The Curse Servant (The Dark Choir Book 2)

by Sloan, J. P.

  “It can be. Depends largely on whether the residents will embrace change.”

  “Change meaning they get squeezed out of their neighborhoods block by block until they can’t afford to live in the city anymore?”

  McHenry rolled his eyes. “No one lives in these buildings anymore, Lake. We’re going to put that land to actual use.”

  “I have four tenant families who beg to differ.”

  “Which is why I’m here.”

  “Obviously.”

  I glared at McHenry for a long moment, forcing him to state the matter plainly. “Choose to believe this,” he said, “or don’t. But I understand you, Lake. Even though you’re an arrogant, little snot hell-bent on being something greater than you actually are, I understand what puts the steel in your shorts.”

  “Stop it. You’re giving me the vapors.” So much for checking my attitude.

  “I know this because you remind me a lot of my own son.”

  Being compared to a known rapist did nothing to improve my attitude.

  He continued, “He feels everything. And he feels like he’s entitled to everything. He likes the way people look at him, likes to feel important. But he isn’t willing to put in the work to get there. He’s happy to inherit his lifestyle, and he has zero appreciation for it.”

  I pushed my hand into my pocket to ball a fist. “You don’t know a thing about my life, McHenry.”

  “I don’t have to know your life story, Lake. I judge a tree by the fruit it produces, and you are positively crawling with the kind of lazy self-importance that makes me want to put your face through a plate glass window.”

  I held my breath. His nostrils were flaring, and he was exactly the kind of person who could put my face through a window. I cleared my throat and calmly countered, “Is that why you convinced the Druid Hill board to boot me out of the Club? Because I remind you of Joey Junior?”

  He sneered. “There were so many reasons for the board to kick you out of the Club, I didn’t have to convince them.”

  “And I’m sure the election had nothing to do with it.”

  “Correct. And don’t you even give me that look! You just don’t realize, Lake. That club has operated for over a hundred and thirty years. It was born in Reconstruction, survived Prohibition, the Great Depression, two World Wars, the Red Scare in the fifties, the Japanese speculators in the eighties, and the stock market crash a few years ago. You know how it survived? Because we leave our politics outside.”

  I snickered. “Hate to break this to you, McHenry, but more than half the members are politicians.”

  “But we do business in the Club. We don’t steer the sails for the prevailing political winds, and we don’t campaign inside the Club. You and your ankle-grabbing boyfriend were the ones who made an embarrassment of yourselves.”

  “… and we’re done here,” I stated, turning for the door.

  “I came to make you an offer.”

  “Funny, because it sounds like you’re just demonstrating your lack of class. I’m not selling you the properties.”

  “Before you draw your line in the sand, why not hear what I’m offering? You’re not earning a lot of money from Bright. I know that. Not enough to maintain your standard of living. You can’t raise rent on those tenants because they can’t pay it. You’re doing your little magic business, whatever that is. I certainly don’t understand it.”

  “But you do believe in it,” I ventured, peering over my shoulder.

  He blinked at me and shut his mouth for one sweet second. I knew he believed in me. He’d been there when I cursed Osterhaus. He’d seen what I was capable of.

  “It doesn’t matter what I believe in. It isn’t meeting your standard. Am I right? I like your car.”

  I blinked, and turned slowly to the Audi. “Thanks.”

  “Own it?”

  “Yeah.”

  McHenry stared at it thoughtfully before continuing, “How many years does it have left, do you think? How long until you have to replace it? You have a nest egg socked back to buy a new model? Going to settle for pre-owned? Or are you going to have to step down a rung or two? How long were you going to be able to stay at Druid Hill, anyway? Dues are going up next year by ten kay. Did you know that? Are you sure I didn’t do you a favor?”

  “Your point?”

  He nodded to the thug by my stoop. The thug approached with a thick manila envelope. He handed it to me and took several steps back, probably to keep me at a good shooting distance. I unwound the red string latching the envelope closed and pulled out a thick stack of papers with Sign Here stickers peeking from the edges.

