The Curse Merchant (The Dark Choir Book 1)

by J. P. Sloan

  My hexes, however, keyed into karma, something even those black magic southpaws couldn’t hide from. The good news was that their coven devolved into an unholy mess of bickering, in-fighting, and outright sabotage. The bad news was that I powered the karma from Annarose.

  I was young. I really should have thought that one through better.

  Turned out, a Stregha witch doesn’t exactly gather good feelings from the Cosmos. She lost her house, her day job, and her pets. Losing her animals was what hurt her the most. And she blamed me, of course, which just led to a terribly uncomfortable few weeks of ignored phone call apologies and lots of Gold Bond Itch Cream.

  If I couldn’t turn to Annarose, I would have to find someone else. Someone hermetic. Perhaps one of Emil’s old acquaintances. It was possible that I would have to travel back home for this one.

  The door opened again. I straightened up and turned toward it.

  A very tall, broad-shouldered man with brown-and-gray hair stepped into the room and grinned at me with a wide, gleaming white toothy grin.

  “Mister Lake? I’m David Sullivan.”

  Yeah, I walked right into that one.

  “Good afternoon, Mister Mayor.”

  His handshake was alarmingly firm. He had tanned skin, and the look of his arms hinted that he was a real gym rat, or possibly a former athlete.

  “Julian tells me you’re giving us a hand with some of our outreach. Tapping resources that we’ve been ignoring.”

  I might have missed a memo on this one, so I kept my response non-committal. “Well, I do what can.”

  “Listen, I really appreciate what you’re doing. Julian says you’re the guy we’ve been needing on board this ship. I’m glad to have you.”

  “Well, you just keep your nose clean, and I’ll keep rowing the oars.”

  His eyes squinted into an Irish laugh and he chucked my shoulder. “I will, Mister Lake. I will.”

  He shook my hand again, and stepped out into the main hallway, where several people with electronic devices waited.

  Julian watched me from the back door, smug as a pig in shit.

  “Thanks for that,” I mumbled as I stepped toward him.

  Julian ushered me through the door to a conference room beyond. The long line of windows overlooked the park, offering a peaceful view of the city that I never knew was possible.

  “Sorry, that was unexpected. He usually uses the other door.”

  “Horseshit,” I snickered. “You wanted me to meet him.”

  He smiled and shrugged.

  I asked, “What did you tell him I was doing for him?”

  “Grass roots campaigning in Federal Hill.”

  “Because that’s me.”

  “We need your help again.”

  “What’s up?”

  He sat down and swiveled in one of the conference chairs, snatching a remote control from the table. A television showed the local news on Mute in the center of a white-erase board at the far end of the room. Julian clicked it off and waved his hand.

  “It’s this damn Burlein thing. The DA is shitting kittens over this, and Carl Sooner has already taken the ball and is running it down the field.”

  I blinked and took a seat. Bright tossed a lot of information at me like I should have known what in God’s Green Hell he was talking about.

  “Wait, okay. What now?”

  “The Burlein case. Verdict was reached today. Guilty.”

  I shook my head in confusion, but something about that name was nudging my noodle.

  “Have you been avoiding the television for the last year?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Lindsay Burlein? She was that student at Holy Redemptor who accused Joey McHenry’s son of raping her? She claimed some girls were stalking her online, and it went real world.”

  I curled my fingers into fists and sucked in a slow breath.

  Bright continued, “So Lindsay says Joey Junior was dating one of the girls, and she put him up to kidnapping her and scaring her, only it went bad. Real bad.”

  “Jesus Christ,” I whispered.

  “Now, I’ll admit to this. There were mistakes early on with the investigation. Mostly because Joey McHenry is basically God in this city. That’s not really an excuse, but it’s reality. There were issues with chain of custody, and anyways. The case was dropped, at which point McHenry rammed his team of lawyers right down Lindsay Burlein’s throat.”

