The Curse Servant (The Dark Choir Book 2) (31 page)

“Dorian?”

I froze. “Elle?”

“What’s going on? Where’s Mom?”

“Elle, put the knife down.”

She cocked her head and looked down to the chef’s knife trembling in her hand. With a gasp she set it gingerly on the countertop.

Ches stepped in and put a hand on my arm.

“Be cool,” she whispered to me as she inched toward Elle. “Hey, you feeling better?”

Elle gave her a cautious glance and nodded.

“We’re going to get you home to your mom. She’s on the phone right now.”

“When is this going to be over?” she asked.

Elle looked over her shoulder to me.

“We got the right man on this, Elle. Don’t worry.”

Edgar returned from his phone conversation with a sense of urgency, so we decided to leave immediately. Edgar herded Elle into the car and gave Ches an earnest thank-you. I stood in front of Ches, trying to figure out if I should go for the hug or a peck on the cheek, or maybe jazz hands.

She saved me the trouble by squeezing my arm and saying, “Call me tonight.”

Elle was quiet all the trip back to Frederick. She seemed to fall asleep, but it was impossible to tell. When her eyes were open, they looked barely aware.

Edgar finally broke the silence when Elle had closed her eyes for a while.

“Ches really seemed to calm her down.”

“Yeah. They get along.”

“I don’t know what you have to do, Dorian, but you gotta keep that one.”

“Well, that’s the plan.”

“At least you have a plan.”

“Wasn’t easy, believe me. Getting the plan, that is.” After about a mile, I changed the subject. “Have you told Eddie yet?”

“No.”

“Are you?”

He didn’t answer.

“We have to work on Wren, you know.”

“That ain’t easy. She’s got her head going one way, and when she does, she doesn’t change it.”

“Is she pissed at me?”

“No, man. She’s just taking charge. You know.”

“What about you?”

“I’m okay with that. She knows what she’s doing.”

“I meant are you pissed at me?”

I gave Edgar a quick glance. He was grinding his jaw.

“I’ll take that as a maybe.”

“I’m not pissed at you, Dorian. I’m just tired.”

“You know, Edgar, you’re allowed to have an opinion in this. If you don’t think Elle should go to the doctor, you should tell Wren.”

He shrugged, and we passed the rest of the trip in silence.

We returned to Frederick, and I parked behind Wren’s Jeep. Elle was asleep or something like it when we arrived. Edgar pulled her gently from the back seat and carried her in as I held open the door. Wren was waiting in the front of the shop, hands on her hips. When she spotted Elle, her face melted a little, and she rushed forward, scooping her out of Edgar’s arms and bolting up the staircase with her cradled tight.

Edgar turned to me and shrugged. I followed his eyes as they centered on something behind me.

“Oh, bad timing,” he grunted.

I turned and found Del Carmody stepping into the front doors. He pulled off his hat and ran his hand over the fuzz covering the bald center of his scalp. With a dry grin, he announced, “Edgar Swain and Dorian Lake, as I live and breathe!”

Edgar paced a tight circle, his hands on the back of his neck.

“Hey, Del,” he sighed.

“Warm fuckin’ greeting, mate. Looks like you’ve been dragged behind a bull elephant.” Carmody turned to me. “Always a distinct pleasure, Mister Lake.”

“What do you need, Carmody?”

“Well excuse the living hell out of me! I was just popping in for some ingredients.”

Edgar nodded and trod quickly to the rear of the shop.

“You gents suffering from a case of the Black Saturdays?” he muttered to me.

“Been a long week in general. I suggest we make this quick.”

“Not a problem. I’ll keep it sharpish. Only looking for a few grams of yarrow and some consecrated water. Orthodox if you have it. And this,” he added handing a slip of paper to Edgar.

Edgar reviewed the note, then lifted his brows over his glasses. “I don’t exactly keep this sort of thing in the shop.”

“What, sanitary codes?” Carmody quipped.

“We’re an hour north of the Presidium, you jackass. You think I’m going to carry something like this here?”

“But you can get it, right?”

Edgar sighed. “It’ll take time. And it ain’t cheap.”

“Time? How much time?”

“Couple weeks.”

Carmody’s face soured, and he paced a tight circle before returning two quick nods. “Right. Fine. Put in the order. I’ll pay whatever. I’ll take the rest now if you have it.”

