The Curse Servant (The Dark Choir Book 2)

by Sloan, J. P.

  “Maybe we should move on to cars or politics, then?”

  “Yeah, that Audi outside?”

  “Right?”

  “Yours?”

  “Sometimes I think I belong to the car.”

  “See, now we’re getting somewhere.”

  So, she liked sports and cars. Never in a hundred years would I have assumed I would end up on a date with a woman like this.

  I leaned against the steel door leading to my basement. The cold of the metal seeped through my shirt, just reminding me it was there, not three feet from Ches.

  “I need to check on dinner,” I stated, brushing past Ches toward the kitchen.

  “Smells homey. What is it?”

  “A dish my Aunt used to make in her restaurant. It’s a cassoulet.”

  “A what with the what?”

  “White beans, some duck and pork, onion and carrots. I wasn’t bullshitting you about the family recipe. Aunt Viv ran a restaurant on Long Island for most of my life. I picked up a dish or two when I moved in with her after…”

  Her eyes wrinkled a little, and I regretted mentioning Aunt Viv. Time to change the subject.

  “Uh… let’s check that oven.”

  I made a big fuss over opening the oven door and checking on the dish in order to compose myself. I didn’t want to look like one of those needy guys who has to have everything approved by his… whatever Ches was. Besides, based on the look that crossed her face when the aroma from the cooked spinach filled the kitchen, I had a feeling Ches was going to opt for the sandwiches.

  I spotted Elle peeking around the corner at us.

  “Out of whiskey, Elle?”

  “What?”

  “You finished your straight Glenny?”

  Elle cocked her head at me histrionically and made a gagging noise.

  Ches leaned in and said, “You two act like brother and sister.”

  I shrugged. “I suppose so. Never had a sister, so I wouldn’t know.”

  “Brothers?”

  I shook my head.

  “So, what about your parents? Are they local?”

  I bent down and checked the oven again. “We’re from New York.”

  “The city or the state?”

  “City. People from upstate say ‘New York State.’ The rest of us just say New York.”

  “What do they do?”

  “My father was an investment banker. My mom wrote freelance for a few local magazines.”

  “Are they retired?”

  This was getting painful. “They’ve passed away.”

  “Oh.” She held a hand up to her eyebrow and scowled at the floor. “I’m sorry. I keep thinking you’re my age.”

  “I’m not so old. It happened during my senior year. It was a long time ago. How’s that wine looking?” I swept across the kitchen to open the fridge, thankful for the blast of cold air on my face. I pulled her wine out and searched for the corkscrew I never seemed to put back in the same place twice. “So, what about you? Dolphins fan. You’re from Florida?”

  “Jacksonville, yeah. Undergrad at Miami, applied to University of Maryland and fast forward to tonight.”

  I started chuckling as I tried to pull the cork out of the bottle.

  “What?”

  “Sorry, it’s just… my last girlfriend was from Miami.”

  “Ah. Well, I hope you don’t hold that against me.”

  “Nah, I think you’re safe. Unless you’re a high-priced call girl who lies about getting pregnant to screw over her boyfriends.” I grabbed the corkscrew tight.

  Why did I say that out loud? Stupid. So, so stupid.

  I ventured a slow peek in her direction. She was half turned, focusing on her martini glass.

  “Sorry. I guess I’m a little bitter.”

  “No, that’s not… You’re fine.”

  I picked up the bottle to try and fish out the uncooperative cork, which only managed to break in half in the neck of the bottle. I slammed the bottle down and stepped out of the kitchen door into the side alley. It had to look so childish, but I needed a moment.

  Big, fat fucking mouth. What were the odds I could pull something out of this debacle? I took a few slow breaths and looked up at the sky just beyond the glass high-rise tower behind my house. The smell of the beans in my kitchen blended with some meat one of my neighbors was grilling down the street. I could hear a city bus squealing its brakes over on the MLK. Some kids screamed bloody murder about something unimportant a block over.