  “That’s a handsome offer, Lake. Healthy enough for me to come here personally and talk some sense into you. Do I want that land? Yes, I do. Am I going to come out ahead on this deal? We both know I will. But what are you getting out of this?”

  I inspected the first few pages and finally found his offer price.

  There were a lot of zeroes.

  He continued, “You can keep this shit row house if you like. The development stops at that corner. But with that offer, you could move into the Towers. The Ritz. You can tell Bright and Sullivan to have a nice campaign and finally get back to living your life. If you’re clinging onto those properties out of some misplaced sense of duty to your tenants, then all you have to do is drive six blocks to the stadium, or eight blocks west to Shipley, and you’re going find a lot of embarrassingly cheap properties. And so will they. Same bus lines. Same part of town. They’re going to be inconvenienced, but they’re renters, Lake. They know that. And they know you’re a doormat.”

  “Why do you get to decide where they live?”

  “I don’t. The market does. The free market, Lake? The most powerful force on the entire globe? I’m nothing compared to the market, and neither are you. As long as you behave according to some kind of rational self-interest, then your choice is pretty clear. Maybe you’re motivated out of spite. If so, then there’s something else you need to recognize.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Sullivan’s going to lose this election.”

  I chuckled. “You think so?”

  “I’ve been doing this longer than you, son. I know a dead campaign when I see it. Magic or no, he’s going to lose. Sooner is going to be the next Mayor of Baltimore. And when he is, how much difficulty do you think I’m going to have securing eminent domain over those properties?”

  Definitely a dick.

  “That’s pretty corrupt, even for you.”

  “What’s corruption got to do with it? The land is empty. The buildings are falling apart and breeding crime. How long until some cracked-out derelict sets fire to the whole block? Letting this land just sit here and fester is irresponsible. No, there won’t be any obstacle to development come the Fall, and when it comes to that, you’re going to get a fraction of what’s in that envelope.”

  I gripped the stack of papers, but didn’t give it back.

  “Listen, McHenry, I have an appointment tonight. I have to get ready.”

  He nodded as his eyes pulled tight into an analytical squint. “I’ll be on my way, then. You’ll keep that offer in mind? It’s good until the election.”

  “There’s your car, and there’s the road, McHenry.”

  He lingered for a moment, then turned on his heel, returning to his car.

  I added, “I’ll think about this.” The words tasted bitter.

  McHenry didn’t look back. He didn’t need to. He got to me, and we both knew it.

  As I finally retired into my home, dropping McHenry’s golden parachute onto my roll top desk, I spied the darquelle mounted over my mantel. The blade gleamed in the sunlight streaming through the blinds. The silver ran in a long curve, winding along the brick hearth. It reminded me of the soul I had lost.

  But tonight, it wasn’t my soul I had to worry about.

  It was Elle’s.

  covill waited for me outside the storefront of Swain’s Antiques and Odditie
s. He had brought two women and a man with him, ostensibly his support staff for whatever he does to evict demons from children. We stood awkwardly in front of the locked double glass doors until Edgar finally appeared and let us in. He shook hands as the others entered in front of me. Edgar’s eyes seemed heavier than usual. This was draining him.

  Edgar led us upstairs where I found Wren hand-drying some dishes. She worked that dish towel with ferocity, her lips drawn tight.

  Scovill offered her his hand, but she just stared at him. He pulled his hand back and cleared his throat. “Thank you both for allowing us this opportunity. Perhaps that’s not the best way to phrase it. But it is an opportunity to do God’s work.”

  Wren sucked in a breath and nodded.

  Edgar smiled at Scovill. “Thanks for coming. We’re, well, kind of lost here.”

  “We’re all lost at some point. What we’ll do tonight is to meet your daughter, and pray with her to seek guidance. This may require more than one session, depending on how deeply rooted the demon is.”

  “It’s only been a couple days,” Edgar grunted. “Don’t think it’s in too deep.”

  “It’s not a matter of time with these creatures. It’s a matter of the host. How close she is to God. How much purchase the demon has been given. But please know, there’s no blame here. We’re dealing with the Enemy. The Enemy hates all of God’s children.”

