The Curse Servant (The Dark Choir Book 2)

by Sloan, J. P.

  A hiss spilled from inside the bedroom.

  Zeno turned and gave us all a quizzical glance before motioning to me. “A word, Lake?”

  I shrugged at Wren and Edgar as I moved to their outdoor balcony.

  Zeno closed the sliding glass door behind us and turned to face the back alley.

  “You know this is going to be very difficult.”

  “Wouldn’t surprise me.”

  He cocked his head and gave me an impatient scowl. “Do you know why this will be difficult?”

  “What say we skip the condescension and go straight to the part where you actually tell me?”

  “You told me she was a girl, but she’s really a girl.”

  “You were expecting what, exactly?”

  “I mean, she’s very young. Not even a teenager. How old is she?”

  I guided him away from the patio door. “Thirteen.”

  “Do you see my point?”

  “What’s wrong with her being young?”

  Zeno looked thoughtfully over the balcony rail. “How many possessions of small children have you seen in your life?”

  “Sounds like a classic horror story to me.”

  He shook his head. “In your life, I said. In flesh and blood.”

  “Not really my usual scope of practice, Frater.”

  “It’s damned rare. Children don’t have any kind of sophistication. They haven’t been complicated by higher thought. Now, this girl being thirteen, she’s just starting to think about the Universe and what’s out there. But it wasn’t too long ago that she had no concerns outside of the immediate needs of the body and the psyche.”

  I mulled that over. “Children have natural psychic shielding, is what you’re saying? I suppose I knew that.”

  “Anything that can penetrate a young child’s innate disbelief has to be operating either out of sheer arrogance or outright ignorance.”

  “Well, this thing is trying to put the hook in me for some reason.”

  “Vendetta?” he ventured.

  “More like a lion playing with its food.”

  “Lions don’t play with their food. They just kill it quickly.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Okay, bad metaphor.”

  “Before we bottle this thing, have you put any thought into whether you wanted to interrogate it?”

  “I’ve been trying. I get the sense it’ll just throw more smartassery at me.”

  “No offense, but you haven’t given it any credible threats.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “For example, would you want me to attempt to determine who sent it?”

  I blinked. “What?”

  “Its master. I figure if it’s mentioning you by name, you’d probably want to know who sent it at your friends.”

  I froze and shook my head. “Wait. What makes you think anyone’s behind this?”

  “If it’s a Goetic demon, then it wouldn’t have done this on its own volition. There are hardly any left in Creation who haven’t been captured and claimed and coerced at least on some level. Thousands of years at the hands of Mankind have effectively stripped them of their free will.”

  I backed away from the balcony railing. I had assumed the entire time that this thing was just another one of the shadows lurking in my peripheral vision, nosing into my life to mock me. Until that moment, it hadn’t occurred to me that this thing was acting in the service of another.

  “Human?”

  “Probably. These things are powerful in their element, but weak in ours. Makes humans the most likely masters.”

  “Yes. I want to know who sent it. But don’t tell the Swains.”

  He nodded. “I’ll check on Chad and Mike.”

  Zeno slipped back into the Swains’ home, leaving me on the balcony. I gripped the door handle with white knuckles, took a long breath, and followed.

  Watching Chad and Mike, I couldn’t help but snap into a ritual mindset. Their slow and deliberate attention to absolute detail was centering for me. They spent an hour charting one of the pentacles of Solomon on Edgar’s floor in a combination of loose chalk, sand, and iron shavings. These were young guys, but they were well practiced. Each motion was coordinated with a measured amount of intent and energy. Perhaps it was Zeno’s tutelage; perhaps it was virtue of the fact that these were the students who had survived his sink-or-swim methods. In either case, Zeno simply watched from the corner, offering no support or correction. I couldn’t tell if it was because Chad and Mike were executing their sigil flawlessly, or if he knew they would be the ones devoured if they screwed up.

  When they had concluded the scribe work and had walked the circle deosil with a censer thirteen times, they nodded to Zeno, who in turn faced me.

