The Curse Servant (The Dark Choir Book 2) (18 page)

tried to call Ches several times that day, but she never answered. I couldn’t blame her. I had survived many trials in my years and experienced varied and sundry torments, but I couldn’t claim to have ever been possessed by a malevolent entity from beyond the Veil. The experience must have been traumatic. If I was Ches, I wouldn’t have answered my calls, either.

Especially since I was the one they were after.

My nerves were too shocked to think clearly. I thought about driving to the Club, when I remembered that was no longer an option. Instead, I spent an hour looking out my front window, searching for that shadow man who seemed to be haunting me. He didn’t make an appearance, however, and ultimately I withdrew into my workroom basement to try to calm my brain inside of my triple wardings. The respite did some good. When I closed my eyes, I stopped seeing Ches’ terrified face huddled down by the café railing. Instead I listened to the words.

Down the rabbit hole.

It was obviously the same entity that had taken a grip of Amy Mancuso. It was mocking me. Taunting me about my soul. And it attacked me both times. I compared the two women. What reason did it have to possess the both of them? I could understand Ches. She was close to me. It was as direct a slap as one could muster.

But Mancuso? She was a former addict, which could have left a permanent crack in her psychic shielding. Addicts and the insane tended to be open to attack from the other side. Was there something in Ches’ past that left a similar crack? All I knew about her was that she was from Florida, had a bunch of brothers, and that she was studying Psychology. Perhaps it was that study that had opened her up to invasion? The acceptance of unusual phenomenon?

No, she wasn’t a believer. The greatest shielding any non-practitioner could construct was disbelief. Skeptics, objectivists, atheists, they were all nearly impossible nuts to crack for the Dark Choir. Perhaps it was natural selection that was breeding generation upon generation of skeptics and nonbelievers? A kind of hermetic evolution that was making Humankind stronger?

I fell asleep leaning against the Library cabinet. I had horrible dreams that night. Horrible dreams.

I awoke to the sound of my phone ringing upstairs. I made a habit of leaving it there, due to the poor reception that my wardings afforded in that basement. I made it to my phone almost in time. Just a second after they had hung up. I checked the call log.

Edgar.

He had called three times already.

I dialed him back immediately, clearing my throat as I tried to balance the phone on my shoulder while pouring myself some orange juice.

“Dorian?” Edgar answered.

When someone knows a person as well as I knew Edgar, one develops an automatic sense of that person’s mental state within the space of a single word. I could feel Edgar’s exhaustion pouring through my phone.

“Hey, Edgar. You okay?”

“You busy right now?” he whispered.

“You woke me up, actually. Jesus, yesterday went down in the Annals of Clusterfuckery, even for a Monday. I’m okay, though. I mean, I’m intact―”

“Dorian? I need your help.”

I froze. Never once in the history of our friendship had Edgar ever asked me for help. I hadn’t realized it until that moment.

“I’ll be there in a half-hour.”

“Thanks.”

I was prepared for a day of Dorian-centered brooding and scheming. I wasn’t prepared for a genuine problem. Not that my problems weren’t genuine, but this was Edgar.

I skipped a probably advisable shower, choosing only to change shirts and run my head under the sink faucet. When I had finally put myself together, I still looked like shit. But my appearance didn’t matter. I had to move.

I made it to the sleepy colonial town of Frederick in almost exactly thirty minutes, which implied a casual disregard for several speed limits. I parked behind Swain’s Antiques and Novelties, and trotted to the storefront. Edgar was waiting for me at the glass shop doors, holding one open for me. He held a finger up to his mouth.

As I stepped inside the darkened shop, I whispered, “What’s wrong?”

“Come up stairs.”

I followed Edgar through the antiques shop and up the spiral stairs to their living space, a modest loft that had housed a couple generations of the Swain family. Toys were strewn across the shag carpeting in the living room. The kitchen was a wreck. Nothing out of the ordinary.

