The Curse Mandate (The Dark Choir Book 3)

by J. P. Sloan

  “What happened?” I asked.

  “It remains to be seen,” he replied. “But by his reputation I understood him to be in earnest.”

  I sighed. “So, we’re both on the hook with Parrish. Joy.”

  Clement turned to Malosi and beckoned him forward.

  Malosi stepped up to his side without making eye contact.

  Clement declared, “I think an apology is called for.”

  I nodded, and drew in a breath to speak the long overdue apology I had locked and loaded for Malosi, when Malosi spoke instead

  “I’m sorry I abandoned my post,” he grumbled. “I left you with weakened wardings when you needed more protection, and not less. I reflected poorly on Mister Clement, and as such I offer my―”

  I held up my hand. “Oh, barf. Please. I’m the one who should be apologizing.”

  Malosi finally looked me in the eye.

  I continued, “Reed? I was wrong. Dead wrong. Brown had me turned around in my head, but you know, that’s on me. It’s a twisted life, this Life. We all know that. So, it’s even more important to know who your friends are. I lost sight of that, and it’s already cost me. I can’t guarantee I won’t fuck up again sometime, but I can promise that, when I do, I’ll feel wretched about it.”

  Malosi lifted a brow, then turned to Clement. “You were right.”

  “See?” Clement jibed. “I told you if you apologized first, he’d be effusive.”

  I sneered, “Oh, both of you can go to Hell.”

  Clement snickered. “Very likely. One might say inevitable.”

  Malosi grunted, “Speak for yourself.”

  “Anyone want some wine, or something? I mean, I’d offer if I hadn’t…” I winced, remembering the state I’d left my house in. “Oh, shit. The kids.”

  I trotted up the steps and into my house. I found Edgar sweeping glass in the center of my front room. Both he and Wren gave me powerfully judgmental looks as I thundered through the front door.

  Eddie took careful steps toward the kitchen. “It’s sticky everywhere!”

  I rubbed my face. “So, this deserves an explanation.”

  Sarah rushed in with a dustpan, declaring, “Found one!”

  Edgar nodded and began shoveling the broken glass into the pan as Sarah crouched down.

  Wren stepped forward, put a hand on my shoulder, and said, “Not really.”

  I cocked my head as a hard knot formed in my throat.

  I managed to choke back a sudden sob as she gripped me in one of her freakishly strong bear hugs.

  She let me go and smiled. “Just stop doing this solo. Okay?”

  I nodded, blinking tears away.

  Something tugged on my shirt, and I turned to find Elle.

  “Hey, kiddo.”

  She asked, “Do you need another hug?”

  “Only always,” I answered, as I grabbed her neck and pulled her in for a hug.

  Clement stepped into the front door with a grunt. “What’s happened?”

  “Oh, I just went to the zoo. You know. It’s a thing.” I circled my finger at my own temple.

  He squinted around the front room, surveying those gathered. Sarah and Edgar, cleaning up a mess. Wren overseeing, hands on her hips, eyes sharp for missing shards of glass. Elle and Eddie looking for a clear place to sit. And Annarose, draping herself on my chair, the one I always sit in, giving me a long, cool look.

  Clement cleared his throat, and reached toward Malosi, who dropped a tiny box into his hand.

  He turned and held it out to me. “I bring a gift.”

  I surveyed the tiny box in his hand, then looked up to Clement. “I’m not interested in marriage, but thanks for the offer.”

  “Just open it, you snipe.”

  I did. The tiny red-stained wood box snapped open to reveal a black velvet cushioned interior cradling a large golden ring.

  “Again, with the marriage…”

  “It belonged to Cesare Borgia.”

  My eyes snapped open.

  As did Edgar’s.

  “You can’t be serious,” I whispered. “This belongs in a damn museum.”

  “No, it is a tool for Netherwork.”

  Edgar trotted up, surveying the ring, and swore under his breath.

  Clement grinned. “A fellow Collector, I presume?”