  “We’re ready. Who will bring her down?”

  Wren answered, already climbing the staircase, “I will.”

  We listened in the shop beneath the living space. I heard raised voices and a commotion of footfalls on the floor as if there had been a brief struggle. A piece of furniture might have been overturned as a loud thump rattled the mirrors on the wall nearby. Zeno and I immediately took notice of the mirrors. He made a gesture to his pupils, who jumped for their cases and produced several black cloths, draping them over each reflective surface within sight of the sigil.

  I wandered over to Zeno. “That could have been interesting.”

  “I’m more accustomed to a controlled environment.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  Footfalls and scrapes traced a line over our heads toward the staircase. Finally, we saw Wren leading Elle down the stairs by a jute rope cinched over her wrists. Her eyes found me immediately, wide, wild, and unnerving. She only broke eye contact in order to take her turn on the staircase. I was satisfied with that. The longer this thing was trying to put the hook in me, the less time it had to notice the pentacle on the floor.

  Indeed, Wren had almost made it to the circle before Elle’s eyes finally broke and spotted the chalk work on the floor. Her eyes widened even further, seemingly impossibly, and she grimaced.

  “What is this ignorance, Lake? Another street preacher?” She turned to Zeno, and her eyes narrowed. “A studied man, perhaps?”

  Zeno stared passively at Elle, betraying not the first emotion.

  Elle spat in his direction. “You’ll fail like the others, magician.”

  He waved Wren forward. She stepped gingerly onto the chalk work. Elle swiped her feet across the outside of the circle, spreading the carefully rendered scribing into a fine yellow smear.

  Wren froze.

  Edgar fidgeted on his bench by the reagent counter, but Zeno simply held up a hand. He walked a circle around the pentacle until he reached Elle.

  “Oops,” she chimed. “Did I ruin your little trap?”

  Zeno removed his glasses and cleaned them on his cardigan. “No.” He replaced his glasses and gave Elle a gentle shove in the small of her back, sending her stumbling into the middle of the sigil.

  Wren hopped out of the circle, still holding the rope. Zeno waved at her, and she dropped it to the floor.

  Elle stood still in the middle of the pentacle, holding out her hands as if to steady herself. Her eyes traced a wide circle around the glyphs on the floor, and she waited. After a few seconds, she straightened up and smirked.

  “I remain unimpressed.”

  Zeno shrugged. “Come out, then.”

  Elle giggled and took a single step toward Zeno. Her leg stiffened, and she nearly fell flat onto her face. She thrust out her hands and landed palms-down onto the chalk. She waved them against the floor, smearing the delicate design further. But the more she struggled to erase the sigil, the more it seemed to bind her to the floor.

  Elle released a primordial growl and began spitting against her hand, working the saliva and chalk into a lather that began coating her fingers.

  Zeno turned to Edgar and took several leisurely paces to his side. “She will struggle a while. They always do.”

  Edgar�
��s brows lifted a little. “I thought all the symbols had to be perfect?”

  “They were, and that was enough.”

  I spotted Chad and Mike giving each other a discreet fist bump.

  Zeno continued, “The outward appearance is only one part of the whole. Rendering the working in the physical, the mental, and ethereal requires focus and practice. But the end result is a trap that binds a creature that exists on all three planes of existence. It’s simple theory.”

  I had to agree, but the absolute mastery of its execution had earned my respect.

  Elle calmed after a bit and managed to pull herself up to her knees, rolling back onto her heels with her hands still firmly planted on the smeared floor boards.

  “This is old magic,” she wheezed.

  I crouched down and looked her in the eye. “You had your chance to leave. I want you to realize that. Because this man won’t be gentle.”

  “You arrogant, little shit,” she growled. “We’re going to pull your soul into tiny pieces for this.”

  “You know what you’re going to do, you creepy, little bastard? A whole handful of nothing for a very long time. You know what this man is, right? He’s a Son of Solomon. And as far as I can tell, he doesn’t have any illusions regarding the power of love.”

  Zeno gave me a quizzical blink.

