Left Hand Magic (4 page)
Authors: Nancy A. Collins
“If the one who invoked this curse has hair or nail trimmings to work with, or some item of clothing that once belonged to her, it makes things . . . complicated, but not impossible to reverse,” Hexe said carefully.
“Thank you for helping me, Serenity,” Kama said gratefully. “If you hadn’t been home, I don’t know who I could have turned to.”
“Glad to be of service,” he replied, flashing Kama a reassuring smile. “I have to prepare for the widdershins ritual, and I need you to keep her warded until I’m done with that.”
Kama nodded her understanding and began to recite an incantation in Kymeran, which resonated within the confines of the study like the chanting of Buddhist monks. As I watched in quiet awe, I could see what looked like a moonlit spider web shimmer into existence around the cursed woman.
“Come with me,” Hexe said, taking me by the hand. “Kama needs to concentrate on her warding spell.”
I followed Hexe back into the kitchen, where he began ransacking the cupboards and pantry. I sat down at the kitchen table, trying to stay out of his way as he searched for the ingredients needed for the widdershins ritual that would turn the curse away from its hapless victim.
“I don’t quite understand what’s going on. Why did Kama bring her client to you?” I asked. “I thought you guys were highly competitive when it comes to your customers.”
“Kama is a juggler—she practices both Right Hand and Left Hand disciplines equally,” he explained. “Because of that, her Right Hand magic isn’t strong enough to combat such a powerful Left Hand curse. It requires someone like me, who practices Right Hand magic exclusively, to turn an affliction of this magnitude widdershins. While Kama might be willing to inflict color blindness or stuttering on others for money, she doesn’t deal in genuinely malicious curses. It’s not in her nature. Nor is it in her nature to let another die, whether she profits from it or not.”
“What’s wrong with her patient?” I asked.
“This curse is known as allotriophagy, where foreign and foul objects are vomited forth from those who haven’t consumed them. It can range from live creatures, such as snakes or toads, to pieces of iron, nails, pins, needles—or even worse. In order for it to work, a wizard must take the stomach from a pig or a goat and affix a piece of clothing or a lock of hair from the victim to it, and then gradually fill the stomach with increasingly dangerous items. Those items are then magically transported into the victim’s belly.
“Hopefully I can lift the curse before Madelyn begins puking up razor blades and broken glass. Once it gets to that stage, there’s nothing I can do. She’ll hemorrhage to death from the damage done to her stomach and esophagus. It’s an awful way to die.”
“But who would want to do this to her?”
“No doubt someone who is extremely jealous of her,” Hexe replied. “Perhaps an ex-lover, or her husband’s mistress. Sadly, a good many people would rather pay a necromancer than alimony.”
“So much for ‘happily ever after,’” I said, grimacing in distaste.
“Allotriophagy is one of the nastiest Great Curses, which means I have my work cut out for me.” He took a wad of white sage, bound with kite string, that was the size and shape of a cigar, and set one end on fire, waving it in the air in odd patterns. He then set the smoldering bundle of herbs aside and opened a bottle of distilled water, which he poured on his right hand; then he carefully dried his hand clean with a crisp white linen napkin.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Cleansing myself,” he explained. “It helps focus my energy before the widdershins ritual.”
“Is this going to be dangerous?” For the first time I felt a genuine spark of fear—not for myself, but for Hexe. While I had seen him practice magic before, none of it had been as serious as this.
“It
can
be,” he conceded. “It all depends on the strength of the hands involved.”
can
be,” he conceded. “It all depends on the strength of the hands involved.”
Suddenly there was a scream from the study, followed by a loud thump. We hurried back to find Kama picking herself up off the floor, a thin trickle of blood leaking from her nostrils.
“Are you all right?” Hexe asked. “What happened?”
“The curse is too strong,” the sorceress explained as she got to her feet. “I shielded Madelyn the best I could, but it finally punched its way through.”
