The Curse Servant (The Dark Choir Book 2)

by Sloan, J. P.

  “I think so.” That was a lie.

  Kim cradled the phone and kept my card. “Just a minute, please.”

  “Kim? What’s up? Is this about the photos?”

  Ches whispered, “Photos?”

  “Interior décor. Nothing creepy.”

  “Just a minute, please,” Kim repeated, turning away from me. I could already see the guilt building up in her eyes.

  “Something’s wrong,” I muttered.

  After an uncomfortable thirty seconds, I heard a door open and spotted Giancarlo the manager swooping down the entry hall with two security goons on his sides. I had only ever seen the security goons once before, when one of the girls was getting thrown around by a client. Said client left with a broken jaw and a ruined social life after that. I was hoping for neither at the moment.

  “Giancarlo? What’s going on?”

  His imposing frame stopped in front of me, his hands shoved into his pockets. Giancarlo was a beast of a man, but he was always fair and decent. I figured something had to be significantly wrong for him to block me this far forward.

  “See, Dorian,” he mumbled, “I gotta turn you out.”

  “What?”

  He looked down at his shoes, then stepped to the coatroom. Kim held out my card as he snatched it.

  “Membership’s revoked. Look, I’m real sorry about this.”

  Giancarlo pulled his other hand from his pocket and produced a tiny pair of scissors. Without looking me in the face, he snipped my card in half and handed the pieces to one of the goons.

  I looked over to Ches who was turning red and tucking her head to the side.

  My blood pressure rose, but I knew getting smart wasn’t going to make this go away.

  “Can I have a word?” I whispered, gesturing away from Ches.

  Giancarlo gave her a look, then nodded. We withdrew to a potted palm near the entry doors, and I tried to whisper loud enough to be heard only by Giancarlo.

  “What’s this about? I mean, I’ve caused my share of scenes in there, but you didn’t bounce me once for that.”

  “Not once?”

  “Okay, maybe that time with the Swedes. But I’ve been a saint lately.”

  “Yeah, you’re a stand-up guy, Dorian. Which is why this sucks for me as much as you. But this comes from the owners, so there’s nothing I can do about it. You know how this goes.”

  “The owners?” That son of a bitch. “McHenry, right?”

  “I cannot comment on the identities of the owners.”

  “Right.” I nodded toward Ches. “Timing really sucks. I mean, of all nights to do this to me, this was the absolute worst.”

  Giancarlo pulled in a breath to ramp out another genuine, but fruitless apology, but I turned on my heel and approached Ches.

  “I’m really embarrassed by this,” I said in as even a tone as I could muster. “We’re going to have to go.”

  Ches looked over at the others then back to me. Her eyes were wide, focused, soft.

  I led her back out the double-doors. The Audi was already waiting for me. Ramon had to know this would be a short visit. Who wasn’t in on this? I thought about Big Ben behind the bar. I tried to catch a glimpse of the side windows in case he was watching, but the Club was made to be seen, not seen into.

  I shoulder-checked Ramon away from Ches’ door and closed it behind her. And without so much as a look behind me in the rearview mirror, I pulled back down the gravel drive.

  Ches didn’t say anything for a long time, letting me stew in my own juices. And stew I did! This was personal. It was a warning shot from McHenry, a petulant act of a man-child. Still, Julian had seen this coming, or at least had a sense of where the winds were blowing. He stopped going to the Club a while back, probably because he knew McHenry was one of the owners. Hell, I played to that fact the first time I actually met McHenry. And now he had just taken the Club away from me. He had no way of knowing how personal that would have been. And if he did know, then he would regret this.

  I exited the freeway, and Ches finally spoke up.

  “Sorry.”

  I shook my head, and gave her a smile with as much dignity as I could muster. “No, I’m sorry. This is all just some stupid misunderstanding.”

  She put a hand on mine as I gripped the gear stick. Her face seemed contemplative. I was on the verge of squirming when she replied, “I don’t think so. I think that guy was just being rude.”