Edgar pulled one of the spice drawers from his side cabinet and set it on the counter next to his old knife scale. As he measured the yarrow blossoms into a brown envelope, Carmody produced a flask from his pants pocket and offered me a sip, which I declined. He sucked a few gulps of some kind of peaty hooch and nodded to the door to Edgar’s collection.

“To be a fly on the wall in that room, eh?”

“I’d be happier on this side of the door, to be honest.”

“Swain,” he called out. “What’s your gathered value in that room?”

“Never appraised it. The market’s kind of flat.”

“Rough estimate, then. For shits and giggles. Two, three hundred?”

Edgar looked up at the ceiling for a second, and answered, “More like five-two.”

“And you’re still living in this old dump?”

Edgar glared at Carmody before reaching for a black-painted mason jar beneath the counter and a small plastic vial.

“No offense, mate. Just wonder when you’re going to actually start selling again.”

“When I find something I feel I can sell.”

“Bollocks. You have buyers up and down the Seaboard. I know. They keep prodding the piss out of me to light a fire under your arse. ‘When’s he going to sell?’ they keep bleating. I tell them ‘He’s in the game, he’s just got kids is all.’ Which is as good an excuse as any, I suppose.”

Edgar wrapped up his packaging and shoved the merchandise into a brown paper bag.

“What’s the damage?”

“Twelve even.”

“Dollars?”

“No, lira. Yes, dollars.”

“And the other thing?”

“We’ll talk price when I get a supplier.”

Carmody shrugged and dropped a ten and two ones onto the counter and scooped up his package. “Thank you, sir. Saints preserve your health.” He turned to me and grinned. “And you. I wanted to tell you, I’ve been putting the ear to the stones. I may well have some leads for you and your problem.”

“Good to hear. Keep me posted.”

“Right. And you keep that little care package I gave you in safe keeping. It’s not that I don’t enjoy hiding up the Presidium’s knickers, I just feel a little cagey is all.”

“Don’t worry about that.”

He nodded and stepped back to the front door and took his exit.

Wren stepped out into the shop from the staircase, watching as Carmody turned up the street on foot. “So, who was that?”

I answered, “A giant pill of personality. How’s Elle?”

She looked past me at Edgar. “She’s lying down. What did she say?”

Edgar rounded his counter and stood beside me. “She was herself for a while. Tired. Real tired. She said it’s still inside her, but it was getting weaker.”

“Hungry,” I corrected.

Wren finally turned to me and sighed. “Thank you for finding her.”

“Actually, it was Ches who found her. Spotted her sitting on my stoop.”

“Well, thank her for me next time you see her.”

“I will.” I lingered as Wren folded her arms. “So…”

“Let me piece this together,” she declared, tossing a finger at Edgar. “You sent me out to scour the streets of Frederick, then immediately called Dorian.”

Edgar tucked his chin to his chest and paced a circle.

Wren continued, “Then the two of you pulled out a cursed artifact to find her on your own. I’m not being unfair, right? That’s how it went down?”

I leaned toward Edgar and whispered, “You told her about the Gregori pendulum?”

He shrugged.

I held up a hand to Wren. “I didn’t let him touch it. I swear.”

She nodded politely, her lips tight against her teeth. “Thanks for that. I realize that Edgar needs someone to keep him from accidentally damning himself. That’s why you sent me away, right? This was your first option.”

Edgar mumbled, “We didn’t have time.”

Wren stepped up to him and leaned in. “What, now?”

“We didn’t have time to just drive around,” he repeated at full volume. “And yeah, I called Dorian. Why is this a problem?”

Wren took a step back and shook her head. “Calling Dorian wasn’t the problem, Edgar. Cutting me out of the decision? That’s the problem.” She unfolded, then refolded her arms as she built up steam. “What, you thought I was just going to get in the way?”

“You made up your mind about Elle.”

“That doesn’t mean I wouldn’t want to find her, Edgar! I’m going nuts out there, inching up and down the streets, praying a cop finds her and praying they won’t. Then I find out she’s safe and sound with everyone else way the fuck across state. How do you think that felt?”

“I wasn’t trying to cut you out. I mean, I did. But I wasn’t trying to be a dick.”

She glared at Edgar for a long moment, then threw up her hands. “Here to Baltimore is a long way to walk. How’d she even get there?”

