The Curse Mandate (The Dark Choir Book 3)

by J. P. Sloan

  Five points surrounding the town.

  Unfortunately, the economic pressures on the throne suspended the completion of the village, and soon after most able-bodied members of the Nombre D’or enlisted to fight abroad for the Colonies.

  And there, the entry ended without further comment.

  I set the book down and massaged my face.

  L’Enfant was a practitioner of geomancy. What’s more, he was on the side of the new planners, those insisting on creating something based on pure hermetic symmetries rather than leaning on tired old doctrine. That would have made him a bit of a maverick.

  But someone felt he was important enough to name a Metro station in DC after him, so I figured his story didn’t end in the Revolutionary War.

  I looked over to the marker board. Five jinx sites.

  Five sites, nearly surrounding D.C.

  Could someone have been attempting to use the Nombre D’or’s geomantic principles as an attack on the Presidium? Something about the pattern didn’t seem right. I needed a map. Unfortunately, I had to concede ground to Ches and Malosi at this point. It would have been super-handy to have a computer or a smartphone at that moment. I knew I had a road atlas in the trunk of the Audi. I could probably piece together Maryland, Pennsylvania, and Virginia from the pages, and go full-conspiracy on this marker board.

  I locked up the cabinet once again and hustled upstairs, snatching my keys from the bowl on the foyer table. The night air outside was heavy with springtime humidity. Probably would be fog tonight. My headlights flashed as I unlocked the car trunk, sending quick beams into the mist.

  One of these beams illuminated a face, sneering at me. If my brain wasn’t swimming with thoughts of French geomancy, I might have reacted to it quicker than I did.

  Instead, I froze in my tracks, just long enough for the goon I didn’t spot lurking behind my car to grab me around the chest and lock my arms in a full Nelson as I dropped my keys.

  The leering thug in front of me swaggered forward. He seemed vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place him.

  The thug grunted, “Hey, you smartass. Nicky Polo sends his regards.”

  Before I could gasp a response, he lunged forward and slammed a fist into my gut, knocking the air out of me. I groaned, and gasped for breath as he wound up again and hammered another one home, this time against my ribs.

  The goon holding me unwound his arms and shoved me forward.

  I fell, landing on hands-and-knees in front of Polo’s thug, who swept my hands with his foot. My chin slapped against the driveway. I didn’t see his shoe heading for my ribs, but the pain of the kick was dulled by my struggling breath.

  He leaned down with a smile.

  “I’ll tell him you apologized.” He reached over and grabbed my keys from the pavement. “You owe him back payments on your shitty little bar. I’m thinking your car will bring you up to date.”

  I rolled to my side, finally catching my breath. It must have taken longer than I’d figured, because as I tried to protest, I craned my head to find my Audi pulling out onto Amity, and out of sight.

  hit, my ribs hurt. Not so much that I’d actually go to the emergency room, as the policewoman crouched in front of me kept insisting. I waved off her urgings as I shifted on my sofa. Her partner stood just outside my front door, which he’d left standing wide open. I found myself oddly nervous about the amount of flies he was letting in. He concluded his conversation with his walkie-talkie, rounding the doorway with a long face.

  “They found your car.”

  I straightened as much as I could. “That’s good news, at least.”

  “Not really,” he said. “It was found totaled on the side of Pulaski out by the airstrip.”

  “Totaled?”

  “And on fire.”

  I leaned my head back against the sofa.

  The policewoman stood up and pulled off the latex gloves she’d snapped on to inspect my head. “If your head hit the concrete, you should have it checked out, sir.”

  “Get my head checked? I suppose that’s a long time coming.” I smiled and sighed. “I’m fine.”

  Her partner approached with a tablet. “Here’s your case number. You’ll want to phone that into your insurance company as soon as possible.”

  “Is there anything worth salvaging?” I asked.

  “Not really, but you’ll have to pay for towing to impound. Again, insurance company should take care of that.”