  “Who, Giancarlo? Nah. He’s actually a pretty good guy. He had orders. It’s… complicated.”

  “Well, you’re better off. You might not realize it yet, but you are.”

  She was looking at me again, but this time I didn’t feel like squirming. “You hungry?”

  “Starving.”

  “I don’t know where we can get a table last minute Saturday night, though.”

  “I do,” she chimed.

  She gave me directions to what I assumed would be her apartment. Instead, she led me to the other side of Baltimore to a charming blue-painted brick face restaurant called the Blue Moon Café. I wound around an alarmingly narrow lot until I found a not-so-legal parking space between an SUV and some utility meters.

  We managed to get seated in a booth, and as we settled, we received more than our fair share of stares from the other patrons. Few people wear evening gowns to diners unless they’re specifically looking for attention. In Baltimore, that wasn’t necessarily out of the question, so we shrugged off the tourists and ordered some oysters and beer.

  By the third oyster, the conversation finally returned to the events of the evening.

  Ches forked some horseradish on top of an oyster and asked, “So, want to talk about it? The Club, I mean. You said it was complicated.”

  I looked over the iced platter of shellfish and thought about it. I really didn’t want to discuss it, but I also didn’t want to kill conversation. It would have been rude.

  She waved me off with an empty half-shell. “Sorry. I’m being nosy again. It’s not really my business.” She took a drink of beer, her eyes moving up to the ceiling. “Of course, you did invite me, and I rented a dress, so it kind of is my business.”

  “One of the owners has it out for me.”

  “Why?”

  “Oh, plenty of reasons. I’m mostly just surprised it took him this long to cut me off.”

  “What did you do?” She was leaning forward in her seat, grinning.

  I leaned back in the booth and took a deep breath. “He’s Joey McHenry.”

  She stared blankly at me, and finally shook her head slowly.

  “He’s an industry giant in the city. Drive past most of the construction sites downtown, you’ll see McHenry Construction signs.”

  “Okay. I didn’t have that place figured as a small-potatoes kind of joint.”

  “Right. Well, there’s this election going on.”

  “For what?”

  I took a moment before responding. “Mayor?”

  “Really?”

  “Yep.”

  “Don’t we vote for everyone in two years?”

  “No, it falls on the midterms. Do you not have television?”

  “No.”

  “No shit?”

  She waved her fork at me. “When I’m not working or pissing away an evening with a dapper smartass, I’m usually studying.”

  “What are you studying, by the way? I never asked.”

  She lingered over her glass, her eyes tracing lines in mid-air. “Psychology. Social decision and organizational science, specifically.”

  “Sounds heady.”

  She shrugged.

  “You seem unimpressed with your own career path.”

  “Nah. I just don’t like talking about it.”

  “Why not?”

  She sighed. “Guys are threatened by psychology dates. You study enough behavioral sciences, you learn how people lie, and your bullshit detector gets pretty strong. When the guy knows this, he starts clamming up, closing off. Thinks every
thing I do is an experiment and won’t let me just be who I am.”

  “Sounds like you’re talking about someone in particular.”

  A rare scowl crept into her lips, and she looked down at the table.

  “Now I’m being the nosy one.”

  She shook her head. “So anyway, don’t sidetrack. McHenry. Election. And?”

  “If you like, I can draw up some flashcards.”

  “I miss all of the drama from Florida. Family, extended family, friends, friends-of-friends. I left it all down there, and now it’s just me and my job and school. I have a distinct lack of he-said-she-said in my life. You’re all I got.”

  I spent an hour walking her through the talking points of the Sooner-McHenry intrigue and how I managed to insinuate myself in the election against my better judgment. When most of the dinner crowd had come and gone, we decided to take a stroll to walk off the alcohol. The air was thick and humid, and most of her hair had fallen. She finally pulled out a few pins and tossed it in her fingers, returning it to the more familiar look.