I didn’t see Elle or little Eddie. Or Wren for that matter.

“Edgar? I’m starting to freak out, here.”

He pulled me to the kitchen and leaned against the counter. His eyes were moving behind his spectacles, and he kept rubbing his fingers together. I had never seen him this preoccupied in my life.

“Something happened,” he muttered. “I wanted you to check it out. Get your opinion.”

These were carefully chosen words. His usual perma-baked drawl was crisper than usual.

“Sure,” I said. “Anything.”

“So, it’s Elle.”

“What happened to Elle?”

He shifted back and forth on his feet. “She’s sick.”

“Yeah, you told me that.”

“No, man. Something’s wrong with her.”

My heart fell heavy. “You took her to the doctor?”

“Of course. What do you think? We took her to the doctor.”

I held up my hands. He was testy, which only made me more nervous. “Okay. And they said?”

“It’s complicated.”

“So complicate me.”

“I want you to see her first. You know, before I tell you.”

“Elle’s here?”

He nodded.

“Edgar? Where’s Wren and Eddie?”

He sucked in a breath. “Wren’s getting medicine. She took Eddie with her.”

“Is she contagious?”

“You’ll understand when you see her.”

I looked past Edgar’s shoulder at the hallway leading to the three bedrooms at the rear of the loft space. Edgar didn’t have any lights on. The morning was gray, thanks to the still overcast sky, and the whole building was full of shadows.

I nodded toward the bedrooms, and Edgar turned aside, gesturing me on. Elle’s bedroom was the second door on the left. The door was ajar, but almost no light escaped the room. I took a breath and eased it open.

Elle sat in her desk chair in the center of her room. She faced the doorway as if waiting for me, or Edgar, or whoever stepped through. She still wore her nightclothes, though they looked wet and splotched with unnamable fluids.

Then the smell hit me.

I tried not to gag, but it took work. Once I got a grip over myself, I took a step inside Elle’s room. She was hunched forward, her hair covering her face.

“Hey, kid,” I whispered. “I hear you’re feeling rough.”

Her hair swayed as she swiveled her head in my direction.

A weak voice answered, “Hey, Dorian.”

“What’s up, kiddo? Stomach bug?”

“No.”

I took another step inside and sat on the corner of her desk. “I know. Bet it’s mono. I caught mono in high school. Day after Gretchen Wilkins came down with it. You, uh… you doing anything to catch mono for?”

“It’s not mono.”

“Okay.”

I watched her for a moment.

She turned her head away from me again.

“Your dad asked me to look in on you.”

“Not surprised.”

“Yeah? Why is that?”

“He trusts you.”

“Uh… okay. I’m here to help.”

“I know.”

“So, tell me where it hurts.”

Her head slowly moved back to me, still hung low, her hair draping the sides of her face.

“Inside.”

“Can you be more specific?”

“Dorian?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you going to marry Ches?”

Probably the last question in the world I was expecting. “Why are you asking me that?”

“Don’t you love me?”

My pulse quickened. She was being way too deliberate. “Elle? You’re starting to give me the heebs in a big way, here.”

“Do you love her?” she repeated, yet slower.

“I like her. Right now, I think that’s all I’m going to cop to.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“Shouldn’t what, like her?”

“Love her.” Her words dripped with displeasure.

“No offense, Elle, but shouldn’t I be the one who makes that call?”

“I know something you don’t, Dorian. Something about Ches.”

The dark feeling vined its way into my brain. “What, Elle? What do you know about Ches?”

Elle jerked up from her chair, her hair flying up into the air, falling against her shoulders. Her eyes glared at me with grotesque, otherworldly intensity.

“I know what her insides feel like, you pathetic piece of shit!”

She fell back into the chair which had risen with her body. It was then that I realized she had been tied down to it.

I stumbled back for the door. Turning around, I looked for Edgar in the hallway, but he wasn’t there.