  Edgar took in a lusty breath. “Dorian, man, this is next-level. That’s the cursed ring of Cesare Borgia. He used it to extract blood from his targets. It, like, had a little lever.”

  Clement pulled the ring from the box, and held it up for examination. With a twist of a tiny mechanism along the ridge of the ring’s crown, a tiny needle ejected from the palm side.

  “It’s a hollow needle,” Clement explained. “Wicks the blood up from the victim and saves it in a reservoir.” He tapped the crown. “This ring was used to curse entire families during the early Renaissance. As well as his brother, Giovanni.”

  “I thought poison was their game?” I asked.

  “As you can imagine, the more direct of curses can appear to be diseases or toxins in nature.” He turned and looked at Annarose. “Particularly those practiced in the old ways of Italy.”

  She returned a gracious nod.

  Clement held out the ring.

  I lifted my hand, and he dropped it into my open palm.

  The ring coursed with malignant electricity. It was thoroughly steeped in murderous intent. Less brash than the Gregori pendulum, but more confident. This was not a heretic’s blade, or a mad monk’s divination tool. This was the close, palm-charged tool of one of the most notorious Netherworkers in human history.

  And it was mine.

  “I don’t know what to say,” I whispered, truly unable to interpret my own emotions.

  Malosi offered, “‘Thank you’ is customary in these situations.”

  I practiced triggering the ring a couple times, then slipped it onto my hand.

  And I took in the room.

  The Swains, looking gratified at the change in my demeanor.

  Sarah, probably wondering who the hell Cesare Borgia was.

  And Annarose, searing me with a look as sinister and enticing as a glass of poisoned wine.

  “Jean,” I said, “I’m not selling you the Library. That’s the last time I’m going to say this. Are you comfortable with that?”

  He nodded. “I withdraw my offer. It’s clear they will not go unused.”

  I scowled.

  But he was right.

  It was time I stopped outsourcing my own curses.

  And as I felt the eldritch, triangular collision of energies from my darquelle, my pendulum, and the new ring on my finger, my phone rang.

  answered, “Hello?”

  “Lake?” It was Wexler.

  “That was fast.”

  “Joe has the play. He’s called a conclave tomorrow. All local members with active status must attend.”

  “That’s kind of brilliant,” I admitted. “If dangerous. How do I fit in?”

  “He wants you there.”

  “Now it’s not so brilliant. Brown will see me. He’ll recognize me. He’ll throw a curse up my ass.”

  Wexler sighed. “You wouldn’t get in to begin with, not with the security we’re posting.”

  “So I’m back to my original question.”

  “I can sneak you in tonight. You’ll be in one of the side chambers under glammers and wardings.”

  “Ambush, huh? Okay. But there’s a wrinkle.”

  “You want to bring your witch,” she stated as if observing a fact.

  “More than just her.”

  Wexler sighed again. “There are limits to Joe’s magnanimity, Lake. This isn’t a tea social.”

  “No,” I snapped into the phone. “It’s war. Listen, you have your people.” I looked around the room at the expectant faces. “I have mine. It’s a package deal.”

  “I’ll have to make more calls.”

  “You do that. I have some cats to wrangle. Call me whe
n you get the clearance.”

  I hung up and addressed the faces staring at me from all angles.

  “So, it’s going down tomorrow. The Ipsissimus is calling a conclave.”

  Wren lifted a hand, and I waved her down. “There’s a kind of coup d’etat transpiring inside the Presidium. I’ve been working directly for the Ipsissimus, trying to shut the splitters down.”

  Sarah raised her hand. I pointed to her.

  “The Presidium is an over-arching cabal of hermetic practitioners that have guided the American power structure since the Founding Fathers, and the Ipsissimus is their head officer.”

  Edgar began to lift his hand, and I turned to him. “There was an early schism within the Presidium that followed a French school of Enlightenment-inspired geomancy. Pierre L’Enfant was their central figure, who laid out the original plat for Washington D.C., before Thomas Jefferson, the first Ipsissimus of the Presidium, booted him in favor of someone more Old School. Fast forward to today, and the philosophical descendants of L’Enfant are taking revenge.”