  This was my house. I had invited her here, but it was still my turf. I didn’t have to feel like a whipping boy. I had no reason to be defensive. Right. I just got careless.

  Not that any of that mattered to Ches, who was either already out the front door, or at best standing awkwardly in my kitchen wondering what kind of man-child storms out of the room because he can’t open a wine bottle.

  “Got it,” a voice drifted over my shoulder.

  I turned to find Ches holding out a goblet of pale wine for me.

  I took the glass and exhaled. “Thanks.”

  “No problem. Those corks can be tricky. It was probably a cheap cork, anyway. In fact, I don’t think I’ll ever buy that wine again.”

  I smiled and took a sip. It was exquisite.

  “No, you should definitely keep buying this. Very nice.”

  We rejoined the kids in the front room, and I let Elle take a turn at abusing Ches for a while before Edgar and Wren hopped up my stoop and stormed into the front door.

  I stood to greet them, bracing for Wren’s inevitable bear hug. It came as expected, a little lower than I was prepared for perhaps.

  “Back early?” I gasped.

  Edgar bobbed his head back and forth. “They were getting slaughtered. I got bored.”

  Wren sighed, sending beer breath wafting across my face. “I didn’t want to go, but he reminded me that you were in charge of the kids, and I figured ‘Hell, they’re either bleeding to death or summoning a demon.’ So we came back.”

  I squinted at Edgar, who squinted back.

  That was when Wren finally noticed Ches.

  “Oh, holy shit. Did I just say that? Who are you?”

  I jumped between Wren and Ches, trying to back the conversation up twenty seconds. “Wren and Edgar Swain, I want you to meet Francesca… uh―”

  “Baker,” she finished, holding out her hand. “Call me Ches.”

  Edgar shook her hand as did Wren though she spent more time giving me the “atta boy” stare.

  Ches waved her wine glass at Elle and Eddie. “I’ve been chatting with your kids. They’re adorable.”

  “Now I know she’s a fake,” Wren quipped.

  I blurted, “Wine?” as I grabbed Wren by the arm. “You need wine to dilute that beer.”

  “Uh, sure.”

  I dragged Wren into the kitchen and paused by the island. She stood there rubbing her neck.

  “Dorian? You’re being weird.”

  “I need you to calm down.”

  “Don’t get me wrong, you were all dominant and that was kind of hot, but Edgar’s got a way bigger―”

  “Please don’t be so, what? You. Don’t be so you right now, okay?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  I stepped forward and lowered my voice, fully aware of how sound travels in my own home. “Look, she’s about half a screw up away from walking out already.”

  “So? If she can’t take you the way you are, then she can fuck off.”

  “Wren. I don’t want her to fuck off.”

  “Oh. Oh!” Her eyes went wide. “Holy crap, you like her?”

  “What do you think this is?”

  Wren put a hand over her mouth. “Dorian, God. You gotta warn me when you spring a girlfriend on me. You know how I am on Orioles days.” She slapped my arm. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Hey, this was Edgar’s idea. I figured you were in on it.”

  She reached for the corner of the island, steadying herself
on her feet. “I’ll take that up with him later. So, have you screwed up in front of her, yet?”

  “Maybe. I name dropped Carmen. Also, she likes sports. I mean, what am I supposed to do with that?”

  “I like sports.”

  “Yeah, but you’re creepy.”

  She smacked me again. “Okay, now that I’m on board, I have to make sure you don’t screw this up. What did you tell her?”

  “I told her about my parents. Also, what Carmen did for a living.”

  “Jesus, Dorian. You didn’t.” She snickered, then stared. “What does she do?”

  “Hmm? Oh, she works at the café down the street.”

  Wren sneered. “Dorian, I realize there’s this special bond between a man and the person who brings him coffee. Just try not to confuse it with romance. ‘Kay?”

  “I’m nothing but confused at this point.”

  “Does she know what you do for a living?”

  “No.”

  Wren cocked her hip. “Why not?”

  “You know why.”

  “Because you’re an asshole?”

  I wound around her to turn off the oven. “Because my line of work doesn’t really mix with romance. You know this.”

