The Curse Mandate (The Dark Choir Book 3)

by J. P. Sloan

  “We’re set,” Ches answered with a cheerful nod. “Dorian’s taking care of it.”

  Julian nodded. “Okay, but you let me know if there’s anything at all I can do to help.”

  She smiled and nodded again.

  Julian turned his attention back to me. “So, if you haven’t hired us a kitchen manager yet, then what brings you to the tavern during business hours?”

  I pulled out a chair and offered it to Ches. She turned her shoulder to me and went to lean in the corner. So I took the seat and crossed my legs.

  “I got a call from Ronetta Claye,” I said.

  “Finally happened, huh?” Julian quipped. “She’s been asking about your peculiar skills.”

  “They had an issue at Enoch Pratt,” I added. “I met with this lovely gentleman named Turner.”

  Julian rolled his eyes. “Oh, Jesus.”

  “So, you’ve met?”

  He sneered. “That caveman is hard to forget.”

  With a smirk, I said, “Well, anyway. I’m on the case, so to speak, but I don’t know what you’ve told her about my consultancy fee.”

  “Nothing. That’s between you and her. I’m out of the game now, Dorian.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  He stared at me, and I at him.

  Julian shrugged, and asked, “So, anything else I can do for you?”

  Ches interjected, “One might think he’s killing time.”

  I gave her a look over my shoulder. “I am, actually. Zeno only has a narrow window to meet.”

  Ches popped forward. “Who’s Zeno?”

  Julian cradled his chin in his hands. “Yeah, Dorian? That’s too interesting a name for this to be a tax accountant or something.”

  Jesus, when the sharks taste blood in the water… “He’s a Goetic up on Charles.”

  Ches’s smile faded. “Holy shit.”

  Julian nudged, “I think I’ve heard of that. Goetia? Isn’t that demon conjuration, or something along those lines?”

  “Something along those lines,” I countered. “Nothing you want to play with.”

  Ches asked, “What’s a Goetic have to do with Ricky?”

  “Zeno’s smart,” I explained. “Smarter than me. And that’s exactly what I need at the moment. More than anything, really, I can trust him.”

  Ches guffawed. “Trust a Goetic? Your being able to say that with a straight face is the most impressive thing I’ve seen in―”

  I held up a hand. “I mean he’s no friend of the Presidium, and he has some peculiar standing with them.”

  Julian muttered, “Like yourself?”

  “Eh, he’s pretty unabashedly dark side. But the Presidium leaves him alone. So, even though he basically hates my guts, and the feeling goes both ways, he’s the safest person I can talk to with this purge on.”

  Julian straightened in his chair. “Purge? Over Durning’s public meltdown?”

  “We can talk about that later,” I replied. With a quick look up at Ches, I added, “It’s the fastest option. I’d rather be careful, but we don’t have that luxury.”

  “So, we have some time to burn,” Ches observed with a sigh. “Where’s the bathroom?”

  Julian answered, “Across the hall, that way.” He gestured with his thumb.

  She stepped out of the office and into the hall.

  Julian stood up and wound around the desk, sitting on the corner directly in front of me.

  “How are things with her?” he asked.

  “She’s a good student. I mean, I’ve inherited a lot from Gillette. She knows more than just the basics. It’s the holes in that basic knowledge that―what?”

  He shook his head with a weary grin. “That’s not what I mean.” He leaned in a little. “You were tied in a knot over her not too long ago. Are you still keeping the candle lit over her?”

  “No. I mean… why? I’m her teacher. And she’s not interested.”

  “You know that for sure?”

  “Pretty sure,” I grumbled, shifting my legs. “And that’s probably for the best. Things turned out weird between us after the thing with Elle.”

  “Well, okay. So let’s play a hypothetical. What if she were interested? Would that change how you felt?”

  “Probably not.”

  He sighed. “You still blame her for what happened to the Swain girl?”

  I leaned over and looked out the door, checking that she wasn’t eavesdropping.

