The Curse Servant (The Dark Choir Book 2) (24 page)

It could have been paper rustling on his end, or he could have actively sighed into the phone. “We are comfortably funded. Thank you for your interest.”

“Wait.”

“Why?”

“Why? I mean, I helped you out once.”

“And we paid you.”

Son of a bitch. “Yes, but don’t you have any sense of reciprocity?”

“Which was why we paid you.”

“Not the point.”

“Do you have a point?” he sniped.

I was seconds away from throwing my phone through the front window without opening it. “Zeno, there’s an entity possessing a child. A friend of mine. Edgar Swain.”

“I thought Edgar Swain was an adult.”

“He is. It’s his child.” What an ass. “This thing is basically camping out inside her body, and I can’t get it out.”

“Call a priest.”

“I tried that. I’ve ruled out European self-identities. And I’m reasonably convinced this thing is a Principality circa Second Temple period.”

After a long silence, Zeno replied, “That would be unlikely. Principalities governed territorial stretches of the Levant. Finding one in an individual child would be a gross misuse of its power. Even with the encroachment of Christianity and Islam forfeiting many Principalities in the Tigris and Euphrates cradle, you’re probably looking at a Legionnaire at the highest.”

“Great. Well, I need it removed.”

“Best of luck.”

“Zeno? I’m not above begging. Okay, maybe I am, because I don’t think it would help anyway. But you’re probably the one person I can call who can get this done.”

“That wouldn’t surprise me.”

“So what do I have to do to make this worth your while?”

Zeno left me with a long, torturous moment of silence before responding, “If I can’t take the thing away, then I simply don’t see any reason for involving myself.”

“What do you mean?”

“The entity.”

“Take it away?” I asked.

“I assume you plan to bind it for your own purposes.”

“Are you kidding?”

He let slip a dry snicker. “I don’t do that, either.”

“Well look, Zeno. I have no interest in keeping this thing in a little jar on my shelf. If you want the fucker, you’re welcome to it. As long as you can remove it without injuring the girl.”

“Oh. You don’t want it?”

“No.”

“When can we meet?”

I rubbed the bridge of my nose. I was going to hit the Scotch after this call, I could tell.

I made arrangements to meet Zeno and his Goetic hit squad at the Swains the next day. I called Edgar to double-check the timing, which was a good thing since Eddie had outworn his host’s welcome, and they needed to find a place to keep him while his sister was suffering through this.

After draining a lowball and collapsing on my bed for the night, I awoke to the sound of road construction. Summer in Baltimore. I spotted the fat envelope on my roll top desk as I made my way to the kitchen for some breakfast. The damn thing was still there, tempting me with an embarrassingly healthy offering price for those four row houses. McHenry was good for it, I knew that. He was nothing if not a shrewd professional. My tools were esoteric; his were financial. We were both practiced at our tools.

And he was right about my financial outlook. The charm-and-hex crowd wasn’t as robust as it once was. I was leaning on Julian for my income, and that was about to dry up… one way or another.

I wanted to see Abe, listen to his voice, have him talk me out of this. I thought about him, Tyrel, and the other tenants as I struggled through a ham omelet. I would have to get used to making my own breakfasts.

After I powered down the eggs, I jumped into the car and made a quick run down the block to the properties. They were in good condition, Abe had seen to that. Between the two of us, we had restored much of the exteriors, patched old wood and painted. Some of the roofing was ragged, but that wasn’t visible from the street. No, they were reasonably attractive and livable as opposed to the stark contrast across the street. That same clutch of shirtless men held court on the stoop across from Abe. I kept driving along Fayette, taking a visual inventory of the properties McHenry was purchasing in order to level for the new development. He wasn’t entirely wrong about them. Most were derelicts, empty since the economic decline in the eighties. None of the original glass panes remained, even at the highest levels of what was once a brick-clad stamp factory. These shells of buildings were now home to squatters and probably a significant population of vermin. From a purely, viciously mercenary point of view, tearing these old buildings down brick-by-brick and building new would solve a host of problems.