  “Edgar and I do fine.”

  “That’s because you’re Wiccan. You’re kind of playing for the same team. You were ready for this.”

  “What about her?” she asked, fiddling with the chef’s knife on my cutting board.

  “Trust me. She’s not in the Life.”

  Wren gave me a squint before draining her glass. “You know this because you asked her?”

  “I can tell. I think that’s why I like her.”

  “But you don’t trust her.”

  “I trusted Carmen. Showed her the Life. See where that got me?”

  Wren frowned, then looked back into the front room. After a short moment, she beckoned me with a tilt of her head. As I sidled up next to her, she pointed into the room. Edgar sat next to Eddie, equally immersed in whatever game Eddie had been playing. Ches and Elle sat in chairs, both of them with feet tucked under their legs, animated in their conversation.

  “She’s passing Elle’s test, you know,” Wren whispered. “Elle doesn’t like people. She likes you, unfortunately. And it looks like your Ches is doing pretty damn good.” She walked me back into the kitchen.

  I took a deep breath and stretched my neck. Wren was nothing if not grounding for me.

  “I take it back, Wren. I’m totally glad you’re you right now.”

  She gave me a hug and snatched the bottle of wine. “Dorian? Serious talk, though?”

  “What?”

  “Are you just looking for fun with her? Or do you want something long-term?”

  “I have no idea, Wren. It’s way too early for that.”

  “Have you seen anyone since Carmen?”

  “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “Sure you’re not scared? Scared of her? I think she’s getting to you, and I’d hate for this to be a time delay rebound.” She put a hand on my shoulder and squeezed hard. “Want some advice?”

  “Not really.”

  “Too bad, because this is important. I want you to promise me you’re going to let her be Francesca Baker.”

  “Huh?”

  “Let her be who she is. Because she isn’t Carmen.”

  “I know that.”

  “Do you? Don’t assume she’s going to have some agenda. Don’t assume she’s going to screw you over. Just because Carmen did, doesn’t mean you get to hold that grudge over Ches. I’m serious. If it’s going to work, you’ll have to wipe the slate clean.”

  She was right. My whole snit over the wine bottle was about Carmen. Ches handled it better than I’d deserved.

  “I promise.”

  She shoved the bottle into my hand. “Good. Now pour some wine and quit being a tool.”

  After that point, the party went smoothly. Everyone talked, and no one was awkward. Everyone pretty much avoided the cassoulet. I ate those leftovers for a solid week.

  By the time the sun set, the Swains had to return to Frederick. Ches and Elle exchanged some kind of secret handshake before the Swains stepped out into the street. Edgar, who had refrained from commenting on my getting the nerve to ask Ches over all evening, gave me a solid, meaningful nod on his way out.

  Then I was left with that awkward moment when Ches and I had to figure out if she was going to leave or stay.

  We lingered in the foyer for a moment, each of us clutching onto our wine glasses for dear life. Finally, I decided to say something.

  “How do you feel? I mean―”

  “Too tipsy to drive, if that’s what you mean.”

  “Ah.”

  “But I took the bus.”

  “Oh.”

  “We need music.”

  “That… I can do that.”

  I wrestled with my digital music remote for far longer than was warranted as Ches wandered around the house looking over my wall art and gewgaws. By the time I landed on a smooth jazz station and dialed the music down to a conversational level, she had wandered into the hallway. I found her looking over a photo of my parents hanging on the wall just across from my steel door.

  “They were so young,” she mumbled.

  “Yeah.”

  “Was it an accident?”

  “Mom was. A truck T-boned her taxi. She held on for about an hour before the internal bleeding…”

  “What about your father? He wasn’t in the cab?”

  “No. That’s―”

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be asking this. I blame the wine.”

  I gripped my glass, my fingers tapping like mad against the stem. “He shot himself. In our home office. Something he had done at work caused a lot of people to lose a lot of money.”

  “Jesus.”

  “That was a week before Mom’s crash.”