  “Thing is, she actually was responsible for Elle,” I whispered. “That was all her doing. It’s why Gillette shackled her to my arm. If I let her practice, I’m putting my own balls on the chopping block.” I leaned back in my chair. “So, yeah. That kind of puts one enormous crimp in my feelings for Ches.”

  Julian’s eyes softened. “That’s a shame. I thought you had a chance with her.”

  I sat silent for a moment, joining Julian in staring at the floor.

  Footsteps interrupted our reverie, and Ches slipped into the doorway.

  “Dorian? There’s some guy up front, wants to see you.”

  My stomach knotted. I’d grown profoundly uncomfortable with unexpected meetings in my recent past.

  I stepped into the main tavern, giving Ben a nod and a chuck on the arm, before spotting Detective Turner. He had his hands shoved into his pockets, leaning against the corner of the front bar.

  “Detective?” I declared. “How’s that business at the library treating you?”

  He grimaced, then caught himself. With a clearing of his throat and an application of some manner of forced courtesy, possibly at the behest of Claye herself, he responded, “We can’t clean it up.”

  “Sigils still on the walls?”

  “No,” he grunted. “That cleaned up all right. Had to use lots of bleach. Shit was written in blood, if you can believe it.”

  “I can.”

  His eyes widened a touch, then eased back into its usual practiced contempt couched in professional comportment. “It’s the books.”

  “The widdershins spiral.”

  “Yeah, that.”

  “Let me guess,” I said as I stepped closer, “the librarians pick up the books, place them on the shelves, and the second someone turns their back, a couple more have fallen. And it repeats over and over?”

  “That’s about it.” He ran a finger under his nose, then pointed it at me. “You said this was gonna happen.”

  “I did, didn’t I? Holy crap, it’s like I actually know what I’m talking about.”

  That professional comportment couldn’t bury his sneer.

  “I was asked to ask you… I mean, to approach you―”

  Julian’s voice spilled from the back of the bar, “Ronetta told you to apologize and get Mister Lake back on the case.”

  Turner angled his head to look behind me, and his face melted into a profound disquiet.

  Julian stepped around my elbow. “That about the way this went down, Turner?”

  He grumbled, and turned a half-circle.

  Julian added, “Disrespecting us is not going to make your career any brighter.”

  The detective cracked his knuckles, took a heavy breath, then turned back to face us with more of that professional comportment than I figured he was capable of.

  “Yes, former Deputy Mayor. That was the cut of it. And I would very much appreciate Mister Lake’s continued assistance, and regret any perceived insult from me to his person.”

  I flashed Julian a smirk, then looked at Turner.

  “No sweat, tiger. Already on it.”

  His shoulders wilted a touch.

  “So…”

  “I’m researching the sigils. I think that’s our best chance at identifying the one who cast the jinx.”

  Turner nodded.

  “I’ll be in touch,” I added.

  He shuffled out the front door with a quick two-finger salute over his shoulder, leaving me and Julian soaking in our collective smugness.

  “Thanks,” I said, offering Julian a fist
to bump.

  He bumped it, and turned for the back. “Don’t miss your meeting, Dorian.” He paused at Ches and placed his hand on her arm for a quick second before retiring to his office.

  Big Ben continued wiping goblet wine glasses with a towel, pretending he didn’t hear absolutely everything.

  Ches stepped forward and crossed her arms.

  “Okay, now I really want to see those photos.”

  “Good, because I don’t think I’m going to have time to devote to it.”

  “Hey, that actually does make me your assistant. Doesn’t it?”

  I cocked a brow at her. “Huh?”

  “It’s an upgrade from student, isn’t it?”

  “Ches,” I muttered as I guided us back toward the kitchen, “you’re way more than an assistant. I’m totally counting on you, and that makes you my cavalry.”

  Ches peered up at me over her shoulder, her lips painted with a demure grin. She looked away, her chestnut curls drifting back over her shoulder. These were the moments that made me feel less like an asshole teacher and more like, well… like I was more than just a teacher.

