by Sloan, J. P.
“Well, our first order of business will be to ascertain the market value―”
“Got that covered.” I pulled McHenry’s paperwork out of the envelope and handed it to Leibnitz. He adjusted his glasses and reviewed the first few pages. I could tell when he hit the offer amount. His eyebrows lifted quickly toward the top of his head.
“I… I don’t understand.”
“I’m refusing this offer.”
He looked up at me in bewilderment. “How?”
“Fair question.” I tapped the first page again. “Double-check the buyer.”
He flipped to the front page, and dropped the paperwork on his desk. He pushed away in his chair, wheeling several inches on squeaky casters.
“Now you’re starting to see why I came in on a Sunday?”
“This offer would make you a millionaire.”
“I recognize that.”
“Well, what are you looking to sell for?”
“Far less. Probably an order of magnitude.”
“Mister Lake, this… this is simply insane. I’ll grant you, there may be some altruistic motive at play here, but you’re literally throwing away millions of dollars.”
“No, Ari. What I’m doing is rogering McHenry. You know who the man is, and so maybe you’ll understand it takes a small fortune in brass balls to put the screws to that guy.” I collected myself and changed the beat. “By the way, how’s Jacobs?”
“Hmm?”
“You know who I mean.”
He looked over his shoulder to the door uncomfortably, then leaned back close to his desk. “On unpaid leave, pending an internal audit.”
“Karma found him.”
“That was the idea.”
“Tell me something. You weren’t personally invested in Jacobs. Right? You just recognized that some sons of bitches simply need a swift kick in the jimmies.”
He smirked. “McHenry is your Jacobs?”
“Basically.”
“I’d hate to find myself at the other end of your hexes, Mister Lake.”
“With any luck, I won’t have to hex him. A man like that doesn’t respond to Cosmic dictates. The only language he understands is written in dollars and cents, and I intend to force some of those dollars and cents into the hands of the people who actually live in those properties.”
Leibnitz considered me for a long moment before picking up the papers and reviewing them in detail. We stayed in his office for two more hours, hashing out forms and procedures. I left Grey & Lisle with a shopping list of errands, twice the paperwork than I arrived with, and perhaps most importantly Jacobs’ phone number.
I checked my phone for messages. Nothing yet from Gillette. Anything could get in the way of the Presidium courier. Weather. Traffic. Flight delays. An uncooperative sigilist in Gresham. I was a bit optimistic in hoping to hear from the West Coast that early in the day, but it didn’t stop me from getting frustrated.
Most of my financing errands would have to wait until Monday, but the entire project felt too hot to keep tucked under my arm. The tenants had been kept in the dark too long regarding the fate of their homes. I pulled my phone and dialed Abe’s number.
“Yessir?”
“Abe? Dorian.”
“Ah, good mornin’!”
“Yes it is, isn’t it? Listen, I need to call a meeting of all the tenants. How many do you think are home?”
“Well, I suspect the Hayeses are in church right about now, but the Dumonts usually spend the day at home. And I can hear Lakeisha’s radio already this mornin’.”
“Good. Do me a favor and spread the word. I’m going to come by your place around noon with some important news. Keep an eye out for the Hayes.”
“Yessir.”
There. The fix was in. I needed them to know. And I needed to get this out of my mouth before I changed my mind and took McHenry’s money. My spite was strong, but it had limits.
I tried not to compulsively check my phone for missed calls, without much success. When noon approached, I gathered as much of the information as Leibnitz had photocopied for me, and drove to the properties. I spotted Lakeisha camped out on the curb, looking down the street in my direction. Abe and some older woman, who I assumed was his current sublet, were waiting on his porch. I parked in the middle of the block and nodded up to Abe, gesturing for him and his companion to join me out in the postage stamp lawns each of the properties claimed inside hurricane fences.
Abe trotted past me and gave me a smile. “I’ll get the others.”
Lakeisha turned on her heel and before Abe could even round his own fence bellowed, “Yo, Tyrel! Jo-Jo! Lake’s here!”
Her voice echoed off a couple alleys down the block.
Abe paused and watched as the Dumonts and the Hayes filed out of their front doors, the Hayes still in their Sunday best. Jo-Jo looked dapper in his seersucker white while his aging wife appeared to have stuffed herself into a dress she fit in when she was in high school. When everyone had gathered near the corner of the Dumonts’ fence, I walked the street and passed out Ari’s paperwork.
“Hello, everyone. You’ve heard by now about this Carrollton Manor project that’s going up. A couple of you asked me if I planned to sell the properties. I had zero interest in selling these properties, until yesterday.”
The Hayes murmured on to another, and I could see Tyrel clench his jaw.
“Jo-Jo and Dee, you’re both still on lease until the end of July. The rest of you are month-to-month. So, the choice is up to me whether I want to sell. And I’ve decided to sell.”
Lakeisha cocked her hip at me. “Oh now!”
I held up a hand. “But I’m not going to sell to the developers. These houses are your homes. All of you have lived here longer than I’ve been in Baltimore. Abe, I inherited you from the previous owner.”
He nodded wearily.