  My stomach burned, and it wasn’t the kebab. I remembered her name, and where I heard it.

  My voice mail.

  “The countersuit ended last week. Verdict came down today. Most of the city is actually on Lindsay’s side on this, so I don’t know what McHenry was trying to prove, except that his son is untouchable. But now the Burleins are paying damages to Lindsay’s rapist, and there’s really not a lot anyone can do. Within the system, anyway.”

  Her mother had called me. Months ago, she called me. She knew she was losing the fight. She knew this was going to happen. She needed me to help fix this. And the tragedy was that I probably could have. But for some reason I decided to shove my head up my ass instead.

  This was happening because I had given up.

  “You okay?” Bright asked, leaning forward.

  “Not really.” I looked up at him, trying to stave off another flow of tears. “I got a call from her mother several weeks ago. I didn’t take the job. I’m not sure why.”

  He nodded meaningfully.

  “I see. Well, if you want a chance to try and salvage something from this, here it is.”

  “What’s the mayor’s interest in this?”

  “Besides his personal repugnance for rape? Carl Sooner.”

  “And he is?”

  “Councilman. He’s basically the front-runner to go up against Sully in next year’s election. He’s also a member of McHenry’s circle of cronies. He’s been ringing his bell all day long, and frankly, we need distance from this case.”

  “So you’re looking for damage control.”

  “Basically.”

  “Not justice for Lindsay?”

  “If… if that’s possible, of course.”

  “I’m on it.”

  I stood up and turned for the door.

  “In a hurry?” he called out.

  “Yeah. I have to go throw up.”

  If the day could get any worse, I wasn’t about to tempt the Fates into showing me how. I just wanted to keep my head down, drive home, get a long hot shower, and go to Frederick for a few hours of boring chit chat.

  Boring.

  My life had been very boring the last couple years. And now it was coming back to life bit by bit. It was all unraveling so fast I didn’t know how to stop it, or which string to grab onto.

  On my way home, I stopped at a bottle shop and picked up a twelve pack of the most boring beer they carried.

  One more night of boring… then I was going to kick a few skulls in.

  he leaves along the side of I-70 were changing. Bright reds and yellows licked the tops of the hardwoods, peeking in and out of the dark green canopies. A brisk, chilly breeze spilled over the Alleghenies. The sky was clear and blue, rich with the quality of light one only finds in the fall.

  By the time I drove through the narrow lanes of Frederick, I was feeling something approaching relaxation. The feeling passed quickly, however, as I pushed my shoulder into the doors of Swain’s Antiques & Oddities and was greeted by shrieking children. Eddie was doing his level best to convince Wren that his sister required some unspeakable manner of medieval punishment. It may have involved flaying.

  Elle paused in front of me and eyeballed the twelve pack in my hand.

  “You remembered the beer. Good.”

  “Pretty sure this is for your parents.”

  She rolled her eyes and shoved her brother by his head as she walked back to the spiral staircase. I followed her up the wrought iron steps into the Swains’ chaotic living space. Three bedrooms, a kitchenette, an office-slash-s
torage room, and a long and narrow living room overlooking Carroll Avenue lumbered over the old antiques store Edgar’s father had founded. Edgar had grown up in this loft. He stepped in from the rear balcony door, very much a man in his element. He wore an apron with Grill God in large Greek style letters, and a ball cap turned backward. He snapped his barbeque tongs at Eddie as he stampeded for him.

  “Dad, Dorian’s here!”

  Edgar gave me a real grin, that good old-Edgar grin that I had been missing. I felt immediately at home.

  “Hey,” he called out, pointing to the beer. “Grab a couple of those, and bring them on out.”

  I did just that, handing off the remainder to Elle to put in the fridge. The balcony outside of the kitchenette was thin and flimsy, but it was tucked behind the northern exposure of the building and was always relatively pleasant during warm months. The fall breeze flowed up over the roof thanks to the brick-face warehouse next door.