The moment Kama spoke, Madelyn Beaman began to convulse and gag. Without thinking, I grabbed a nearby wastebasket and placed it beside the fainting couch, so the antique Oriental carpet wouldn’t be ruined. To my horror, what flew from the cursed woman’s mouth was a mixture of galvanized roofing nails—and blood.
“There’s no more time,” Hexe said, motioning for us to stand aside. “Tate—please turn off the light.”
I nodded and switched off the Tiffany desk lamp made from an armadillo’s shell. The room was immediately plunged into darkness, but after a second or two my eyes began to adjust to the gloom and I could see Hexe standing before the fainting couch.
Placing his left hand behind his back, he turned to face the East and raised his right hand. All six fingers were bent at angles no human digits could master as he began to chant in Kymeran. Even though I had no way of knowing what he was saying, I felt the hair on my arms start to rise.
As he touched the middle of his forehead with his right hand, a beam of brilliant white light suddenly shone down from above, as if some celestial stagehand was training a spotlight on him. The light was so bright I was forced to shield my eyes. After a few seconds the light took the form of a sphere, roughly six inches in diameter, hovering just above the crown of Hexe’s head.
He then turned West and touched the middle of his abdomen, his chanting becoming deeper and more insistent. A second sphere of white light blossomed into existence in his solar plexus, as if he’d swallowed a ball of lightning.
Turning to the North point of the compass, Hexe angled his right hand so that he was pointing at his own feet. A shaft of light descended from the sphere hovering just above the crown of his head, fanning outward like the base of a pyramid.
A sulfurous wind began to blow out of the darkness, scattering the papers piled atop Hexe’s desk and chasing them across the floor. I moved to retrieve them, but Kama grabbed my arm and shook her head. A second later Madelyn began to convulse, crying out in pain as her belly filled with yet more torment.
Turning to the South, Hexe touched his right hand to his right shoulder, creating yet another sphere of light. As his chant grew in speed and volume, a beam of light shot forth from his right shoulder and ran down the length of his arm, until it came to rest in the palm of his hand. Hexe turned to face Madelyn and stretched his right arm out over her prone body, his glowing palm centered over her stomach.
The wind from nowhere increased in strength, knocking books off the shelves and making the stuffed crocodile suspended from the ceiling swing back and forth like an incense burner. Hexe was surrounded by light, gleaming in the darkened room like a giant living diamond. By now he was shouting as if trapped at the bottom of a well. His voice was so loud I had to cover my ears, yet I could still feel the words resonating against my sternum like a tuning fork.
A pillar of white light abruptly shot from Hexe’s palm and into Madelyn’s grotesquely distended belly, causing the cursed woman to sit bolt upright and scream at the top of her lungs. White light poured from her gaping mouth and eyes, as if she were a human jack-o’-lantern. Hexe didn’t flinch or falter, but continued his litany as he channeled more and more light into her body.
Just as abruptly as it had begun, the stinking wind ceased its howling, and the cursed woman fell silent, dropping back onto the couch like a marionette whose strings had been cut. Hexe staggered as the celestial white light surrounding him winked out like a snuffed candle. I rushed to his side to help steady him.
“Are you okay?” I asked anxiously. Although I had seen him work spells before, I had never seen him drained to such an extent.
“I’m fine,” he replied hoarsely, giving me a reassuring hug. “I just feel like I’ve run a twenty-mile race with a forty-pound pack strapped to my back. That’s all.” He lurched over to his desk and removed a metal lockbox from one of the drawers.
“I was able to turn the allotriophagy widdershins, but as long as the necromancer who inflicted the curse has an item that belongs to Madelyn in his possession, she remains in mortal danger. While that particular affliction will no longer work against her, there are still plenty of Great Curses to choose from,” he explained as he removed a long gold chain, on the end of which hung a flat metal disk made of the same material, inscribed with Kymeran symbols. In the middle of the disk was set an extremely realistic glass eye. “Put this around her neck. It is one of the strongest gladeyes I’ve ever made. It should keep her protected as long as she wears it against her skin.”
