needed in Sydney. If I gave my dear grandmother a moving target or even found someone to shield me from her, that would be the best solution. “I think I need to get outta the country, give her some time to cool down or find a new target,” I told my teacher, glumly.”
While I had a point about leaving the country. Sant had a point about family.
I had no idea how I would manage it. I had the tattoo on my hand as my identification on my passport. There was some sort of plan around that for precisely this eventuality. I was in a unique situation. If I needed to leave the country for any of a large number of reasons, commercial othersider would be the safest way for me.
Finding a reason to leave the country, now, that was not as easy. I was a registered curse breaker, but I needed a job or some business to be allowed into most nations. Shifters were the world travelers of the supernatural. For everyone else, it was harder. Or at least more complicated. Tourism was not considered a reason for the supernaturally talented to travel.