  She asked, “I highly recommend you reconsider―”

  “―my head’s fine.”

  “I was going to say reconsider giving a description.”

  I scowled. “No need.”

  “Sir, I―”

  “I’m fine.”

  She looked at her partner and shrugged. “Is there anything else, sir?”

  A figure rushed through the door, and the police turned with hands on their hips.

  Julian held up his hands and stepped back.

  I called out, “It’s okay.”

  Julian paced around them and reached for my head. “Jesus, Dorian. What’ve you done now?”

  “Who called you?”

  “Turner.”

  I shook my head as much as my aching brain would let me. “The hell’s he got to do with this?”

  “Said he heard your name on the wire. He’s on his way.”

  “Crap.”

  The officers wrapped up and left me a handwritten note with my case number and a business card. When they’d left, I sat forward, wincing as my side splintered into several bright suns of piercing pain.

  “It was Polo,” I grunted.

  “Who’s Polo?”

  “Remember that chowder-head that tried to roll us a couple weeks back? The one I dropped into Bettis’s lap? Yeah. Him.”

  “Retaliation?” he asked.

  “Basically. I recognized one of his goons. Guess Bettis didn’t pick that goon up at the tavern when they arrested Polo.”

  Julian straightened up and looked around. “So, this has nothing to do with the ‘Life’?”

  “Nope. Just my usual mouth-check ass-cashing situation. Still, he might not be leaving us alone.”

  “I’ll call Ronetta.”

  “Don’t. She’s not going to want to get involved.”

  He smirked. “Dorian, I think I know Ronetta better than you do.”

  I glared up at Julian. “I really don’t. She’s scary serious about her job. And she’s basically eleventy-hundred percent done with my personal drama.”

  “That’s called professionalism,” he jibed. “Don’t confuse it with antagonism.”

  “I don’t think she’s sold on my value as an outside consultant.”

  Julian chuckled. “Neither am I, but the good news is this mugging, car theft, whatever the hell just happened, has nothing to do with your magic business.”

  “Isn’t Polo behind bars?”

  “Not really sure, but if I had to guess, I’d doubt it. Probably posted bond the same day he was arrested. If you want to go in against this meathead, we can do it. He’s a small timer, just has some reliable muscle. If we go hard against Polo, we can take him down.”

  I stared at the darquelle hanging on the wall beside my front door, its silver blade gleaming in the lamp light.

  “Oh, I’m going hard alright. Son of a bitch killed my car.”

  Julian crouched down in front of me, his eyes alive with interest. “I thought you weren’t into those… aggressive practices.”

  “Well, no. I suppose I’m not.”

  Which was true, since Adrastos was pretty clear on the point that Netherwork was permitted only in the pursuit of these chaos tricksters. Chaos tricksters with a French geomantic pedigree.

  Julian slapped my knee. “You look like you need a drink.”

  “Yes, please,” I moaned.

  Julian moved to the sideboard, holding up a couple bottles until I nodded at the Talisker. He began pouring two glasses, then froze mid-pour as the front door swung open
and the enormous frame of Reed Malosi swept into the foyer.

  Malosi glanced around the room, checking corners and windows before finally stepping up to my sofa.

  “The hell’s been happening over here?”

  I gestured to my face. “Had a bad night.”

  He turned to Julian, then back to me. “You get attacked?”

  I nodded.

  Julian stepped around Malosi to hand me the whiskey, brandishing his own in front of Reed.

  “Care for a scotch?”

  “Hey, easy there handing out my whiskey,” I jibed. As Malosi waved him off, an irritable curl twisting his brow, I asked him, “Who called you?”

  “What?”

  “You knew something was up.”

  He nodded. “My wardings were pinging like a motherfucker.”

  I supposed they were. I’d forgotten he’d bolstered the wardings on my house, and with the comings and goings of the police and Polo’s men, Malosi’s skin was probably crawling… wherever he was.

  “Sorry about that.”

