The Curse Servant (The Dark Choir Book 2) (35 page)

“Alright. Just do me a favor, then. Don’t dismiss this. Think it over.”

“I wasn’t dismissing it. I’m just communicating, here.”

She nodded. “I know. But you’re a snap judgment kind of guy. I’m going to have to break you of that, one of these days.”

I had already put that on my to-do list, but it made me grin to hear her say it. “Alright. I’ll think it over.”

She stood up and gathered her purse.

“For the record, if you say no, I won’t be mad.”

I reached over and grabbed her hand, holding it tight for a moment.

“I gotta get to work,” she whispered.

I walked her to the door. She kissed my cheek and gave me a wave just before she hopped into her car. I watched her drive down the block and take the last turn.

Ches had just given me something huge to think about. I shut the door and returned to my work space.

In my downtime last night, I had located a curse which would work with the materials I had available to me. It would be relatively simple. The hardest part was securing fresh blood. There could be no substitutes. But best of all, I didn’t need Carmody to be there to fire the curse. It could be done at my leisure.

Leisure. What was that like?

By noon, I had made one important phone call and put myself together enough to drive to Catonsville. I was familiar with the area; I kept my first work space after moving to Baltimore in a mini-storage not far from the Silver Lane Diner. That was back when I forced myself to separate what I thought was my private life from the professional. And now I had someone asking to join me in both.

The diner wasn’t terribly busy, which I considered to be a saving grace. I spotted an appropriate booth by the windows and took a seat. Carmody was late, but he did arrive. He shuffled to my booth and took a seat across from me, pulling off his hat and giving me a wink.

“Afternoon, then.”

“Hi.”

“I hope you don’t mind, but I feel like I’m starving to death, so I’m going to order something.” He waved his hand furiously, flagging down a waitress. He ordered a short stack of pancakes and a side of sausage, then cracked his knuckles. “So, shall we get down to it?”

I looked him over. His eyes moved in short, nervous motions.

“Out of curiosity, have you made any progress?” I asked.

“Well, I haven’t seen the list yet, mate.”

“About my soul.”

“Oh, that. I do know a vodoun in New Orleans whom I’ve been meaning to ask for you. He’s a handful, grant you, and he sometimes checks out in the middle of a sentence, but he’s a hell of a medium and maybe he can put out some feelers. Best shot, at this point.”

I cocked a brow at him. “Sounds thin.”

“Well, you dance with he who brung you.”

“Indeed, you do.” I let the words sit on the table between us.

Carmody leaned forward. “So, you’ve decided to do it, then?”

“Do what?”

“Curse me.”

The bastard was perceptive. “What tipped you off?”

“I told you before. You have a shit poker face, mate.” He leaned back and pulled his hands off the table, shaking his head. “I simply cannot catch a break in this life, you know that? So what is this? One last chance for me to talk you out of it?”

“This isn’t just about my soul, anymore.”

“What are you going on about?”

“There’s a servitor that’s been hounding me ever since the day I met you. Now it’s trapped inside Edgar’s daughter, and if I can’t remove it, she’s going to die. Her soul along with it.”

Carmody squirmed in his seat. “Servitors are Gillette’s domain. Not mine. If you’re casting accusations about, then you should start with her.”

“Is that actually blood in that vial you gave me? Just curious.”

He chuckled. “Couldn’t sell you, eh?”

“Whose is it?”

“Truth be known, I have no idea whose blood it is. I know a guy who knows a guy in life insurance. Gets me vials from time to time when he needs something.”

“So you just tossed a random person under the bus in case I decided to go through with it?”

“Better them than me.” He reached into his pocket. When I flinched at the motion, he jerked his hand out holding a wallet. “Easy.” He dropped a twenty onto the table and slid out of the booth. “No offense, but I’m removing myself before you get any cheeky notions about my actual blood.”

“Funny you should mention that.”

I made a gesture with my finger.

The woman in the booth behind Carmody reached around him and jabbed his hand with a disposable specimen needle.

Carmody reeled away from her and pushed back toward the window, gripping his hand.

“The fuck is this?” he stammered.

I looked up at the woman. “Thank you, Amy.”

Amy capped the needle with a tiny, plastic cap and slipped it into my hand. I reached into my pocket and produced a small jewelry box containing the charm I had spent the night crafting for her.

She took the box and opened it, her eyes wide. “So, I just wear this at night?”

“That’s right.”

“And that’s it?”

“It’ll help you with the need,” I explained. “The rest is really up to you.”

Amy reached out and put a heavy hand on my arm. “Thank you.”

Carmody watched as she hustled away, then gave me a grave look. “Seems I misjudged you.”

I pocketed the capped needle and sighed. “Probably doesn’t matter so much, at this point, but at least I’m trying to balance my karma.”

Carmody stared at me for a long time, and I let him. I simply didn’t have anything more to say to him.

His food arrived, and once the waitress finished setting out the plates, he slid slowly from the booth. His face washed in a mixture of emotions, and ultimately he turned and walked out of the diner without another word to me.

And that was one obstacle out of the way.