  Edgar popped open his beer and took a swig as he flattened the patties on his electric grill.

  “How you been, man?”

  “Had a rough week, frankly.”

  “Yeah?”

  I tried the beer. I wasn’t impressed. But I wasn’t here to be impressed. I was here to not think about Carmen.

  “How’d you do with Osterhaus?”

  Or Osterhaus.

  “Long story.”

  “Okay.”

  “Long and boring.”

  “I really doubt it, but okay.”

  He stared at me as he drank from the bottle. Those eyes watched me through Edgar’s small spectacles, and I felt increasingly uncomfortable.

  “Okay, so, here’s the thing. Carmen asked me to go talk to Osterhaus for her.”

  “Why?”

  “Why do you think?”

  His eyebrows lifted, opening his eyes wider than I had ever seen them. “Oh, no shit?”

  “He has this two year grace period after you sell your soul to him. Hers is going to run out on Saturday.”

  “Kind of pushing it, isn’t she?”

  “Well, I managed to shave a week off of it for her.”

  He shook his head and flipped the burgers. “How’d you pull that off?”

  “Seems he’s been pushing me out of my own business, the last couple years. Not realizing that, I kind of mouthed off to him.”

  Edgar laughed. “Yeah, that’s something you’d do.”

  “Well, Carmen’s in trouble and I’m trying to figure a way to get her out of it.” I gulped the beer and watched a squirrel on the tree next to the balcony. “Hey, you have contacts in New York, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Ever heard of a Curse Merchant that operates out of Manhattan? I think someone told me about him once.”

  “Jesus, Dorian. First Osterhaus and now some Curse Merchant? I thought you were trying to steer clear of that stuff.”

  “I need to know what Osterhaus does and how he does it if I’m going to undo it. Make sense?”

  Edgar shrugged. “I’ll look it up after dinner.”

  “By the way, your friend, Al-Syriani, is giving me the red ass.”

  “What?”

  “He followed me to the Occidental Reading Room. Remember that place?”

  “How do you know he followed you?”

  “Well, if he didn’t, then it was one hell of a coincidence. I was reading up on Netherwork, and poof. He’s suddenly there, looking over my shoulder. And that’s not all. I drive by there this morning, and the whole place is folded up. For sale sign out front.”

  “Jesus.”

  “So, I’m pretty sure the Presidium is watching me. Thanks for that, by the way.”

  “Why do they care about you? I mean, let’s face it. You haven’t exactly been active.”

  “Has he been in touch with you this week?”

  “Nah. Not since I saw you last.”

  “Good.”

  At least he wasn’t thumb-screwing Edgar and his family. Just me.

  I leaned close to the balcony rail, and Edgar held his spatula out in front of me.

  “Careful. Sucker’s getting loose.”

  “Well, think you might want to look into getting that fixed?”

  “When I sell some damn furniture, I will.”

  “I have a guy working on one of my rental properties. I can hook you up with him if you want. Probably have his card.”

  The door slid open and Wren poked her head out.

  “How do they look? Hi, Dorian.”

  Edgar juggled the burgers and shrugged. “Good enough for me.”

  “You didn’t overcook them, did you?” she grumbled.

  “I won’t under-cook hamburger meat. You know that.”

  “God, Edgar,” she huffed. “The whole point in cooking burgers at home is so you don’t overcook them. If I wanted brown meat, I’d have gone down the street to Burger Heaven.”

  He just stood there with his mouth slightly agape.

  Wren turned to me with a roll of her eyes. “Sorry about that. You got beer?”

  “In the fridge.”

  “You give one to Elle?”

  “No.”

  “Good man.”

  We retired to the kitchen table and ate our burgers with chips from a huge plastic bowl in the middle of the table. There was something remarkably centering about a cheap and simple burger on a fluffy white bun with nothing more special than ketchup and mustard. It felt like summer dinners in Nassau after I went to live with Aunt Viv. Simple. Warm. A mix of old memories flooded through my chest as I ate my burger, and I tried to push them out of my mind.