  We returned to the car, and as I pulled us back onto Light Street, Ches gave me a long stare. It was enough to make me profoundly uncomfortable.

  “Looking at me kind of hard, there,” I mumbled.

  “I wanted to apologize for being such a bitch, earlier. I’m just―”

  “No need to apologize, Ches.”

  “I was going to say I’m just a little twisted up with this Ricky crap. But I do appreciate your help.”

  The tightness in my chest eased, and I gave her a quick smile. “If I’ve learned anything in the past couple years, it’s that everyone needs help now and then. No matter how tight a grip you have on things, there’s always someone better, smarter, or just straight meaner than you.” I added as I turned onto Charles Street, “That’s why we’re talking to Frater Zeno instead of trying to clear Ricky’s curse on our own.”

  “Even though we’re supposed to be Switzerland?”

  I shrugged. “This isn’t the Presidium’s business. Hell, clearing curses is supposed to be their thing.”

  “I appreciate you, y’know… letting me do some real practice. It makes me feel like you’re not trying to stick me on a shelf, protect me, whatever.”

  The weight of the responsibility gathered in my gut. I had grown so tired of being the pedagogue. I wanted to hold onto that light feeling. That smile.

  She continued, “It was getting kind of stifling, and I―”

  “Julian thinks I’m still in love with you,” I stated, not really knowing why I was saying it.

  Honestly, that came out of nowhere.

  Holy shit, why did I say that?

  Ches snapped her head forward, staring out the front window for several blocks.

  I gripped my steering wheel, flogging the communication center of my brain with intent and verve. So much for the light feeling. Now it was weird. Shit, I excelled at making things weird.

  Finally, she asked, “What’s with this kitchen manager thing?”

  “What?”

  “You and Julian were talking about a kitchen manager position.”

  I swallowed hard. She was ignoring my outburst, and I was happy to join her.

  “Yeah. State law says we have to serve food. So much percentage of sales has to be food sales, and we’re running out of time before even Julian can keep us from getting fined, or worse. Why?”

  She bobbed her head with a crisp snap of attitude. “I might have someone in mind.”

  “Really? You don’t think you’re a little overloaded with school work and, I don’t know, learning four dead languages and basic hermetic theory?”

  Ches elbowed my arm. “Not me, numb nuts. Ricky.”

  “Oh. Oh?” I mulled the thought over for a moment. “I mean, isn’t that premature?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Does he have experience?”

  “I think so. I think he worked at Applebees for a while. Moved him up to shift manager before he went back to school.”

  At the next light, I turned to Ches. “You’re asking me to hire an addict, not knowing whether he’s actually going to clean up. I mean, we’re doing our best with Ricky, but there’s no guarantee this will work.”

  “I know that,” she snapped. “That’s why I’m mentioning it.”

  “You don’t think we’ll break the curse, do you?”

  Ches gave me a weary glance. “If the last couple years have taught me anything, it’s that you have to plan for the worst-case scenario.” She reached for my arm. “Dorian, there’s a real solid chance this isn’t going to work. We both know that.”

  “Why are you thinking this way?”

  “Reality? If Ricky loses his kids, I might lose him. The odds are good. If he flies back to Portland, and things go bad with Susanna, I don’t know where his head’s going to be. I want him close, so I can watch him, try to keep him hanging on. That’ll be easier if he has somewhere to be every day. Some income. Something to define his life again.”

  The car behind me gave me a courtesy horn, and I returned my attention to the green light.

  “Okay, I get it. But do me a favor. Even though reality looks pretty fucking grim right now, try not to let that define the outcome. No self-fulfilling prophecies this week, deal?”

  She nodded with a sigh. “Deal.”

  We continued a while before she added, “Are you?”

  “Am I what?”

  “Still in love with me?”

  I didn’t answer. I didn’t have an answer.