But what would be solved, really? The homeless staying in these buildings would be relocated. The police would sweep the buildings; perhaps even bus the squatters to shelters. But they would scatter once again as would the rats and roaches that would scurry into the populated city blocks nearby. The real damage would be felt in the city taxes. With new mixed-use properties come higher property values. If McHenry found a way to proceed with his project without requiring my properties, I would see my taxes triple in the space of a year. I would have to sell, and then I would be stuck holding a handful of properties no one could figure a use for.

The real truth was McHenry had thrown me a life raft inside that envelope. Even if I had a long chat with Abe about this, I doubted he could find a more compelling argument than selling to McHenry. My stomach twisted as I thought about breaking the news to the tenants.

These were all my problems. At the moment I had to focus on the Swains’ problem. Zeno would be the highest level of practitioner I could throw at the problem, and I had done my homework. Even if I hadn’t nailed the exact period of origin, this thing would likely succumb to Zeno’s bindings. Then this would all be over, and I could deal with McHenry.

After finding some mediocre coffee in a gas station on my way up I-70, I made it to the Swains with time to spare. Wren was babysitting some day trippers who were nosing through Edgar’s collection of wall art. I meandered through the shop, trying to blend in until the others finished their rifling and took their exit.

Wren approached me with tired eyes. “They’re on their way?”

I nodded. “They’re probably going to need a space to set up a circle.”

“Can’t they do it in her room?”

“Probably not. These guys are hard core ceremonialists. Everything they do will require lots of planning and time. Everything in its place.”

She wrinkled her nose. “I could never work like that. Magic is too organic for me.”

“I never viewed it as magic. It’s always been just another mechanic of the known universe.”

“I’ll get Edgar down here to help move some furniture.”

“You’re going to close for this, right?” I asked nodding to the front doors.

She gave me an eye-roll and went upstairs. Edgar descended in time for three young men to step into the shop, all lugging large briefcases. I recognized Zeno leading the other two in his khakis and a gray cardigan. In summer, he wore a cardigan. His glasses were large, square, and thick, causing his eyes to bulge a little more than they should have over his horse-like nose. His hair hung in a kind of stringy Fauntleroy, really selling the social awkwardness that sprayed off his body with the force of a fire hose. The other two didn’t look a day over twenty. One of them had acne.

Zeno stepped right past Edgar and stopped in front of me, setting down a briefcase and offering me a hand to shake. I shook his clammy hand and tried to smile.

“Thanks for coming, Frater.”

He sniffled and looked past my shoulder at the store. “Is this the space?”

“It can be. More room down here than upstairs.”

He nodded and snapped his fingers. The other two dropped their cases and clicked them open. Edgar stepped around me and stood in front of Zeno, who gave him two seconds of his notice.

“You’re Swain?”

“Yeah.”

“Can you move that couch?”

Edgar gave me a
can you believe this guy
look, and I pulled him aside to help shift the green divan to the other side of the antiques before he actually socked Zeno in the nose. We cleared a few more pieces that looked delicate, and I urged Edgar to lock the doors and flip the Open sign to Closed. I unfolded two Asian screens and set them to shield the back of the store from the street.

Edgar gave me a pat on the shoulder. “It’s Friday. Shouldn’t be a lot of street business.”

“Can’t be too careful. Especially if it gets loud.”

“We had a little trouble last night. She started screaming. Couldn’t tell if it was the creature or Elle. Really hoping it wasn’t Elle.”

“I hate that this is happening to you, Edgar. You’re the last person who deserves this.”

“Deserve has nothing to do with it. Just get this thing out.”

Zeno stepped toward us as the others began measuring the cleared space with a set of gilded tools. They made marks on the floor with chalk and sketched what looked like a large, squat compass. Zeno cleared his throat and stuffed his hands in his pockets.

“I should see the girl.”

Edgar nodded. “She’s upstairs.”

He stepped aside as Edgar led us up the wrought-iron spiral into their living room. Wren stood outside Elle’s door, arms folded. She gave Zeno a long, evaluating glance which he didn’t seem to notice. He simply waited without a word until she stepped aside. Edgar pushed the door open, and Zeno took one quick peek inside.

A hiss spilled from inside the bedroom.

Zeno turned and gave us all a quizzical glance before motioning to me. “A word, Lake?”