  Edgar nodded and lowered his hand.

  I continued, addressing everyone, “One way or another, the Presidium will never be the same after tomorrow. I’m trying to help someone in the process.” I looked over to Annarose. “A couple someones. There’s no upside here for me, to be honest.”

  I turned to Clement. “If the Presidium ends up on the losing side of the equation tomorrow, you might end up coming out of retirement. There will be open season on foreign trafficking.”

  I turned to the Swains. “It’ll also mean the chaos on the West Coast will go nation-wide, and people like us who are used to sitting on the fence will end up having to choose sides. Because the whole continent will end up in a turf-war between upstart lodges and Old World cabals.”

  Elle sat on a bar stool near the kitchen, gripping her legs tight to her chest.

  I gave her a wink. “But even then, if we stick together, I think we’ll end up being the scariest, best-funded independent cabal on the East Coast.” I turned back to Clement. “I’m leaning on you here, guy. Because all my money is basically tied up in my tavern.”

  He considered his suit for a second, straightened his tie, and continued to ignore my comment.

  Sarah asked, “What do you want us to do?”

  “That’s basically why I’m doing the whole pre-game pep talk thing, here. I can’t ask any of you to participate in this. It’s scary dangerous. Might even be fatal. I’m not joking about that. These guys killed Julian.”

  Edgar and Wren exchanged glances, then stepped forward.

  “Oh, fuck me,” I whispered. “You people are killing me.”

  “Dorian?” Wren whispered.

  “Yeah. Sorry, it’s been a hell of a couple days.”

  Wren shouted, “Julian died, and you’re just now telling us?”

  I looked into her face, bearing that expression which for years had brooked absolutely no back-talk.

  And I stared it down.

  “I’ve had to deal with more this week,” I stated in a collected tone, “than you realize. I didn’t tell you because I had to lose my mind over it before I could deal with it.”

  I gestured to the dustpan of glass shards.

  Wren looked around, lifted her chin, and nodded with narrow eyes.

  I continued, “But you know what I’m not going to do? I’m not going to take responsibility for his death. No, that was entirely on someone else. I have decided, however, to take responsibility for his justice. And that’s what I’m doing now. I’m trying to help Ches’s brother. I’m trying to see right by Julian. I’m trying to keep everyone alive, and find my soul at the same time. I’m doing everything I possibly can…”

  My voice failed. My throat clenched.

  Clement reached out and gripped my arm in support.

  Edgar trotted up, as did Elle.

  I forced as much resolve into my face as I could to keep the tears back, but failed.

  “Hey, man,” Edgar whispered. “No one’s judging you. We’re all just figuring it out, you know?”

  The hands left me, and I ran my sleeve over my face to clear my eyes. As I looked up, I found Annarose had stood up, and the others had given her space.

  She took several steps toward me, stopping in the dead center of the room.

  “No,” she stated. “Your moment is over.”

  “Huh?” I blurted.

  “Fine. You had your moment of weakness. Now you have to push it aside.”

  Wren turned on her.

  “Excuse me? Who the hell are you?”

  Annarose turned to face Wren, and for an electric second, the two glared holes through one another.

  “A realist,” Annarose finally responded. “You are his friend, no?”

  Wren cocked a hip and nodded.

  “Then you know he wants to be a good man.” Annarose turned to look me in the eye as she said, “But he is not a good man. He is also a realist.”

  Wren tossed her hands in the air and stepped away, presumably to keep herself from starting a fight she knew she couldn’t win.

  Annarose took another step toward me. “He is weak. We all know this. Yet he does not allow weakness to bring him low. He finds his way to the right and proper course because he is, at his core, both a bastard and a fool.”

  I blinked at her.

  She smiled. “A bastard for thinking he deserves to win when others clearly deserve to. A fool for thinking the Universe owes him anything at all.” One more step, and an outstretched hand. “And a true magician, because he makes it happen nonetheless.”

  I took her hand.