  Wren sighed and tossed her towel over her shoulder. “She’s this way.” She stepped past Scovill and company, leading them down the hallway. She opened the door slowly, peering inside before opening it all the way. “Sorry, she’s been trying to remove her clothes.”

  Scovill nodded once, betraying no embarrassment.

  Wren waved them inside Elle’s bedroom. I remained in the hallway next to Edgar as the four assembled in front of Elle’s bed. She was lying stiff, her eyes still wild and insane, glaring up at the ceiling. Edgar and Wren had changed her soiled clothing, but the smell was still heavy in the room. One of the women put a hand up to her nose and grimaced.

  Wren stood in front of me, watching as the four held hands and bowed their heads. Scovill mumbled his prayer, and all I heard was a frequent “Father God” and “name of Christ.” Wren seemed satisfied Scovill and his people were in no immediate danger and turned to me, pulling me a few steps down the hall.

  “Hey you,” she sighed with a tired grin. “Where did you find these guys?”

  “Off the freeway. They had a cardboard sign and a can of change. Thought they could use the work. Where do you think I found them?”

  “I don’t know, I guess I expected something more Catholic.”

  “I thought you said no priests? This guy isn’t a priest.”

  “What is he, then?”

  “Not sure.”

  “Do you think he has any ability at all?”

  “I really don’t know.”

  Her eyes hardened. “That’s a lot of I-don’t-knows to throw at my daughter, Dorian.”

  Edgar nosed in. “He wouldn’t have brought them to us if he didn’t think there was a chance.”

  “Actually,” I admitted as I shifted my feet, “I don’t expect this to work at all.”

  Wren winced, and then peered up at me. “Huh?”

  “We’re not going to make any progress until we identify this thing. An entity like this has to follow its own rules. We just have to figure out what rulebook it’s using.”

  Wren nodded slowly before pulling Edgar gently away from the bedroom door. “Good luck.”

  I stepped back into Elle’s doorway to check on their progress. The four were still engrossed in prayer, and continued for nearly half an hour before Scovill finally lifted his head and stretched his neck. He reached out for Elle’s forehead and laid three fingertips gingerly across her brow.

  “In the name of Christ, we call you, Demon. By the power of Christ, we command you. In His holy name, we bind you.”

  Elle’s eyes narrowed, and she turned her head toward Scovill.

  He continued, “We command you, Demon, identify yourself.”

  Elle’s eyes shifted past Scovill, locking onto me. “Lake? Who is this simpleton you’ve brought me?”

  Scovill nudged his entourage, and they began a babbling murmur of prayer in response.

  “Demon! By the name of our Savior Jesus Christ, I command you!”

  Elle snickered. “You met him, padre? Y’shwa? He was a hopeless Son of Solomon with a misplaced faith in the power of love. Look what love got him.”

  “By the name of Jesus―”

  “You’re not even pronouncing the name correctly.” She looked back at me. “You’re wasting our time.”

  I chimed in, “Our time?”

  Elle blinked. This was already working.

  I stepped up behind Scovill who was giving me a long glance over his shoulder. “Sorry, didn’t mean to waste your time. If you have somewhere you need to be―”

  “You won’t get rid of me with a prayer and a pony.”

  Scovill stiffened, and I held up my hands.

  Elle growled, “Giving up so soon?”

  “No. In fact, I think I’ll let these guys work on you a little longer.”

  “Pointless.”

  “Maybe. But my best case scenario is the power of Christ will actually compel you, and they’ll give you the Holy heave-ho. Barring that, they might bore you to death. Either way, win-win for me.”

  I turned and stepped out of the room as the Healing Waters people stepped up their glossolalia, laying hands on her head and shoulders. For the next half-hour they kept it up, pouring their energy in a never-ending loop from their crown into their throat. I could tell it wasn’t healthy, but it was their way. Elle just laid there, her eyes hard and stiff, but otherwise compliant. The Holy Spirit wasn’t doing much to rattle the tiny cage that was her body. I hadn’t expected it to, but a small part of me had wished these guys were the genuine article. They had a surprising dedication to their task, and I never once caught a whiff of judgment from them. I was beginning to drum up a plan to make a donation to their church on general principle, when Elle sat upright, pulling free from their touch. She jerked against the short lengths of jute ropes just long enough to allow her to change positions, but not actually stand.