  “Okay,” she mumbled.

  rater Zeno’s lodge was a stately old masonry house facing an open green space on Charles Street, not far from the university. It was exactly the kind of pad you’d expect a sweater-clad Goetic to buy. It could have originally been an old professor’s home, or even a provost. I wasn’t sure where Zeno got his money, but he was clearly solvent enough to buy and maintain one cherry piece of property. What an asshole.

  I parked in one of the extra spaces the Lodge had widened out of the driveway. They even had a handicapped space. It looked like a full-blown business.

  Ches whistled as she took in the building. “Nice.”

  “Right? Pisses me off.”

  “Your house is nice.”

  “Well, it’s nice-ish.”

  “It has character.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Thanks so much.”

  We got out of the car and stepped up the flagstone walkway to the steps leading up to the front portico.

  “What did this Zeno guy do to get on your shit list?” she asked.

  “You’ll know when you meet him.”

  “You said he tried to exorcise my servitor last year?”

  I paused by the front steps and gave Ches a side-eye. “Yeah. Didn’t work.”

  She released a couple chuckles and stepped up into the portico.

  “That’s nothing to be proud about,” I called.

  “Yeah, yeah.” She reached for the doorbell.

  But she froze as the enormous oak door eased open, a bloodied hand sliding out to grip the jamb.

  I caught Ches by the arm and guided her back from the door, wishing I’d brought my darquelle.

  The door opened all the way, and out stepped a ragged Frater Zeno. Both of his hands were covered in blood, as was most of his sweater. His hair was tousled, and his face was pale. His spectacles were cracked in the middle, one of the lenses hanging at an angle over his cheek.

  “Zeno?” I whispered. “The hell?”

  He blinked rapidly, staring up into the space between us. Zeno staggered out onto the portico, sucking in deep breaths. As he stepped past us, I caught a strong whiff of sulfur.

  “Zeno?” I repeated. “Are you hurt?”

  He looked left and right, and finally his eyes seemed to focus on us.

  “L―Lake?”

  “Yeah. It’s Dorian Lake, Frater.”

  He look
ed down at his hands, the gore seeming to register in his brain, and wiped them in broad strokes over his sweater.

  “Apologies. I’m a bit untidy.”

  “What the fuck happened?” I rasped.

  He inspected his fingertips. “I should wash my hands.”

  “Frater!” I grabbed his arm. “What happened to you?”

  Ches gasped near the front door, nudging it open with her toe.

  “He… that guy is very dead.”

  I released Zeno and moved for the door. Inside I could spot a body slumped over on the marble flooring, as if trying to sit up but somehow snapped in half. Blood pooled beneath the corpse’s legs. I went to step inside, but the warding at the front of the threshold dizzied me.

  Ches reached for my elbow, lifting a hand to her temple.

  “You felt that, too?” she whispered.

  “Yeah. Something’s pouring energy into this place.”

  I reached into my pocket and palmed my sachet of salt, dumping the extra energy into it. When I’d cleared the threshold, the overload subsided. I handed the sachet to Ches to clear herself.

  The anteroom was a mass of white marble, both on the floor and the wainscot. Grand, sweeping crown moulding led from the anteroom into a space beneath a circular stair. The only light in the building was sunlight streaming in from the tall windows, filtered through filmy drapes.

  A sharp, acrid twang of rust and sulfur filled my nose, and I sniffled as I stepped around the pool of blood spreading across the marble.

  Ches pointed over my shoulder at a trail of crimson-dappled footprints leading away from a tall pair of double-doors, nice wood inlay with enormous brass rings and a slide bolt. It looked like the classiest vault door in the Mid-Atlantic. One of the double-doors stood ajar, a barest flicker of light dancing inside. We inched closer and eased the door open.

  We found a wide, roughly circular room with the remains of an intricate chalk-art summoning circle on what appeared to be a slate floor. The room was still illuminated by a series of six candelabras, each marking the points of a hexagram along the perimeter where the walls met the floor. The candles illuminated a series of bodies strewn around the perimeter of the room in various states of contortion and mutilation.