by John Corwin
Conrad Edison
and
The Living Curse
Overworld Arcanum
Book One
John Corwin
Copyright © 2015 by John Corwin.
Digital eBook Edition.
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The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
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To my wonderful support group:
Alana Rock
Karen Stansbury
My amazing editors:
Annetta Ribken
Jennifer Wingard
My awesome cover artist:
Regina Wamba
Thanks so much for all your help and input!
Books by John Corwin:
The Overworld Chronicles:
Sweet Blood of Mine
Dark Light of Mine
Fallen Angel of Mine
Dread Nemesis of Mine
Twisted Sister of Mine
Dearest Mother of Mine
Infernal Father of Mine
Sinister Seraphim of Mine
Wicked War of Mine
Dire Destiny of Ours
Overworld Continuum:
Aetherial Annihilation
Overworld Underground:
Possessed By You
Demonicus
Overworld Arcanum:
Conrad Edison and the Living Curse
Stand Alone Novels:
No Darker Fate
The Next Thing I Knew
Outsourced
Seventh
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CURSED FOR LIFE
Conrad Edison is cursed.
His foster parents die in horrible ways around his birthday, and he ends up back at the orphanage where he and the other children are treated like indentured servants. Forced to work the farm and other menial chores, Conrad holds no hope for a better life.
When a man with the ability to mind-control animals inexplicably tries to kill Conrad, the harrowing scrape with death gives him a new perspective on life. He discovers the man had a flying carpet and a talking phone and that the orphanage is only the front for an insidious slave ring.
Determined to elude his cursed fate, Conrad decides to escape the orphanage once and for all. The phone leads him to a magical place called Queens Gate and for the first time in his life, he dares to hope for a better life.
But unless he can free himself from the curse, the terrible secret it guards could destroy everything.
Chapter 1
I wondered if this would be the day my parents died.
Their fate loomed, a black cloud on the horizon. I had no love for these people, but death was too awful even for them.
I couldn't remember my real parents, and there seemed little difference between this set of adults ordering me about and the others before them. The only thing they all had in common was they'd either died or suffered another terrible fate on or around my birthday. It was nearly that time of year again, so I reckoned if anything was going to happen, it would be soon.
"We need some bloody eggs, Edward!" Mrs. Cullen glared at her husband. Her small brown eyes narrowed to slits. "That's far more important than you running down to the pub for a pint with the boys."
"I'll get your bloody eggs on the way back." Mr. Cullen, as usual, wasn't swayed by his wife's argument.
I sat in the back seat of the car and watched the two bicker back and forth about when to get the eggs and what other necessities were more important than Mr. Cullen's desire to drink himself into a stupor as he did whenever possible. It was more entertaining than counting the cows we passed in the countryside on our way into town, and more pleasurable than wondering what fate awaited these two. It was also the only thing keeping my mind off the nauseating motion sickness I got when riding in cars.
"I refuse to let you spend all our money on yourself." Mrs. Cullen crossed her arms. "I won't allow it!"
Mr. Cullen growled. "Then come with me, you bleeding twit."
His wife's face darkened. "I'll show you who's a twit." She reared back and punched him in the side of the face.
The car swerved, leaving the country lane and scraping against a stone pasture wall. Mr. Cullen, cursed, jerked the wheel, and brought it back onto the road. His chubby face crimson, he swung a backhand at his wife and popped her in the forehead.
Screeching, Mrs. Cullen clawed at her husband's face. The car swerved back and forth. I gripped the door handle. The oatmeal I'd had for breakfast rose in my throat as the motion sickness worsened.
"Please," was all I managed to say before the urge to throw up nearly overwhelmed me. I pressed the button to roll down the rear window but it wouldn't respond.
"I said stop it!" Mr. Cullen shoved his wife hard. Her head cracked against the window.
She began to wail.
My ears hurt, but the motion of the car steadied. Shuddering, I took deep breaths to calm my stomach and kept my eyes on the road ahead. Something black flashed through the air. It smacked into the windscreen. Blood spattered, thick and gray. I knew it was supposed to look bright red, but I rarely saw anything in color, except for brief flashes.
Mr. Cullen shouted in surprise. He turned on the wipers and cleared the dark liquid. A large crow lay on the hood. It cawed loudly. Its wings fluttered. Then the creature went still.
"Did you see that?" Mr. Cullen said to his wife.
She was still too engrossed in her loud crying to respond.
A bad omen. Today might be the day the Cullens died. It might happen in this very car.
I didn't like watching my parents die. The Hughes had been hit by a London bus only ten feet behind me, giving me quite a shock when I turned around to see what was taking them so long to cross the road. The Smiths had died skydiving when a jumbo jet, miles off course, ran right into them after they deployed their parachutes. The Andersons, a very quiet couple, had abruptly decided to call in a death threat against the Prime Minister and were promptly jailed. The Turners had vanished while out for a walk one evening, never to return.