  She sighed a ragged hiss and spat into Scovill’s face.

  “You’re not listening to me, Lake,” she growled. “You know better.”

  “What do I know? Enlighten me?”

  “You know what I am. Why waste time with these bell ringers?”

  Scovill calmly wiped the spittle from the side of his nose and gestured for his people to step away.

  “I know what you told me you are. Ever-dark muckity-muck, fishcakes baloney.”

  “I am the Lurker, the hedge-servant of Satariel’s court, the possessor of the First Corruption. I don’t require your respect, so I won’t ask for it.”

  I shook my head and gave Scovill a nod. “You guys want to take a break? Get some water? We’ll be here for a while.”

  Scovill took a deep, cleansing breath and gathered his people beside him.

  Elle chuckled. “Light-headed, preacher?”

  Scovill tried not to betray his exhaustion, but I saw his eyes flutter.

  “Light-headed because you’re pouring all of your essence into your Crowns. Poor discipline, isn’t it, Lake? At this rate, they’ll pass out before I even feel annoyed.”

  Scovill gave me a quick look, and Elle sucked in a breath before releasing a gleeful cackle.

  “They don’t know, do they?”

  I tried to collect Scovill’s people. “We’ll look into getting some sandwiches or something.”

  “You didn’t tell them what you are, did you? Oh, you dirty, little liar. Preacher? You think this man is God-fearing?”

  Scovill lifted a hand and turned to Elle. “Be silent, in the name of Christ the Redeemer.”

  “I will not. Nor should you. You’ve been lied to. Did he even tell you this child�
��s parents are witches? Do you think it was difficult for me to enter this vessel? She is unbaptized. An unbeliever.”

  I stepped in front of Scovill. “They aren’t witches.”

  “Take a look, preacher. You’ll find the pentagram hung on the wall. Just over the balcony door. The sign of the Devil himself. Yes, these are witches you’ve fallen in league with. I own this child as it was properly given to me. You should ask this child’s father what he has locked up in the room downstairs. I wager you’d find the answer disturbing. And you, Lake. You are far worse. Preacher, do you want to know what he is? He is a Curse Merchant. He kills with magic.”

  Scovill pulled me aside. I shot Elle a look as we moved into the hallway.

  He wiped his face with a handkerchief before sighing, “Is it true?”

  “The Swains aren’t witches.”

  “But are they believers?”

  “They believe in the Divine. They didn’t ask for this, nor should we give up on Elle just because that thing inside her is trying to shake your confidence.”

  “Did she say ‘Curse Merchant’?”

  I shrugged. “News to me.”

  The group filed back into the living area, and Edgar and I worked to make some roast beef sandwiches and tea. Wren fidgeted on the couch for a while before retiring to Elle’s bedroom with a wet towel.

  One of the women looked up and slowly put down her sandwich, tapping Scovill’s shoulder. I followed her eyes and found one of Wren’s pentacles. It was a nice one. Nickel, perhaps silver, mounted on a black velvet matte. Right over the door to the balcony, just as Elle had said.

  Scovill cleared his throat and set aside his plate. “I feel like we’re working at cross aims, Mister Lake.”

  “That’s not what you think it is,” I explained.

  “Then what is it?”

  Wren’s voice shot across the room from the hallway. “It’s a pentacle. It’s a warding against unwanted energies. It represents the five elements and serves to bind evil intent and create a sealed environment for workings. It’s not a goat’s head. It doesn’t represent Satan. And I’m not a witch, but I am Wiccan. My husband collects cursed objects and keeps them under lock and key so they don’t fall into the wrong hands. My daughter doesn’t really believe in any of it. She’s basically an atheist, and I’m okay with that.”