I shrugged at Wren and Edgar as I moved to their outdoor balcony.

Zeno closed the sliding glass door behind us and turned to face the back alley.

“You know this is going to be very difficult.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me.”

He cocked his head and gave me an impatient scowl. “Do you know why this will be difficult?”

“What say we skip the condescension and go straight to the part where you actually tell me?”

“You told me she was a girl, but she’s really a girl.”

“You were expecting what, exactly?”

“I mean, she’s very young. Not even a teenager. How old is she?”

I guided him away from the patio door. “Thirteen.”

“Do you see my point?”

“What’s wrong with her being young?”

Zeno looked thoughtfully over the balcony rail. “How many possessions of small children have you seen in your life?”

“Sounds like a classic horror story to me.”

He shook his head. “In your life, I said. In flesh and blood.”

“Not really my usual scope of practice, Frater.”

“It’s damned rare. Children don’t have any kind of sophistication. They haven’t been complicated by higher thought. Now, this girl being thirteen, she’s just starting to think about the Universe and what’s out there. But it wasn’t too long ago that she had no concerns outside of the immediate needs of the body and the psyche.”

I mulled that over. “Children have natural psychic shielding, is what you’re saying? I suppose I knew that.”

“Anything that can penetrate a young child’s innate disbelief has to be operating either out of sheer arrogance or outright ignorance.”

“Well, this thing is trying to put the hook in me for some reason.”

“Vendetta?” he ventured.

“More like a lion playing with its food.”

“Lions don’t play with their food. They just kill it quickly.”

I rolled my eyes. “Okay, bad metaphor.”

“Before we bottle this thing, have you put any thought into whether you wanted to interrogate it?”

“I’ve been trying. I get the sense it’ll just throw more smartassery at me.”

“No offense, but you haven’t given it any credible threats.”

“Fair enough.”

“For example, would you want me to attempt to determine who sent it?”

I blinked. “What?”

“Its master. I figure if it’s mentioning you by name, you’d probably want to know who sent it at your friends.”

I froze and shook my head. “Wait. What makes you think anyone’s behind this?”

“If it’s a Goetic demon, then it wouldn’t have done this on its own volition. There are hardly any left in Creation who haven’t been captured and claimed and coerced at least on some level. Thousands of years at the hands of Mankind have effectively stripped them of their free will.”

I backed away from the balcony railing. I had assumed the entire time that this thing was just another one of the shadows lurking in my peripheral vision, nosing into my life to mock me. Until that moment, it hadn’t occurred to me that this thing was acting in the service of another.

“Human?”

“Probably. These things are powerful in their element, but weak in ours. Makes humans the most likely masters.”

“Yes. I want to know who sent it. But don’t tell the Swains.”

He nodded. “I’ll check on Chad and Mike.”

Zeno slipped back into the Swains’ home, leaving me on the balcony. I gripped the door handle with white knuckles, took a long breath, and followed.

Watching Chad and Mike, I couldn’t help but snap into a ritual mindset. Their slow and deliberate attention to absolute detail was centering for me. They spent an hour charting one of the pentacles of Solomon on Edgar’s floor in a combination of loose chalk, sand, and iron shavings. These were young guys, but they were well practiced. Each motion was coordinated with a measured amount of intent and energy. Perhaps it was Zeno’s tutelage; perhaps it was virtue of the fact that these were the students who had survived his sink-or-swim methods. In either case, Zeno simply watched from the corner, offering no support or correction. I couldn’t tell if it was because Chad and Mike were executing their sigil flawlessly, or if he knew they would be the ones devoured if they screwed up.

When they had concluded the scribe work and had walked the circle deosil with a censer thirteen times, they nodded to Zeno, who in turn faced me.

“We’re ready. Who will bring her down?”

Wren answered, already climbing the staircase, “I will.”

We listened in the shop beneath the living space. I heard raised voices and a commotion of footfalls on the floor as if there had been a brief struggle. A piece of furniture might have been overturned as a loud
thump
rattled the mirrors on the wall nearby. Zeno and I immediately took notice of the mirrors. He made a gesture to his pupils, who jumped for their cases and produced several black cloths, draping them over each reflective surface within sight of the sigil.