Kama took the amulet and slipped it around her client’s neck. Madelyn groaned in pain as she began to regain consciousness, blood seeping from the corners of her mouth as a result of the damage done to her throat and stomach lining.
“Tate, could you be so kind as to bring me the bottle marked ‘katholikon’ from the kitchen?” Hexe asked. “It should be sitting in the ingredients rack above my workbench. I’d get it myself, but I’m still a tad woozy.”
“Of course,” I replied. I ducked back into the kitchen and scanned the wooden shelf above the antique workbench Hexe used to prepare his various healing potions and charms. I located the bottle between a jar of dried dung beetle and a vial of squid ink. It was the smallest container on the shelf, with a rubber eyedropper for a cap, like the medicine I had to use for the swimmer’s ear I contracted while at sleepaway camp. I plucked it out of the rack and returned to the office. Hexe took the tiny amber bottle from me, handling it gingerly, as if it contained nitroglycerine.
“I’m afraid I’ll have to give you a straight dose, Madelyn,” he explained as he removed the dropper and placed a single drop of the katholikon on her tongue. “It’s going to be unpleasant, but you have to swallow it.”
“It burns like fire!” she wailed, clawing at her mouth. “You’ve poisoned me!”
“Hexe isn’t trying to hurt you, Madelyn,” Kama said soothingly. “Just swallow—it’ll be over in a minute or two.”
“What is that stuff?” I asked, eyeing the tiny bottle uneasily.
“What the ancient humans called ‘panacea’—a near-universal cure-all. It can heal most internal injuries, provided you’re conscious and capable of swallowing. But if you try to introduce it intravenously, it’s like mainlining hydrochloric acid. All you need is the tiniest drop for it to do its work—unfortunately, it tastes like Ghost Pepper sauce mixed with gasoline. Normally I mix it with wild cherry syrup and honey to cut back on the taste, but we just don’t have the time for such niceties right now. I had to give her an undiluted dose, but she should be fine in a few moments.”
True to his word, the color instantly returned to Madelyn’s face and her eyes grew clear. She looked around the room with a quizzical expression. “Where am I?” she asked. “This isn’t your house, Kama.”
“You’re at my neighbor Hexe’s,” the sorceress explained. “He was kind enough to help me with your . . . condition.”
“Why don’t I fetch a something so she can clean up?” I suggested and hurried to the water closet located under the front staircase. As I was reaching for a washcloth, there came yet more pounding on the front door, followed by a man’s voice.
“Madelyn!”
I answered the door to find myself staring at a middle-aged man dressed in clothes that were just a little too hip and a toupee that was styled just a little too young. Even if Hexe had never said anything about Madelyn’s curse being inflicted by a jealous husband or a vindictive mistress, this guy would still have set off my hinky-meter.
“What do you want?” I asked suspiciously.
“My name’s Charles Beaman and I demand to see my wife!” he replied gruffly. “I was told she was here—”
“By whom?” This question came from Hexe, who materialized behind me as if from thin air.
“Me,” Kama replied. “Madelyn insisted I notify her husband.”
“Very well.” Hexe sighed and stepped aside. “Your wife is this way, Mr. Beaman.”
As we filed back into Hexe’s office, I saw that Madelyn had abandoned the fainting couch in favor of one of the chairs normally reserved for client consultations. She looked a thousand times better, despite the dried blood staining her face and clothes. The look of love and devotion she gave her husband as he entered the room made me want to punch him in the throat.
“Chuck! Thank heavens you’re here!”
“Oh my God, Maddy!” he exclaimed in horror. “What have they done to you?”
“Besides save her life?” I retorted as I pushed past him to clean the gore from his wife’s face.
“It’s okay, Chuck.” Madelyn smiled. “Kama and Hexe are my friends. I would have died if not for their help.”
As Mr. Beaman bent down to hug his wife, Madelyn wrapped her arms about him, clinging to him like a drowning swimmer hugs a life preserver. I started to feel bad about wanting to karate-chop his larynx. After a long moment, Mr. Beaman pulled himself away and turned to address Hexe.
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