“I can’t be the one to put you out of your own homes. I’m just not ready to do that, no matter how much money they toss in my lap.”
Tyrel unfolded his arms and paced a half-circle. “We ain’t got time for this shit. What are you going to do?”
The others murmured agreement.
“I want to sell these properties to you all.”
After a moment’s silence, Tyrel snickered at me.
Abe leaned across the fence. “Now, Mister Lake, we can’t afford nothing like that. You know that, don’t you?”
“Take a look at the papers I handed out. There’s a way to do this. I got together with a professional, and he walked me through the procedure. There’s a program from the government that allows a bank to offer you a mortgage loan with zero down payment as long as I sell the property direct to you.”
Tyrel shook his head with a smirk. “Still can’t afford no payments, man.”
“You can, because you’re already paying it. To me. I worked out a sales price for each of your properties that, with the current market interest rate and the higher taxes, will amortize into a monthly payment equal to what you’re paying in rent.”
Lakeisha peered at me. “You’re saying I can own this place and pay the same that I’m payin’ now?”
“That’s right.”
“Shit, where’s your pen? I’ll sign now.”
I laughed out loud and nodded. “Thanks, but we have to get a bank involved first. Actually, you do. I’ve done everything I can. In your hands is the information a bank will need from you to offer you a loan according to the program. Not every bank is required to play along, so if you get any static, just move down the street to the next bank. And keep going until you find one that will. I’d do that for you, but turns out it isn’t legal. Also in your paperwork is the correct dollar amount to offer me for the property. I’m selling as owner, so I don’t need a realtor.”
They stood there staring at me. Lakeisha was smiling, as was Abe. The others seemed thoroughly baffled by this turn of events.
“Any questions?”
Tyrel turned and made it halfway to his
porch before spinning around and pacing back to the fence. “What’re you doin’, man? What’s this about? I mean, people just don’t do this.”
“I’m not trying to screw you, Tyrel. Truth be known, and you all should hear this, when and if this all goes down as planned, you’ll be the last holdouts on this block against the Manor project. I wouldn’t be surprised if the developer doesn’t come to each of you with a fresh offer. I can tell you, they’re desperate for this real estate. But the choice is yours at that point. Stay. Sell. If you stay, you’ll be in control of your destiny. If you sell, you’ll probably be able to move to a pretty good neighborhood. And I don’t mean you’ll rent in a good neighborhood… you’ll buy. Anyway, come see me if you have questions.”
Abe walked forward and shook my hand before returning to his house without a word. The rest milled around for a while before retiring to their residences. The Hayes were the last to take their leave as they stood on the front lawn looking over the paperwork. When I was finally alone, I gave the stoop across the street a double-check before returning to my car, and drove back home.
I was giddy. Just saying that out loud felt final, though it was anything but. There was a lot of work my tenants had to navigate before this happened, and a lot could go wrong. But I had done what I could, and most importantly, it was the right decision, if not the smart decision.
When it came to that dichotomy, I seemed to have made my choice.
The phone rang several hours later, and I had forgotten that I was supposed to be obsessively checking it. The call was from Gillette.
“Did you get it?” I asked.
“Judith received a hand-delivered letter from the Presidium this morning, and she has sealed the letter as verum inviolata.”
“So, you’re satisfied?”
“You confronted the Presidium. That takes balls, Lake, so I’m going to give you the benefit of doubt.”
“When can you fly out?”
“By your tone I assume the sooner the better?”
“You tell me. This girl has had a servitor chewing away at her soul for the better part of four days, now.”
She sighed. “Let me tell you something, Lake. If you ever find the man responsible for this, I do hope you find the justification to release the more hellish of your darkest workings on his slapdash ass.”
I white-knuckled the steering wheel. “I’ll figure that out later. Right now I just want it out.”
“Good. You’re focused. And I can’t guarantee satisfaction. Only execution.”
“I understand.”
“I’m looking at a red eye right now, should put me at BWI at seven-ten in the morning.”
I did the math in my head before responding, “Perfect. I’ll pick you up myself.”
“One thing.”
“There always is.”
“Don’t forget your part. I want to see Carmody’s curse in effect, or I do nothing.”
“I can’t promise you’ll see the effect. Curses are organic creatures. Maybe it’ll be immediate, maybe it’ll take days. Weeks. I’m not in control of timing. What I can offer you is to witness the ritual.”
She sniffled. “I’m surprised you would allow that.”
“This is important. I need you to be satisfied, but like you I can only guarantee execution.”
“Fair enough. You perform the curse, I witness. Then I extract this servitor and destroy it.”
“Can you contain it?”
“What?”
“Bottle it? Trap it, Goetia style?”
“What could you ever want with a Frankenstein mess like that?”
“I owe someone consideration for services rendered. If it’s a problem―”
She grumbled, “It can be done. I don’t really care what you do with it.”
“Fine. I’ll see you in the morning.”
