Death's Curses

by Becca Fox

  I watched him until he ducked down the hall, heading back toward the records room. I’d have to run a background check on Ralph the Intern. And I should probably scold the crap out of Jazz for talking to him. But first things first. Shaking off the residual suspicion and defensiveness I felt, I marched off to find my uncle.

  Chapter 32

  Jasmine

  I told Anthony everything I’d told Charlie, but he still didn’t seem satisfied. He asked me to go over everything I’d read in Angela’s journal, to see if maybe there was something we were missing, some connection between the third immortal couple and the Salamander that I might’ve missed. Which was so unlike him. He didn’t usually get involved in the cases we helped Uncle Victor solve. Granted, this was by far the strangest and most interesting case we’d ever had to work on, but still. Angela’s diary wasn’t thin and I’d read through most of it. It was a lot of memories to sift through.

  “Maybe we could just go through the entries that mention this third couple,” my doctor said when I pointed this out. He took the journal from me and thumbed through it. “If we made copies of those pages, we could—”

  “Sorry, Tony. Angela said the journal was only for me and Charlie.” I gently took the book back from him. “I’ll just tell Uncle Victor everything I remember and see if he can make any connections. Thanks, though.”

  Anthony licked his lips apprehensively. “Very well.” Then he smiled and stood. “Are you feeling well enough to deliver those welcome baskets you’ve been working on for the new hires? Your uncle is busy but I’d be happy to walk around the precinct with you and deliver them.”

  Why was he acting so weird? I pursed my lips and thought it through.

  In the earlier years, when Anthony had still been married, he’d come over early to play teacher and then leave after the customary eight hours were up. He’d only come back if I died. But then he got divorced. He gradually started spending more and more time here, to the point where he was here when I woke up and left only after he’d reviewed my homework and eaten dinner with us.

  The thing about partial custody was that Anthony couldn’t just show up at his ex-wife’s house and hang out with his sons whenever he wanted. There were set days and times when they could visit. He put on a brave face, but going from a full house to an empty one couldn’t have been easy. At least he’d had us to fill the void.

  I grimaced, realizing too late what I’d done when I’d asked him to cut back on his hours. I thought I was doing him a favor, giving him the opportunity to rebuild his relationship with his family. But it wasn’t that easy.

  “Do you not want to go home because…it’s too quiet there?” I finally asked.

  The weariness on his face intensified, pulled on his shoulders, hollowed out his eyes. It was scary, seeing my strong, smart, refined doctor brought so low by grief and fatigue. He practically sank back over the mattress, leaning his elbows against his knees.

  “Georgina and I…we were together throughout high school, brought a son into the world when we were just kids.” He stared down at his open hands. “I made stupid mistakes I just couldn’t seem to make up for. The more kids that came, the harder things became, the more we argued, the easier it was for me to bury myself in my work. To become more involved with you and your family.” Anthony sighed heavily. “I never faulted Georgina for divorcing me. I was a coward, a selfish coward.”

  “But you still love her,” I said because I heard the wistfulness in his voice. “You still want to be with her and your boys.”

  “It doesn’t matter. It’s too late to make amends.”

  “Bullshit.”

  He shot me a chastising look, but it was half hearted. “Hey...”

  I jabbed a finger into my palm. “You’re too good a person to be bogged down by regret. If you’re miserable where you are, change your circumstances. Move heaven and hell to get where you want to be. Prove to your family that you’re sorry and you’re willing to make them a priority again. All it takes is you having an honest conversation with Georgina.”

  “It’s too late. She’s engaged to a better man. It won’t do any good.”

  I punched his arm.

  Anthony rocked a little from the impact. Clapping a hand over his arm, he whipped around to frown at me. “Jasmine Elizabeth Campbell—”

  “Anthony Cornelius Stroud,” I countered, fisted hands on my hips. “Aside from my uncle, there’s no better man than you. You sacrificed so much for me, even before you got to know me and grew to love me like a daughter. You deserve to be happy.” I pointed at the elevator. “Go get your woman. Or try. How can you respect yourself if you don’t at least try?”