The harder obstacle was yet to come.

undays were business days at the Druid Hill Club. And by God did I have business to tend to. I parked my car in front of the doors and took my key with me, shoving past Ramon. I pushed open the double doors and paused just enough to let my eyes adjust. Kim stared at me from the coat check wide-eyed.

“Uh…”

I ignored her and hustled down the entry hall. By the time I had reached the Great Room, two thick gentlemen in suits bounded down the side stairs. They spotted me and reached for me with meaty hands. I ducked them both, running deeper into the room. Eyes turned toward me. But none of that mattered. I kept moving, searching all of the faces inside the Club.

One of the meat hands clamped around my arm, and I turned to take a swing at him. My fist made contact with ribs, and though I was sure it wasn’t anything like a solid hit, it was enough to force him to let me go.

Another pair of hands landed on my back, shoving me down into one of the nearby chairs. I spun around to find Giancarlo towering over me.

“Dorian, what the hell are you doing over here?”

“Where’s Brown?”

“I want you out of here. I’ll carry you if I have to.”

“Mister Brown. I know you know who he is.”

Giancarlo nodded to the meat hands, who reached down and pulled me to my feet, securing me by my arms. “You’re making a big mistake here, Dorian.”

A gravelly voice spilled over Giancarlo’s shoulder as Big Ben tapped that shoulder with a baseball bat. “So let him.”

Giancarlo swiveled around to Ben, whose face was redder than usual.

“You kidding me with this, Ben?”

“Let the boy go. You know who he is. You know why there’s a problem.”

I tensed as Ben tightened his grip. For a second, he looked like he was about to go full thug on Giancarlo.

“Just doing my job, Ben. The owners say he goes, so he goes.”

“I’m sure he will,” Ben added with a tap of the bat. “When he’s done.”

Giancarlo waved off the meat hands, and I stood on my own power.

“Thanks, Ben,” I muttered, straightening my shirt.

Giancarlo smiled at Ben. “You even know how to use that thing, Ben?”

Ben smirked. “I used to play in the Minors. Right after Korea.”

“No shit?” Giancarlo stepped away and put a hand behind his two thugs. “We’ll be by the door. Brown’s upstairs, Dorian. You got fifteen minutes. Get your business done, then you’re out of here.”

After they skulked off, I turned to Ben and offered him my hand. He shook it with a tired smile.

“Thanks, Ben. Thought I was going to get further than I did.”

He nodded and returned to the bar, tucking the bat under his arm.

I had never been upstairs at the Club before. That space was for VIPs and owners. Even the working girls used rooms downstairs. I felt like Bellerophon climbing that staircase, and for all I knew, Mr. Brown was about to send a gadfly right up my ass. As I rounded the top flight, I found a simple hall of doorways leading to a picture window near the rear of the building. I peered into each open door, finding only empty offices, most of which appeared to have gone unused for decades. I nearly passed Brown’s office, as he was sitting still in a dark room. I backed up a couple steps and stepped into the doorway.

“Good afternoon, Mister Lake,” Brown cooed as he looked up from his tablet. “Ever the glutton for drama I see.”

“This would have been less dramatic if McHenry hadn’t booted me from the Club in the first place.”

“I’m not sure I care, to be honest with you.”

“Fair enough.”

“Come to chastise me over Wexler’s heavy-handed diplomacy?”

“No. I need something from you.”

Brown set his tablet aside and folded his hands on the table. “Intriguing. What is this boon you require?”

“Are you familiar with a Judith Wilcom in Gresham, Oregon?”

He thought it over before nodding slowly. “Sigilist, I believe? Often associated with Quinn Gillette’s cadre.”

“Gillette is about to fly into BWI, possibly tomorrow. I need the Presidium to send a written guarantee of Gillette’s safety to Wilcom for her to, I don’t know, notarize or something.”

Brown stared at me without a flicker of acknowledgment.

I continued, “And I need it done today.”

“Not a week ago Gillette killed one of our listeners.”

“The word you’re trying to avoid is ‘spy.’ Don’t preach to me about casualties of war, Brown.”

“Do you have any idea what you’re asking? This sigilist will reduce any written guarantee into a binding hex on the entire Presidium.”

“
Verum invoilata
. All I’m asking for is a guarantee of safety. No one can move against Gillette while she’s in Baltimore. That’s the deal.”

“That’s the deal?” he repeated. “Well, I’ll keep this brief then. I refuse.”

“No, you won’t.”

“I’ll bite, Lake. What feeble threat are you prepared to level against the Presidium that I’m sure you expect will have me shivering in accommodating fear?”

“No threats.” I reached slowly into my pocket and pulled out a photograph of myself, Eddie, and Elle taken back at the beginning of baseball season. I slapped it down on Brown’s desk and tapped the photo with my finger. “I’m appealing to your basic sense of humanity. McHenry hired a hack to make my life miserable. I tried to warn Wexler about it, but she seemed oddly blasé. I figured she’s just one person in the Presidium. You’re quite another. The girl’s thirteen years old, and right now she’s having her spiritual essence drained from her body by a servitor this amateur sent into her body.”