  “I’ll own that,” I said. “So, who’s in and who’s out?”

  Edgar raised his hand immediately, as did Malosi.

  Clement nodded at me.

  Annarose sighed, and I knew better than to assume she would be anywhere else.

  I turned to Wren. “You’ll keep the kids safe?”

  She leered at me. “You have to ask?”

  Sarah shuffled on her feet. “Um…”

  “Can you give Wren a hand? Talk some shop, maybe get her to stop slugging me in the arm?”

  Sarah grinned. “You can borrow my car, if you want.”

  “Thanks, but I might need you mobile.” I turned to Edgar. “So?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m going to need some supplies.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Not again.”

  “You still have your contact with the godawful creepy shit?”

  With a sigh, he nodded.

  “Guess what I need.”

  Edgar muttered, “Godawful creepy shit?”

  I grinned. “It’s like you know me.”

  Edgar rubbed his neck. “Give me a list. I’ll make a call.”

  I looked over to Clement. “Sorry, I buy local.”

  Clement offered a shallow bow.

  I nodded and moved for my workspace.

  “Dorian?” Wren called.

  “You should take the kids home, Wren. I have some evil to craft.”

  he sun had set an hour before our two cars reached Alexandria, and our entourage ended up finding street parking across Duke Street from the Washington Masonic Memorial. I stepped out the back of Clement’s town car, slinging my backpack of materials over my shoulder as Malosi joined the two of us. I turned to spot Edgar and Annarose trotting up Dulany.

  “Is that it?” Edgar asked, pointing to the Memorial.

  “Underneath, apparently. We’re supposed to be escorted through some super-secret entrance.”

  “And who made these arrangements?” Clement asked.

  “Woman by the name of Wexler. At least, that’s what they call her officially. I’m finding the Presidium has a fetish for nommes de plume.”

  Malosi sneered. “Magical names. Basic defense. There’s power in a true name.”

  “Can you believe I actually had that figured out?” I quipped. “Which reminds me, for those of you in the darker practic
es. Our primary adversary’s actual name is Clarence de Haviland. He goes by ‘Brown’ in the local circles and is your basic son of a bitch.”

  Malosi cleared his throat, and reached into his pocket to produce several gold chains draped with tiny medallions.

  “I made these for each of you,” he said. “A little extra sumpin-sumpin in case these people can’t hold up their end of the bargain.”

  He passed them out. As I took mine, Malosi’s familiar energy washed over my hand… the same energy that had warded my house the days he lodged with me. I clasped the talisman around my neck, and after a brief second of focus, melded its energy into my aura. I felt stronger, more distant. Like I was sitting inside a tank.

  The others followed suit, except for Annarose, who walked up to me with her talisman in an outstretched hand.

  “Would you, dear?” she announced, turning and pulling her hair clear of her neck.

  I reached around her throat and clasped her talisman behind her neck, saying, “Not at all.”

  She turned on her heel, arranged her hair, and dropped the talisman beneath her blouse.

  After enduring a lecherous wag of Edgar’s eyebrows, I stepped up the street toward the towering edifice across the highway. Massive spotlights bathed the bottom portion of the obelisk-styled structure in green light. The actual “tower” of the building lifted high above Alexandria in a venerable shaft of masonry.

  We advanced up the main drive, nearly reaching the front when a pair of goons in suits waved us down.

  “Are you our welcoming committee?” I asked.

  They didn’t respond, but simply gestured for us to continue with them in front and behind.

  Annarose took nervous steps closer to me.

  “It’s going to be fine,” I said. “Assuming we survive.”

  “Naturally,” she replied.

  They led us up into one of the doorways leading inside the building. As our feet clapped against the marble flooring, we took in the sight of the main chamber of the memorial. They say the cathedral builders of the Middle Ages designed the old churches to elicit a sense of awe and compel a sense of both the existence of and obedience to a higher power. That old art had not been lost on modern-day Masons. The building was majestic! Towering arches led a colonnade toward a statue of Washington, eliciting a Zeus-like sense of reverence.