  I shook my head. “Long story.”

  Elle pulled one hand from the floor and lifted a finger to point directly at me. “You amuse us.”

  “I’m happy to hear that, really. I was worried you didn’t like me.”

  “The most amusing thing about you? You think you’re winning.”

  “You don’t get it. You’re about to become this man’s slave. He’s going to stick your skinny ass into a bottle and put you on a shelf for as long as he wants.”

  “We’re all slaves, Lake. We all serve a master.”

  “Do tell.”

  She grinned. The look put a chill into my stomach. She sucked in a breath and recited, “L’hatil, l’hitparek. L’tzam’tzem. L’harag.”

  The energy in the room shifted dramatically within the space of words. She repeated them, and I could feel a kind of vortex forming inside the building.

  Zeno called out, “Chad!”

  The young man reached into his bag and produced a roll of black gaffing tape. Chad tossed it over Elle’s head to Zeno, who pulled out a length of tape and hurled himself into the pentacle. Sliding his knees around Elle, he slapped the tape firmly over her mouth. She squirmed and tried to kick him away, but when her hands made contact with the floor, they fixed once again to the wood boards.

  Zeno kept his hand over the tape, watching as Elle’s eyes flickered with ferocity. Catching his breath, he turned to face the three of us.

  “It’s possible I’ve underestimated your problem.”

  “What was that?” Wren asked. “What was that chant?”

  “Old charm of unmaking. Simple, but effective.”

  “You don’t run into that a lot?” I asked.

  “No. Kind of surprising.” Zeno pulled himself to his feet, dusting the chalk from his khakis. “You know of many masters who give their servants the means to undo their bonds?”

  “Uh, no,” I fumbled. “Not really.”

  “Besides, it’s not quite right. The Hebrew was tortured. And that particular charm predates the Second Temple period by, oh, several centuries at least. It resurfaced during the Golden Dawn when all the English mystics were plundering Egypt for relevance. Probably means it was a direct lift from old Egyptian mysticism.”

  “You’re losing me quickly, Zeno.”

  He snapped his fingers and lunged toward Elle, examining her face through those thick glasses like a bug through a magnifying glass. “There was a brief period when Hebrew and Egyptian traditions blended into a syncretic practice. It remained a minority practice until the Babylonian captivity. That is very strange.” He tapped Elle’s forehead. “What are you?”

  “Not a demon?” I asked.

  Zeno replied, “Unknown.”

  “Can you remove it?”

  “Unknown,” he repeated.

  I goaded, “Can we at least try?”

  Zeno turned to me and put his hand over the tape sealing Elle’s mouth. “This presents a certain difficulty in asking questions.”

  Wren shook her head. “So? Just get rid of it!”

  Zeno kept his eye contact on me. I could feel Edgar and Wren staring at me.

  I nodded. “Do it.”

  Zeno straightened up and stepped to his pupils. One of them, Mike, I believe, offered him a tiny glass perfume bottle. Zeno walked the perimeter of what remained of the pentacle and found a spot near our feet that was unmarred. A spiral. A widdershins spiral, counter-clockwise in order to draw in rather than to push out. He set the bottle in the direct center of the spiral and brushed us back with his fingers.

  We gave him space, and he sprinkled the bottle with some salt from his pocket. The man kept salt in his pocket.

  The three of them took positions aligning with a triangle hinted at by their sigil work, and they took a seat. After a long silent moment, they began a chant that lasted the better part of an hour. We withdrew to the front of the shop to let them do their work. Wren dropped onto that ugly green divan and covered her eyes with her hand.

  “You hanging in there, Wren?” I asked.

  “Just.”

  Edgar crouched beside her and cradled her head in his arms. They sat there on that couch mingling into one another, and I immediately felt uncomfortable. I was intruding on their space. Their home, their life. I turned back toward the rear of the shop and watched the Goetics chant. I found their world more familiar.

  Elle twisted inside the sigil, and managed to meet my eyes. They were drawn, perhaps less wild. Perhaps even scared.