By the time I caught my breath, I stole another glance at Elle. Her eyes were wide, round, boring holes through me. She was grinning at me. It was a sickening expression, at once mocking and vicious.

A horrible noise bubbled up into her throat, after which a thin stream of yellow fluid spilled from the corner of her mouth. She spat it onto the floor in front of me and snickered. “But you don’t know what her insides feel like, do you? Not so much as a finger in her pussy. Shameful, Dorian.”

“What… are you?”

Her grin widened, revealing both sets of canines. “I am the snake at the bottom of the rabbit hole. I am the ageless, the ever-dark. I’m the enemy of souls. And I’m going to find yours, Dorian Lake.”

I balled fists, trying not to scream at whatever this thing was inside Elle’s body. I shoved my hand into my pocket and pulled out a pendulum.

“Think so?”

“It is inevitable.”

I continued as I paced around the chair, dangling the pendulum outside of Elle’s field of vision. “And that’s how you find my soul? Spending all your time trolling me from a thirteen-year-old’s body? If you’re trying to impress me, you need to stop because you’re embarrassing yourself.”

“You would know, wouldn’t you? Embarrassing yourself in front of your fresh new lay? Fran-CHES-ca?”

That name. The way she said it. My stomach churned.

“She thinks you’re a fraud, you know.”

“I’ve been called worse.”

“But that’s your secret, isn’t it? She’s right about you. You’re a fraud, Dorian Lake. There’s no such thing as karma, and you know it. No justice. No Cosmic mind. There is only life, death, suffering, and Us.”

The pendulum didn’t tug or pull. There were no outside forces interacting with Elle. This was all inside. “Are you done with this girl, yet? You’re starting to bore me.”

“What if I like it in here? Will that break your heart? She’s awful young for you.”

“Suits me just fine. The longer you’re inside her, the less time you’re out there scraping the nether for my soul.”

“Nothing will stop that.”

“I have to say, though. You’re giving me a hell of an ego stroke here. One man is worth all of this trouble? One soul out of millions, and you’re going through all this trouble just to goad me.”

Elle leaned back in her chair, rocking it back onto its hind legs. She lifted one foot, then another, balancing on the chair legs with uncanny poise. She chanted something incoherent. I had studied several dead and secret languages in my years. That wasn’t any of the languages I recognized.

She finally fell forward, her head flying forward, her jaws snapping at me like a wild dog.

I backed away a step, moving toward the door. I heard voices down the hall. Wren was back.

“Well, don’t get comfortable,” I said. “You’ve pissed me off, now. And what’s worse, you pissed off a woman who’s not just a Wiccan, and a mother. She’s scary on a good day. Fuck with her daughter, and she’s going to shove a smudge so far up your ass, you’ll be blowing smoke until the Second Coming.”

Elle’s face twisted into a sick grin. “Stop it. You’re turning me on.”

I turned away from her and took several breaths before stepping into the hallway. In my moment gathering myself, I heard Wren’s voice rise to that special pitch she hits when she’s truly, inexorably angry.

“Then what is he doing here?” I heard her bark in the kitchen.

Edgar mumbled something in response.

Before he received another lash from Wren’s tongue, I decided to step back into the living room and make my presence known.

Wren spotted me from over Edgar’s shoulder. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were still sharp with emotion. But as I gave her a slow nod, she grinned and stepped around Edgar to give me a quick side-hug.

“Hey, Dorian.”

“Wren? You okay?”

She sighed and put a hand on her forehead. “I will be when Elle gets better.”

“I want to help.”

“Thanks. I wish you could.”

Edgar gave me a guarded look from behind Wren.

“Give me a shot, maybe?” I prodded.

“Unless you have a license to practice psychiatry, I don’t think you’re going to have a lot of luck.”

I shook my head. “Wren, you know what this is, right?”

She sighed and closed her eyes for a long moment. “I do, actually. And before you say anything, please fight your natural reflex to spout off your credentials, and listen. This is medical. Not magical.”