  The doctor stared at me for a second, still holding the arm I’d punched. Then he started laughing. “You are, without a doubt, the fiercest girl I’ve ever met, Jazz.”

  I scoffed. “Just wait until you meet Charlie’s girlfriend.”

  Anthony blanched. “Charles has a girlfriend? When did this happen?”

  “I’ll tell you all about it later.” I made a shooing motion with both hands. “Now, hurry!”

  He leaned forward to plant a kiss on my forehead. Then he stood up, smiling nervously. “Wish me luck.”

  “Tell her the truth and you won’t need luck.”

  Nodding to himself, Anthony walked briskly away from me.

  “Keys,” I said when he walked right past the coffee table.

  He veered around without breaking his stride and scooped the keys off the table before continuing on his way. “Thank you.”

  I grinned after him. But the minute I was alone, my smile faded. Sadness crept into the corners of my heart.

  I really hoped Georgina forgave him. They’d been divorced for many years now but she had to know how much he still needed her.

  I gave myself a little shake before opening up Angela’s journal again. I wanted to finish it before I set up a meeting with her to discuss everything I’d learned and suspected. Before I dived into the past, the elevator door opened again. Charlie launched himself out, arms swinging rigidly at his sides as he stormed over to my bed. Uncle Victor hurried after my brother with a few thick files under his arm and a worried crease between his eyes.

  “I just met your friend,” Charlie said, throwing the words at me like insults.

  “Charles,” our uncle said. “Don’t make this into a big deal.”

  “Why not?” my brother demanded. “It is a big deal. Some guy is stalking Jasmine. It doesn’t just go against the contract he signed when he started working here. It’s against the law. We should report it to the captain.”

  “What are you talking about?” I snapped, already annoyed by his attitude. Why did he have to blow everything out of proportion? I wasn’t a kid anymore!

  “Ralph.” Charlie crossed his arms and frowned down at me. He didn’t elaborate. He didn’t need to.

  Apparently, my overprotective brother had met the intern who had been bold enough to talk to me. It had only been one time, but I still remembered his throaty laugh, his kind smile, the constellation of freckles painted on his skin. Apparently, Ralph remembered me too, otherwise he wouldn’t have approached my brother and asked about me. That had to have been what happened. I couldn’t see my brooding, antisocial brother walking up to the new guy and introducing himself.

  My mouth quirked as a weird laugh escaped me. This guy had been concerned enough to talk to Charlie. Most of the adults my uncle worked with were too scared of my brother to even hold his gaze, much less talk to him.

  “Jasmine,” my brother snapped, popping my bubble.

  I smoothed away the emotion from my face. “What?”

  “Why did I have to find out from a complete stranger that you’ve been talking to…well, a complete stranger!” my brother sputtered angrily.

  “I told you a while back that I talked to an intern. That’s how I learned about the contract every new hire has to sign, remember?”

  “Yeah, but he seemed really interested in y
ou, so obviously more happened than you let on.”

  I matched my brother’s scowl. “He wanted to see my birdhouse. I gave him permission to be on the roof. That happened weeks ago. We haven’t so much as made eye contact since. If more had happened between me and that seriously cute guy, don’t you think I would’ve told you every graphic little detail?”

  My brother stammered incoherently, his face turning redder and redder.

  “Charlie’s right. In a way.” Uncle Victor sat in Anthony’s abandoned spot on the bed beside me. “No matter how inconsequential the interaction, this intern still broke his contract. If we let this slide—”

  “Ralph is kind. He’s the only one in this precinct who’s treated me like a person. He shouldn’t be punished for that. Besides, no one other than the four of us knows Ralph and I talked. There’s no way the word will spread that the contract can be violated without consequences.”