I answered, “She could have hitched, or stole a car.”

“She can’t drive.”

“She also doesn’t know proto-Egyptian unmaking charms,” I added. “This thing is giving her unnatural knowledge. Knowing how to drive isn’t a stretch, really.”

Wren blinked. “Still think this is a demon or something?”

“The evidence is stacking up. Just my opinion.”

“Okay,” she sighed. “So what the hell was it doing at your front door?”

“Good question. It seems to have weakened, though. Weak enough for Elle to come through.”

Edgar offered, “Maybe Dorian was right all along? This thing really is gunning for Dorian, and went to find him.”

Wren shook her head. “It’s not Dorian this thing is crawling inside of.”

“No,” I replied. “It’s only attacking women. Why is that, I wonder?”

Wren and Edgar shared a look.

“If only I knew what this damn thing was, I could get some traction.”

Edgar stepped forward. “I can nose around, call people. See if anyone recognizes this.”

Wren released a single dry laugh. “I think this is Dorian’s thing, Edgar.”

“What does that mean?” he coughed.

“He’s the expert. I mean, don’t get me wrong. I love you. But Dorian has a lot more experience than―”

“You know what?” he blustered. “I have plenty of experience. Swains have been in the Life for generations, Wren. I’ve been running with practitioners, vodouns, witches, and all kinds of assholes my whole life. I’m not just some idiot you married.”

Wren pursed her lips and shook her head. “I never said you were an idiot.”

“Okay, then. Maybe take my word on it every once in a while. Maybe? Trust I have an opinion? Respect that opinion and don’t constantly try to talk me out of it?”

She looked to me then back to Edgar. “What do you want from me? I’m just trying, here.”

He paced a little.

“Edgar?” she muttered. “You think I don’t respect you?”

He shrugged.

Wren whispered, “Stop being stupid. I know your opinion matters. And I’m sorry if I made you feel like it didn’t.”

“I’m just scared.”

“Me too.”

As tears welled up in their eyes, I felt incredibly out of place. All I wanted to do was to run away and crawl into a bar somewhere. I held up a polite hand and stepped toward the front door. I picked up my phone and held it to my head, mouthing the words “call me” at Edgar. He nodded as he turned to face Wren.

Stepping outside, I looked up and down Carroll Street. I didn’t want to go far; I had a feeling they’d want to work out a new plan once they hashed this out. I took a stroll into town and spotted a cozy Irish pub down the block. I dove into the dark, air conditioned interior and bellied up to the bar to order a whiskey. The bartender poured me three full fingers and left me gracefully alone to drink it.

This had been brewing for years. Edgar had always been a capable hermeticist in his own right, but had eschewed the actual practice after marrying Wren. When the kids came, he really did shut down his collecting trade. He started to view the objects in his storage room more like loaded weapons than merchandise to sell. I really wanted to chime into the conversation inside the shop, but for once I appreciated the fact that I was not an actual member of that family.

As I worked my way into the whiskey, I sat and contemplated the situation. Elle said the thing was hungry. If I was correct in assuming this thing was consuming Elle’s soul, then she had less time than I had hoped. It didn’t respond to Goetia or traditional Judeo-Christian mystical practices. It was weakening, but it was dragging Elle with it. Whatever power source it used, it was depleting it at an alarming rate. What would happen when it ran out?

And why wasn’t it just leaving Elle? If it was starving to death, what kept it inside her? Was Zeno correct about it being trapped by the child’s innate psychic defenses? And why was it limited to attacking women?

And there remained the possibility that Wren was right, and I was wrong. What if it was all a huge cascade of coincidence, and I was somehow, directly or indirectly, projecting myself onto someone else’s mental illness?

As I settled into a circular mode of contemplation, my phone rang, jarring me out of my reverie. I wasn’t really in the mood for a conversation. Less so since I didn’t recognize the number.

“Hello?”

“May I speak with Dorian Lake please?”

“Speaking.”

“Oh, hello Mister Lake. This is Father Mark from St. Aloysius. You came in the other day to speak with me.”

Holy shit. I had forgotten about him. “Oh, right. How are you?”

“Doing well. I wanted to follow up on your friend. The girl?”

“Funny you should call, I’m with her now.”

“How is she doing?”

“Worse, to be frank.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Have the parents taken her to a doctor, by any chance?”