  “One week? You were all alone. You’ve been alone that long?”

  “Oh, I had people. Aunt Viv.” And Emil… but I wasn’t going to get into that.

  Ches looked up into my eyes, balancing the wine glass delicately in her fingertips.

  My heart raced. It wasn’t the wine. It wasn’t her Florida sunshine wholesome vibe. It wasn’t that candy-scent perfume she was wearing.

  I was afraid this was all going to be just casual to her. I was suddenly terrified this was all we were going to be.

  She cocked her head as her eyes traced the shape of my steel door.

  “That’s a hell of a door. You have a panic room or something?”

  My pulse kicked up a notch. “No. That’s just my basement.”

  “Is that where you hide the bodies?” she asked with a wink.

  “What, you didn’t see the fifty gallon barrels in the alley?”

  She lifted her hands. “Sorry again. I’m just being a nosey bitch tonight.”

  I took a deep breath and examined her face. Sure, she was a little tipsy. Very much outside of her comfort zone. But she was keeping up with me, every bob and weave. She wasn’t letting me back down or pull away.

  I repeated Wren’s advice a few times in my head. She wasn’t Carmen. She wasn’t Carmen.

  “Tell you what. Want to see what’s down there?”

  She released an “Ooo,” as her eyebrows popped up.

  “Nothing spectacular. It’s not even locked.”

  I only locked the door when I left the house, but that wasn’t important at the moment. I pulled the lever and eased the door open. Reaching inside, I flipped on the light switch and started down the stairs. She followed me into the finished space of my basement. My octagonal worktable, my shelves of reagents.

  Emil’s Library.

  I positioned myself so she wouldn’t accidentally run into it, touch it, or really even look at it too long. She walked a slow circle around the table, pausing at the jars of myrrh, frankincense, dragonsblood, amber, dried scorpions, and all kinds of goods I had been buying from Edg
ar over the years.

  “See? No bodies.”

  “No,” she whispered. “This is way creepier.” She tapped on the jar of scorpions. “Cozy.”

  “Yeah, it’s kind of cramped. Thought it’d be bigger when I moved in, but you work with what you got.”

  “What do you do down here?”

  “Truth?”

  She nodded.

  I answered, “Magic.”

  “Magic?”

  “Hermetic workings. Charms and hexes. That’s my business, by the way. I sell charms―”

  “―and hexes. Got it.”

  She turned to my table and ran her fingers over the carved inscriptions in its surface.

  “What is this, Greek?”

  “Good eye.”

  “I took a couple years of Greek as an undergrad. What does it say?”

  “It’s an incantation. A line from Pythagoras of Samos. It says ‘Above the cloud with its shadow is the star with its light.’ It’s a declaration of cosmic dichotomy. One of the fundamentals of classical hermetic… what?”

  She grinned at me and shook her head. “I’ve just never met anyone like you before.” She leaned back, her eyes dancing with something new. There was an interest there I hadn’t seen before.

  This was going very well.

  Ultimately, she sobered up and fatigue set in. I offered to drive her home, but we both recognized I wasn’t in a position to sit behind the wheel. Instead I escorted her to the bus stop and waited with her. She gave me a peck on the cheek when we saw the bus round the corner of Fayette.

  “Say, what are you doing next Saturday?” I blurted before the air brakes squealed.

  “Nothing special. What you got?”

  “I’m a member of a club up by Druid Hill. I’d like to take you. It’s my home away from home.”

  She rolled her chin a little before nodding. “Sounds fun. What kind of music do they play?”

  “Not that kind of club.”

  “So, what’s the dress code?”

  The bus doors opened, and the driver looked like she didn’t have much patience for long goodbyes.

  “Evening gown too much to ask?”

  She winced a little, then shook her head. “I’ll find something,” she added before squeezing my hand and stepping into the bus.

  I took a long, slow stroll back to the house. It wasn’t until I was at the stoop that I realized I had left my phone on my desk. It was ringing.

  I rushed to unlock the door, and managed to catch it before it rolled to voice mail.