  “Still, he had no right to—”

  “Jesus, Charlie, we just talked,” I snapped. “It’s not like he grabbed my butt. Will you drop it? We have more important things to worry about.” I turned to my uncle, ignoring the choking sounds my brother was making. “You have questions about my theory?”

  Uncle Victor bobbed his head in a nod while fishing around in his shirt pocket for his notebook. “I do. Anthony told me what you said before you died, but I’ll need some context to make any sense of it.”

  I started from the top. While I talked, Charlie dropped into the rolling chair to sulk. He glared at the tips of his still-wet sneakers, his arms firmly crossed again. I tried to ignore him but my annoyance remained. I didn’t care how scared he was of losing me. He couldn’t keep treating me like this.

  By the time I finished talking, Uncle Vic had run out of paper. He tapped his pen against his knee, eyeing the thick folders he’d set aside to take notes. “I think you might be onto something, Jazz. I managed to pull some favors from my friends at Interpol and the FBI. They got their superiors to approve a joint investigation. I emailed them everything we’ve got on the murders of Mr. Ward’s campaign staff and they sent me all the data they’d managed to collect on the Salamander.”

  “And?” I asked, my heart skipping with hope.

  My uncle abandoned his notebook to leaf through the documents in one of the folders. “He’s tied to several organized crime bosses in China, Thailand, Nepal, and India. His earliest recorded murders were back in the sixties.”

  Charlie sat up a little, frowning in confusion.

  “Some of the killings—which had witnesses that reported seeing a person in an old Chinese opera mask fleeing the scene of the crime—were done in separate countries at the same time,” our uncle continued, “leaving Interpol to believe that the Salamander isn’t just one person but a group of masked killers who all take on the same name.”

  “Like the Dread Pirate Roberts from The Princess Bride,” I said.

  “Sure.”

  “Wait a minute.” I opened up the journal and started turning pages as quickly as I could without tearing them. “India. Nineteen-sixty. Sounds familiar…” I stopped when I came to the entry I was looking for. Skimming the words was enough to fully refresh my memory. “The mysterious third couple was in New Delhi at that time. It can’t be a coincidence. They must’ve used the Salamander’s skills then.”

  “If your theory is true,” my uncle gently reminded me. “Otherwise, it most definitely is a coincidence.”

  “We need to get the Wards and the Smiths in an interrogation room,” Charlie said. “It’s the only way to find out everything there is to know about this couple.”

  “Not necessarily,” I said, shutting the book again. “Chances are neither of them have spoken to this couple in centuries. They try to steer clear from each other, remember?”

  “But your theory—”

  “My theory entails one meeting,” I said, holding up a finger, “and a promise never to interfere in one another’s lives again. I doubt the Wards and this other couple have been following each other on Facebook. It would be too detrimental to their reputations if anyone discovered they had even the slightest connection.”

  “What do you think we should do then?” my brother muttered. He didn’t sound accusatory or dejected, just tired. Maybe he had dropped the whole Ralph thing.

  “I still need to bring the Wards in and formally interrogate them,” Uncle Victor said before I could. “We need to find out for sure whether or not they lied to us and made this secret pact. If they do know anything about this third couple—aliases or whereabouts—I’m sure I can get it out of them by threatening to arrest them for obstruction of justice.” He closed the folder and tapped the end against my comforter, making the documents inside fall neatly into place. “I’ll find the Smiths and tell them they’re free to leave the city since they’re no longer suspects.”

  “I’d like to talk to Angela before you do.” I lifted up her journal. “I want to give this back and ask a few questions.”

  “Sure thing, Jazz. I’ll track them down for you and drive you over first chance I get.”

  “Thanks, Uncle Vic.”

  He nodded and stood. Throwing a cool look Charlie’s way, he asked, “Will you be going out again this evening?”

  “I was planning on it, yeah,” was the casual response. The hard line of my brother’s jaw gave away his true feelings.