  I sat with a fresh bottle of beer and watched as the Swains engaged in their usual nighttime routine with the kids. The cozy space didn’t allow for a great deal of privacy, and so I managed to observe the struggle of getting Eddie to brush his teeth, and getting Elle to let him in the bathroom to rinse. After an hour’s work, the kids were in their bedrooms, and an exhausted Wren and Edgar returned to the kitchen.

  Edgar dropped into his chair and reached for his warm beer.

  Wren walked over to the fridge, snatched the rest of the twelve pack, and shuffled toward the spiral stairs.

  “Come on, you two,” she whispered. “Let’s move this downstairs. Don’t want to give the kids an excuse to stay awake.”

  I followed them down into the shop, dark now that the sun had set. Wren clicked on the rear lights and pulled an antique end table up to a large, dusty sofa. She snatched out a beer and popped it open with a flourish.

  “Dorian,” she pronounced as she took a belt from her bottle, “I miss you. You need to come visit more often.”

  “I think you’re right.”

  “You gotta stay around people. That’s your thing. You don’t do well when you’re on your own.”

  I leaned back in the sofa, looking over at Edgar who had perched himself onto the bar stool from behind his sales counter.

  “She’s got a point, man. This hermit gig isn’t your thing.”

  “I’m not avoiding people. Not on purpose.” I looked over at Wren, who lifted a challenging eyebrow. “Seriously. I just… things are kind of off. I don’t know how to explain it. I feel like I’m being punished. Not for things I did, but for things I didn’t do.” Emotion was bubbling up from my chest, and I lost the will to contain it. “I feel like I woke up on an airplane, and found that there’s no pilot, and I’m about to crash into a mountain. So here I am, gripping the control stick trying to keep from crashing, and the only thing I can think is where the hell did the pilot go?”

  Wren put a hand on my arm. “That’s good.”

  “How is that good?”

  “It’s good that you woke up. Some people never do. They just let the plane crash. You know you have a gift, Dorian. You are such a shit to people, but they love you for it. That’s like gold. You don’t even realize how charming you can be, and you get away with everything.”

  “I’m not trying to get away with anything, Wren. I’m just
making this up as I go along.”

  “You need a girl, Dorian.”

  Edgar chuckled. “He had one. That’s more than half his problem.”

  “Whatever happened with you and Carmen, anyway?”

  I held my hands up in the air. “It was my fault.”

  “We know that already,” Wren smirked. “What exactly did you do?”

  “Well, I was, you know. I managed to…”

  Edgar leaned over and blinked at me rapidly through my spectacles. “He fell in love with a call girl. Totally fell for her after, like, one night sleeping with her.”

  Wren shrugged. “So?”

  “So what usually happens when extremely charming, but egotistical middle class assholes fall in love with call girls?”

  Wren’s eyebrows lifted. “Ooh.”

  “Right. He got all alpha male on everyone and started causing problems at the Club.”

  Wren jabbed Edgar with her toe. “What were you doing at a Club with call girls?”

  He sputtered, “No, I just was there, like, twice. He brought me.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “So, Dorian, right? Carmen tells him she’s going to keep working the Club, and he’s all ‘We can’t be together if you keep sleeping with other men.’ You know, being a chump.”

  “Thanks,” I grunted.

  “You’re welcome. So one night in the middle of the club, he picks this fight with her about it, and her boss tells Dorian to leave. Instead, he starts spreading shit around the Club about Carmen.”

  Wren squinted at me. “You did that? God, you’re a prick.”

  I tried to remember the exact argument, but I had managed to block most of it out. All of it, actually.

  “He basically deep-sixed Carmen’s career at the Club. She couldn’t work for a month. Wasn’t long after that she dumped his ass like a sack of shit! Then Dorian just up and disappears on everyone. Figured he moved back to New York.”