  He lifted expectant hands. “So, should we call the police or what?”

  “Come and gone,” I answered.

  “And?” Malosi pressed.

  “Nick Polo sent some thugs to work me over. Just tit for tat, revenge for baking his brie the other week.”

  Julian sipped his whiskey, then added, “Don’t feel bad. I had to get a call from Detective Turner. Came over as quickly as I could and the cops were basically out the door.” He turned to me. “And he should be here any minute, now. So if you have anything you don’t want him rummaging over―”

  Malosi interrupted, “What do you mean, you came over?”

  Julian looked up at Reed, his face blanched. “Um, drove here. In my car.”

  Malosi turned to me with a squint. “I thought the two of you were at some dinner party with the Mayor.”

  “Oh, yeah,” I mumbled.

  Julian winced, and stepped alongside Malosi, holding a finger up from the hand holding his glass. “Sorry about that. Slipped my mind. I, uh, had to cancel.”

  Malosi gave him a heavy stare.

  “Look, Reed,” I began, trying to stand up unsuccessfully. “You got me. I had a thing. Couldn’t take anyone along.”

  Malosi spun away, running his hands alongside his head. “Fuck’s sake, Dorian.”

  “Listen, Reed. I couldn’t make the meet with you tagging along. Or behind. Or watching from fucking space. He’d have known.”

  He turned back to face me. “It was that de Haviland person, wasn’t it?”

  “Yeah, I’m still calling him Brown.”

  Julian’s eyes widened. “Brown? From the Druid Hill Club?”

  “That’s the one.”

  He snickered. “His name is de Haviland?”

  “It gets better,” I added. “First name is Clarence.”

  Malosi lifted a palm. “This isn’t a joke, people. Dorian? I’m here to help you. I can’t do that if you’re ditching me at every opportunity.”

  “You couldn’t help me tonight, Reed.”

  He circled his finger over my face. “All evidence to the fucking contrary.”

  “Also, let’s not get too pious. You’re here because Clement wants my books.”

  “Oh, very nice,” he hissed.

  “Hey, I jerked you around. I admit that. But it was worth it,” I stated. “Absolutely worth it. I’m making breakthroughs, here.”

  “Care to share?” Malosi demanded as he loomed over me.

  Julian looked on with interest, swirling his scotch.

  I took them both in, and clamped my mouth shut.

  Was Malosi here because he wanted to be here? Or was I correct? He was sent here as a deal-sweetening gesture by Clement. I’d been as final as I could be with Clement, but he wouldn’t let go of this mission to acquire Emil’s Library.

  Clement.

  The man was very… French.

  I peered up at Malosi. “If I called Clement right now and told him, absolutely, without any possibility that I’d ever change my mind, that I will not sell him Emil’s books… what are the odds he’d recall you to New York?”

  Malosi put his hands on his hips. “The hell are you talking about?”

  “I saying, if you’re here for Clement, then he must have some reason for you to be here that has nothing to do with that Library downstairs.”

  Malosi looked over to Julian for clarity.

  Julian shrugged. “Maybe he should go to the emergency room?”

  “Yeah,” Malosi grumbled. “Because he’s starting to sound like his head and his ass got rearranged.”

  I pushed off the sofa, and this time managed to make it to my feet, despite the searing pain in my side.

  “What’s Clement been doing these past few years? He said he’s semi-retired, that he’s more or less a full-time Collector at this point. But where’s the money in that?”

  Malosi blinked.

  I pressed, “Imports and exports. That was his business. And I’m not talking about pottery or European luxury cars. He dealt with the old cabals. He traded in soul trafficking, didn’t he?”

  Malosi muttered, “If he did, that was the past.”

  “The past, huh? Then why does he have you running side trips to law firms to discuss import duties? Or is he actually importing pottery, and I have him completely wrong.”

  “I never said he’s a legitimate practitioner,” Malosi stated. “Neither was Osterhaus, if you remember.”