  Uncle Victor grunted. “Fine. Finish your homework first.”

  “I’m taking Esmer’s homework to her. I was going to do mine while she did hers.” Charlie lowered his eyes. “If it’s okay with you.”

  “Yeah. All right. But be back before midnight this time.”

  “Will do.”

  They nodded at each other and then my uncle retreated to the elevator.

  I stared at my brother until he finally looked up.

  “What?”

  “How’d you get him to talk to you so soon after an argument?” I asked, partially amused, partially mystified.

  “I gave a sincere apology.” He shrugged. “It worked.”

  “Who knew?” I asked dryly.

  Charlie popped his neck with a knuckle to his chin. Rolled his shoulders. Gave a long exhale. “I’m sorry I freaked out about Ralph,” he said in a voice barely above a murmur. “He actually seems like a nice guy. I just—”

  “Started thinking worst case scenario due to our unfortunate experiences with stalking paparazzi. I know. I know.” I narrowed my eyes at him. “It still felt like crap to be given the third degree just because I had a nice interaction with someone outside of our family.”

  My brother sank a little lower in his chair. “I’m sorry about that too.”

  “Good.” I grinned. “Now, tell me exactly what Ralph said about me and how he said it. Oh, and what kind of socks was he wearing? The last time I talked to him, there were ducks on his socks. I bet there was something even cuter on his socks this time.”

  Charlie ran a slow hand down his face as if smothering the flames of his annoyance. “Whales,” he said, like a curse. “The guy had whales on his socks. And he was wearing suspenders.”

  I cooed because I knew it would annoy him even further. “Oh, my God. How adorable is that?”

  August 7th, 1968

  I am amazed by these human rights movements in America. We have crossed the border and learned western medicine, but I am distracted by these large movements for justice.

  The whole world is full of injustice. Many, far too many to count, all over the world have no basic human rights and live with overwhelming oppression. But Americans are demanding the right to legally do and be and live. It’s mind boggling. These great leaders of men, individual icons that inspire, and the countless, nameless bodies that follow for their deserved justice…

  I have a hard time comprehending it. Dymeka and I have always operated within a country or cultural system according to how things are. We desire the right to something, but we never thought to demand and fight and reform the systems or cul
tures.

  I remember Segil and Izz. They sought, by any means, to reform a system to serve their purpose of safety and of acceptance. I can see now that their actions have, in fact, affected more people than just themselves. For better or for worse, they have caused change for others.

  I hope Dymeka’s actions and my own have caused true change.

  * * *

  * * *

  Chapter 33

  Esmeralda

  I glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner of the sitting room. My mom and Hunter landed forty-five minutes ago. My aunt had gone to pick them up from the airport. They should be back any minute.

  If I could pace, I would. Instead I was confined to Aunt Dinah’s armchair where the only way to release my nervous energy was to bounce my good leg and tap my fingers against the armrests.

  Charlie was doing his statue impression by the fireplace. He’d left his ball cap at home and had chosen to style his hair instead. Or maybe it had been windblown naturally when he’d skateboarded over here. He wore the dark, stoic expression I’d expect to see on a teenage Bruce Wayne with a red and black flannel shirt, skinny jeans, and bulky skater shoes. The way he carelessly leaned a shoulder against the bricks and left his hands in his pockets…well, let’s just say I was really looking forward to being horizontal with him again.

  If we survived the evening.

  Last night, while doing homework and fighting the temptation to make out until after we were both done, Charlie had asked me point blank who I wanted him to be when he met my mom and stepdad for the first time.

  He’d shrugged at my look of confusion. “I can play the part of the good, naive kid who actually cares about college and good grades and stuff. If that’s the kind of person your parents wouldn’t give you a hard time about dating.”

  “What? Nah. Just be you on a good day, Charlie boy. I don’t need their approval. I’m under Aunt Dinah’s roof right now and she approves of us. That’s all I really need.”