  “Still,” she said as we crossed a street, “you talked that place up like it was your personal sandbox. That’s gotta sting.”

  “It does, but I’ll be okay.”

  “You’re playing this kind of cool, is all.”

  “How so?”

  “I mean, I know you’re not trying to impress me or anything. So you’re probably the suffer-in-silence martyr type.”

  “God help me.”

  “Your friends, the Swains? Don’t they snap you out of it when you get like this?”

  “Yeah. When I see them.”

  “So, I’m doing it now. I want you to say something.” She stopped on the sidewalk and pulled my elbow until I faced her. “Okay? Repeat after me.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Fuck,” she intoned.

  I repeated, “Fuck.”

  “That club.”

  I chuckled. “Fuck that club.”

  “See? Don’t you feel better?”

  I actually did. “Ches, you’re impossibly amazing, you know that?”

  “I totally do.”

  “So, I’ve wanted to kiss you for a long time now. And here we are, standing in the middle of Fell’s Point, and I’m trying to figure a good way to bring that up.”

  She screwed her brow together. “Oh my God, you’re actually asking permission to kiss me?”

  “I figured the worst case scenario would―”

  She gripped the back of my neck and pulled my head down to hers. The kiss was slow, and anything but delicate. She moved her lips in a constant writhe, her tongue taking furtive caresses of my mouth. It was the kind of kiss that made me breathe heavy. I ran my fingers up into her hair, pulling them down her back as those curls smoothed out over the skin exposed by the gown.

  She pulled away and ran a slow thumb around my mouth, wiping away her lipstick.

  “For future reference, never ask a girl permission for a kiss.” She turned and continued down the sidewalk. “Unless you actually don’t have permission, in which case you’re just a skeev.”

  I watched her swagger up the pavement, and hopped forward to catch up with her.

  “How is a guy supposed to know the difference?”

  “Knowing is the entire point.”

  “Isn’t that a little unfair?”

  “Suck it up, magic man.”

  I reached out for her elbow this time, and pulled her in for a follow-up kiss. This time she stayed with me for even longer. Her tongue went deeper, and my hand fell lower down her back. When we were done, I ran my fingers over her hair, straightening the bits I’d tussled.

  “That more like it?”

  She smiled and nodded. “Quick learner.”

  “Want to come back to my place tonight?”

  She stared into my eyes, streetlights casting a bright spark in hers. She looked down and gave me a chummy pat on the chest. “Ease up there.”

  “Just seemed like the whole ‘go for broke’ angle was working out pretty good for me.”

  She gave me a coy smile, and we looped a street corner before she finally broke the silence. “Can I ask you a direct question?”

  “Sure, but only if I can ask one back.”

  “Deal.”

  “Your question?”

  “Your ex-girlfriend. The one who was working, or whatever you call it, at that club. Were you her, what do you call it? Client? John? You know, before you were dating?”

  I took several steps down the walk before I answered. “Yes.”

  “So you’re into prostitutes?”

  “That’s not how I’d describe myself.”

  “But you patronized a club that kept hookers on staff. And, well, you patronized the hookers.”

  “That was before.”

  “Before her?”

  “Yes.”

  “So she scared you off of prostitutes? That’s a done deal?”

  “Oh God, yes. Look, I’ll be straight with you. I was a patron of that Club for years in the fullest sense of that word. And I never really thought about it, the girls I mean. I didn’t have anyone, and it was easy to ignore everything else. You know, inside that place the rules feel different.”

  “What were you ignoring?”

  “My life, I guess. I just wanted to feel like I belonged to something secret and special. Something that kind of proved I had made it.”

  “Like your Dad?”

  I tucked my chin and walked in silence.

  A dog gave us a snarling what-for from behind a gate as we passed his alley. Ches pushed into me, nearly knocking me into the street.

  “You okay?” I asked, steadying her with my hands.

  “Yeah,” she muttered. “Just not a dog person.”