  “You’re hitching your wagon to some shady shit, Reed,” I grumbled.

  “Because there aren’t as many options for me. You know who paid for my college? I did. Know who stumbled into the Life all by himself, without anyone to hold his hand? Yo. I didn’t start off with a trust fund or some world-league practitioner ready to move my ass to England to study full-time. I’ve been working and paying bills the whole time I’ve been studying hermetic practice. So I take what I can get, you know. And Clement is as close to a best-case scenario as I can find. So, yeah. I’m not going to get all up in his face about anything, because it ain’t my damn business, Dorian!”

  I turned away. “No, but he’s making it my business.”

  Julian tried to step between us, but Malosi swept him back.

  “What are you saying, here?” he muttered at my shoulder. “Clement’s the one dropping jinx bombs against the Presidium? That I’m some kind of spy, or pawn in his grand scheme?”

  I spun around to face Malosi. “Are you? Maybe not knowingly. Maybe you fell into this mess by accident.”

  Julian tried once again to separate us, saying, “Dorian, do you have some evidence that Clement is involved with whatever this jinx thing is?”

  “There’s no evidence. I’m just pursuing a line of thinking, here.”

  “Well,” Julian sighed, “perhaps we should outline this thinking instead of throwing around recriminations?”

  I took a breath, then tried to deal out my words carefully. “I just got the shit kicked out of me. Someone just stole then torched my car. Forgive me if I come off a bit brusque.”

  Silence hung over our heads for a moment as I searched for a decent response. But my blood was up. Anger and paranoia flooded my brain. I didn’t know who to trust, anymore. Malosi looked wounded by this, but wouldn’t a good liar do exactly that? And even if Malosi was simply being used, it was too dangerous keeping him around, stitching his energy into the wardings of my own home. Clement was older than me. More experienced. Arguably smarter. I had no clue how deep his intrigue ran, but I had to find some way to get out in front of it.

  I looked up to Julian. “The Presidium is an organization as old as this country, itself. It’s an elite body of hermetic practitioners that polices this continent. Protects it from outside influences, and keeps the peace. I’m not saying they’re good, bad or sorry. But I am saying that someone has gone through tremendous lengths to plan a long-term assault on the Presidium. They’ve undermined their power structure, thei
r credibility, and they’re using some insane magic to do it. If someone was capable of that, and if that someone was Jean Clement, then I’d have to be extremely stupid to let him throw me into the fire like this.” I looked to Malosi. “I have to be very, very careful whom I trust.”

  Malosi nodded with a stiff lip. “That’s how it is, huh?”

  I didn’t respond.

  He sniffled, looked at the ground, and nodded one more time before saying, “All right. I’m out of here.”

  Julian held up a hand. “Gentlemen, let’s take a breath. Dorian’s been through a lot tonight. There’s a lot of emotion spilling out right now.”

  Malosi shook his head. “No, this isn’t emotion. This is paranoia. And the worst part is that he isn’t completely nuts.”

  “Thanks,” I grumbled.

  “What pisses me off, however,” he added, his voice adopting an aggressive volume, “is that this should have been about you and me.” He waved his finger between me and him. “You should’ve known I had your back.”

  At that point, I didn’t know anything. So I said nothing.

  And he stormed up the steps, adding, “I’ll pack up.”

  I didn’t have to see Julian’s face; I could feel his glare. He didn’t say anything, though, leaving me to stew in my own sauce as Malosi thumped around upstairs. Finally, he returned, completely changed, with a duffle bag over his shoulder. He stopped by Julian, who shook his hand with a nod.

  Then he turned to me.

  “You should get yourself looked at,” he offered.

  “I’ll be okay.”

  Malosi adjusted his duffle, then stepped out the front door, leaving it ajar as he took his exit. His car cranked, and as it pulled onto the street and down Amity, the energy of the wardings snapped a few times before draining entirely. The house suddenly felt thin, weak, and cold.