I hung up and checked the clock. It was five in the afternoon. Fourteen hours until I had to pick up Gillette. Another hour to bring her back to my work space and execute the curse. I had the ritual planned and reagents collected. However, I hadn’t prepared for the logistics of the day. I couldn’t cart Gillette around from Baltimore to Frederick. I sensed the Presidium was simply itching to find some way to circumvent their bound agreement, and I didn’t want to give them any opportunities do so. And recognizing the Presidium didn’t specify that Gillette would be safe outside of Baltimore, I decided that the extraction had to take place in my work space. It made more sense that way. I had better wardings than Edgar, and I could easily transition from the curse to the extraction in one fell swoop, and get Gillette back to the airport before even God would notice.
However, that meant transporting Elle to Baltimore, and convincing Wren this entire scheme wasn’t completely balls-out insane.
I dialed the Swains and ran through my pitch in my head.
“Hello?”
“Edgar? It’s Dorian.”
“Got good news?”
“Yes, I do. Gillette is flying in tomorrow morning. She’s agreed to remove the thing.”
Edgar released a tremendous sigh. “Yeah, that’s good news alright.”
“So, I don’t want her moving around too much. I want to bring Elle here.”
“You want to do it there?”
“Right.”
“Hmm.”
“Think you can talk Wren into that?”
“Well, there’s a problem.”
Of course there was.
stood in Swain’s Antiques and Oddities, hands in my pockets, staring at Eddie who sat nervously on the old green couch downstairs, clutching his electronic game.
“How sick is she?” he asked.
“Pretty sick.”
His eyes were wide, and he tucked in his bottom jaw the way he did when he was worried or in trouble.
“Did she throw up?”
It pained me to hear that. Ah, the mind of a child where throwing up was the worst possible thing that could happen to you.
“A couple times, yeah.”
“Did she get medicine?”
“Eddie, it’s not something medicine can help. But we’ve got a special doctor coming in tomorrow morning who’s going to make her better. Okay?”
He nodded, though his expression seemed unconvinced.
I looked up at the spiral stairs for either Edgar or Wren to make an appearance. They had asked me to keep Eddie distracted while they cleaned up Elle’s room. I could still hear scuffling upstairs, so I took a seat next to Eddie. I noticed his game wasn’t even on.
“Not playing your game?”
He shook his head solemnly.
“Did you have fun at your friend’s house?”
He shrugged.
This was going well.
After a series of deep sighs from his little chest, I tickled the back of his neck. When that didn’t work, I flicked his ear until he smiled. That was my opening. I went for the ribs with both hands, and he doubled over giggling, kicking back at me. One of his feet landed on my knee, and I pulled my legs up behind me.
By the time Wren appeared at the top of the stairs, the two of us were practically upside down on the couch looking back at her. I straightened up and tried to recover my dignity.
Wren stepped slowly down the stairs and put her hand on the back of Eddie’s head.
“Okay, big guy. Want to see her?”
She led the two of us back upstairs, through the living room, and into the hallway. Edgar emerged from Elle’s bedroom, tossing a cleaning rag over his shoulder. He gave Eddie a nod, and the boy stepped into his sister’s doorway.
His expression never changed. His eyes never moved. He just stood there, arms at his side.
A thin voice called from inside the bedroom. “Hey, jerkface.”
“Hey,” Eddie whispered.
“Where you been?”
“Jack’s.”
“He let you play on his trampoline?”
Eddie nodded.
“Good.”
“Are you going
to get better?”
Elle didn’t answer.
I held a breath as Eddie entered the bedroom. I stepped behind him, peering in around the door to watch. Elle lay under her comforter. Her face was pale and drawn. I spotted a wooden wafer hanging on a length of yarn around her neck. Probably a health charm.
She reached out from under her blanket for Eddie, who stepped slowly to his sister.
“You will,” Eddie mumbled. “Dorian’s fixing it.”
I stepped away from the door. I didn’t want Elle to spot me. The last thing Eddie needed at that moment was for the thing inside of her to get stirred up. Plus, I wasn’t fixing anything. I made a phone call, and that’s about all I did. This thing was beyond my capacity, and I hated that the Swains seemed to think I was some kind of hero.
Edgar watched me from the front of the hall. I gave him a cock of my head.
“Nice charm, there.”
He grinned and shrugged.
I prodded, “Enochian?”
“With a little neodruid. Wren helped.”
“I’m glad you’re not in Baltimore. You two would put me out of business.”
Edgar kept an eye on the kids while I moved back into the front of their loft. I found Wren in the kitchen, holding out a glass of what I assumed was pink lemonade. I took it and sucked back a long sip.
“What happened?” I asked.
“The people he was staying with had a family emergency. He didn’t have anywhere else to go.”
“We almost made it. One more day and this could have been all over.”
Wren guided me to a chair. “Edgar told me about this woman you’re flying in. I’m not crazy happy about this.”
I nodded slowly. “Neither am I. But she’s the best we can find. And I mean, she’s the best anyone can find.”
Wren looked me in the eyes. “She’s a murderer.”
“In the sense that a soldier in a war can be called a murderer.”
“She’s not a soldier. She’s a thug.”
I held up my hands. “Still, there’s a war between her people and the Presidium. They disappear people all the time. She’s just returning force with what force was given.”
“And now we’re caught in the crossfire.”
“Looks that way,” I grumbled.