  This was working. Remarkably, inexorably, this would be over soon, and the Swains would have their life back.

  Elle’s eyes closed, and she shook her head. When they opened again, they renewed their sharp quality. The fear was still there, but now it was mixed with defiance.

  Chalk dust was thick in the air, and as the ritual continued Elle began smacking her legs against the floor. One of the pupils succumbed to a coughing fit, and when the cadence was interrupted, Zeno opened his eyes and clapped his hands.

  “Stop,” Zeno ordered.

  The pupils slowly opened their eyes and stood up, stretching stiff muscles. Zeno ventured toward Elle and reached for the tape. Slowly he pulled it back as Elle glared at him. Her lips were red and swollen, but as he leaned in toward her, they pulled into a smile.

  “This must be embarrassing for you,” she whispered.

  Zeno sighed and stood up, moving to the front of the shop.

  I followed along after him. “Frater?”

  “It’s not coming out.”

  “What?”

  Zeno shook his head cautiously. “I don’t think it’s even a demon.”

  “Well, we can keep going, right?”

  He stuffed his hands in his pockets when he reached the Swains. “I apologize, but I don’t think this is going to be effective. We’ve overlooked a possibility that appears to be more of a probability. Has this girl seen a mental health professional?”

  “You think she’s crazy?” I muttered in exasperation. “You?”

  Wren shut her eyes and hung her head.

  Edgar stood up and shepherded Zeno toward the front of the storefront for a private conversation.

  I stood in front of Wren, hoping to be of some use to her. She looked up at me with red-rimmed eyes.

  “I hate this, Dorian.”

  I nodded, and turned away before tears welled in my own eyes.

  Zeno and Edgar returned from their whispers, Edgar with his hands rubbing the back of his head.

  “Let’s clean this up,” he mumbled.

  “Wait,” I insisted. “Let’s take a moment. Zeno, don’t you think you’re being a little dismissive here?”

/>   “No,” he stated.

  “The pentacle clearly had an effect on her. We all saw that.”

  “Because she accepted that it would.”

  “You expect me to believe it was the power of suggestion?”

  Zeno squinted at me. “Why are you being so dogmatic? It’s the most reasonable explanation.”

  “She was chanting proto-Egyptian unmaking charms, Zeno. How do you explain that?”

  He nodded to the Swains. “She has an alternative upbringing.”

  Wren offered, “We’re not really hermeticists, though. I don’t know where she would have picked that up.”

  “Edgar is,” I pointed out.

  He sucked in a breath to say something, but Wren cut him off.

  “He couldn’t handle anything like this. You could, probably.”

  The others slowly turned their faces to me.

  Zeno asked, “Does she spend a lot of time with you, Lake?”

  “Not a lot,” I replied.

  “Any unsupervised time at your home? With access to your books?”

  I held up my hands. “I don’t discuss the Life with Elle. She mostly just watches TV and bugs me.”

  “My point being, it isn’t impossible that she’s absorbed some knowledge.”

  “I’m not willing to accept that schizophrenia is the simplest explanation.”

  Wren sighed as she stood up. “We’re taking her to the doctor Monday morning.”

  “Wren, you have to think about this,” I blurted, holding out a hand to her.

  “I have, Dorian. It’s done. She’s going.”

  “I have two more days. You gave me until Monday.”

  She turned to me and gave me a thin smile. “Can you tell me what your plan is?” After I floundered for a moment, she put a hand on my arm. “Thank you for trying, though.”

  Edgar stepped up and held her by her shoulders, giving me a sad shrug.

  “Let’s get her upstairs,” he whispered.

  They scooped up Elle, and Edgar carried her up the stairs. I caught a glimpse of Elle’s face, exhausted, but still leering at me with a vicious air of triumph.

  Zeno’s pupils cleaned up the space with a handheld vacuum and a large magnet. Zeno even chipped in, wiping a slab of hematite over the floor once the chalk mess was cleared. As Chad and Mike packed up the kits, I leaned on the wall and waited for Zeno to pass me.