  “Don’t like dogs?”

  “They don’t like me, is more like it.” She pulled me back onto the sidewalk as she gave the dog the finger. With a cleansing breath, she proclaimed, “You never told me what happened with this Carmen. What changed?”

  “I got stupid.”

  She smirked at me. “Could you be more specific?”

  “I got possessive and made a scene. Almost got her fired. Things got ugly, and I stayed away from the Club for a couple years. She held a grudge and took it out on me.”

  “What, did she slash your tires or something?”

  I stifled a grimace. “Not exactly.” I turned a slow circle to face her. “Anyways, you are totally cheating, you know?”

  “What?”

  “You were supposed to ask me one question. Wasn’t that our deal?”

  She looked up at me and cocked her head. “Alright. Your go. What’s your question?”

  “Do you believe in what I do?”

  “You mean magic?”

  “I prefer not to call it that. But sure. Do you believe I actually manipulate the energies of the Cosmos? Or do you think I’m some wingnut with a Lovecraft obsession?”

  She snickered. “I, uh… I like that you believe in it.”

  “So that’s a no?”

  She nodded furtively. “I’m a skeptic at heart. But I like that you believe in magic. And you’re not some wingnut. You’re finding a way to make a living doing something you believe in. Kind of pisses me off just thinking about how lucky you are.” We continued a while in silence until she added, “So, educate me. What is there to magic that isn’t, you know, rabbits in hats and men in fabulous sequined plunging necklines?”

  It was a heavy question. I swallowed my nerves down hard.

  “The idea is that there are mechanics to the Cosmos which we understand, like gravity and inertia. Then there are mechanics that are less obvious. Rules that we intentionally ignore because we don’t want to understand them as human beings.”

  “Such as?”

  “Affinities. Correspondences. There’s a reason people believe in astrology.”

  “Beyond the fact that they want to believe?”

  “Well, take scrying for example. It’s a way of conn
ecting a tool, such as a pendulum or a gazing stone, and stitching it to the energy of someone or something that’s distant. It’s not hocus-pocus. It’s the affinity of energies.”

  “Sounds Eastern.”

  “Energy can be tangible, which is why the first step is learning how to ground and center. You have to keep your personal energy tight around your body, or it can reach out and affect the world in ways you don’t intend. The first thing any practitioner learns is how to identify his own energy. Then you can use it to purify a space, such as the Banishing Cross… and I’ve lost you.”

  “No, it sounds very… yes. Yes, you lost me.”

  “That’s alright. Thanks for listening.”

  Something caught my attention in my periphery. Something dark and small skittered from the eaves of the bar fronts along the street. I paused mid-stride, trying not to crane my neck in its direction. It wouldn’t have done any good. I never caught a full glimpse of the moving shadows. They only ever just swarmed around the edges of my notice.

  “What’s up?” she asked.

  “Nothing.”

  I hooked us across the street to make a return trip to our car. The conversation and the increased activity of the teeming shades had sobered me plenty. They only ever got this active when something big was about to happen, usually something that put my life in jeopardy. I offered to drop her off at her home, but she insisted I return her to the bus stop near my house. It felt needlessly dodgy, but I was really only just getting to know Ches, and as I waited on the side of Amity waiting for a city bus to pick her up, I had to follow Wren’s advice and remind myself that she wasn’t Carmen. She was a brilliant, young woman who was being careful with a man who thought he was a wizard.

  planned to spend Sunday largely indoors, away from moving vehicles, falling anvils, and steak knives. But then I got a call from Edgar.

  “Dorian? You busy today?”

  “Remarkably not busy. What’s up?”

  “You remember that guy I introduced you to, Del Carmody?”

  Oh, how could I possibly forget him? He was my ticket for getting my soul back.

  “I do.”

  “He called me last night, said he has something new for you. If you’re interested?”

  I wasn’t sure how long I actually hung onto that question from Edgar’s point of view, but to me it was an eternity.