The closest I'd come to dying had been with the Lewises. I'd lived there with three other foster children at the time. Mrs. Lewis was screaming at us to come down to the kitchen for dinner. Just as me and the other children reached the kitchen door, a freakish flood of water washed it away in a heartbeat, leaving us to stare at the great hollow where it had once been.
Thinking about what lay in store for these people only made me sicker.
I tapped on the window.
Mr. Cullen's eyes met mine in the rearview mirror. "What do you want?" His voice was angry.
"Window." I didn't dare say more for fear I might throw up.
"What the bloody hell for?"
I made a gagging motion.
He bared his teeth. "Keep it down, you weakling."
Mrs. Cullen abruptly stopped crying. "Is he sick again?"
"What do you think?" Mr. Cullen snorted. "We ended up with the runt of the litter this time."
"Least he don't eat too much," his wife said with a smirk. "And they pay better to watch after this one."
"Now we know why." Mr. Cullen glared at me in the mirror. "He's stupid and weak."
I couldn't disagree. School was very difficult for me. I was awful with math and science and barely able to keep up with language arts. Sports were too much for my body to handle. I bruised easily and bled too much from simple scrapes. Nobody wanted me. Like the Cullens, most of my foster parents did it for the government money.
I normally would look away from Mr. Cullen's angry stare, but unless he wanted me to sick up all over the back seat, he had to stop the car or roll down the window.
"Blast it," he growled and slammed on the brakes.
My head bounced off the back of his seat. I felt a little dribble escape my mouth, but managed to clench it shut. I opened the door, released the seatbelt, and fell onto the grass outside just in time. My breakfast spewed into the ditch. After a few seconds, of heaving, I felt empty. A bell jingled. I looked up and saw a sheep watching me as it chewed a mouthful of light gray grass.
I tried to remember what green looked like. I'd glimpsed it once while out with Cora. Her name brought with it a flash of memories. In my mind, I saw the rosy cheeks, the orange hair she frequently dyed different colors, and her brilliant green eyes. That's how I remember colors.
We stop outside the grocery store. "You're a wonderful boy, Conrad." Cora kisses my cheek.
For the first time, I glimpse her true colors. For the first time, I feel safe.
"Do you remember what to do?" she asks.
I nod.
"Sometimes, good people have to do bad things." She takes my hand and we go inside the store to steal our dinner.
"Baaa," the sheep said, jerking me from the solace of my memories.
Ovis Aries, quadruped, ruminant mammal.
I jerked back. Who said that?
Mr. Cullen got out of the car and glared at me. "Are you finished?" He looked into the rear door and cursed. "You tossed up on the back of the seat!"
Before I could cower, he slapped me on the back of the head. I nearly fell forward into my own sick.
I threw my arms over my head. "I'm sorry!"
"I'd hit you again but then you'd just bleed all over the car." He gripped the back of my shirt and jerked me off the ground. "Get in before I leave your scrawny body in the ditch."
I climbed inside and looked down, praying he'd get back into the driver seat.
He grabbed the back of my head and shoved my face into the stream of vomit on the back of the seat. "Clean it off, boy." He rubbed my head back and forth across the fabric. With one final curse, he shoved me hard back into my seat. "Worthless."
I remained absolutely still and kept my eyes down. Mr. Cullen wasn't as abusive as some I'd known in the past. Humiliating me usually satisfied him. I put my hands under my legs so he wouldn't see my fists tightening. My tiny little pitiful fists. I hid my anger behind downcast eyes. Even if I were stronger, I wouldn't fight back. That would only get me sent back to the orphanage. Anything was better than being back there again, even a little abuse.
"Why didn't you get that dead bird off the hood?" Mrs. Cullen asked as we pulled back onto the road. "It's getting blood all over the paint."
"Because the stupid boy made me forget." Mr. Cullen slapped his hand against the steering wheel. "I'll make him clean it up when we get to town."
I looked at the bird and wondered if strange words would come into my head again. They didn't. I remembered the words clearly. Ovis Aries, quadruped, ruminant mammal. What did they mean? Aries sounded familiar. Mrs. Cullen liked the daily horoscope and I'd heard her mention it before.
"I've never seen a person so useless," she said to her husband. "He's supposed to be nearly twelve, but he looks eight." She turned around and looked at me between the seats. "What did you say happened to your parents?"
I looked down. "I don't know, ma'am."
"Don't know, or won't say?"
"I was a babe when they died."
Mr. Cullen chimed in. "The boy's slow in the head, woman. You're only confusing him."
"Why else do you think they pay extra for his care?" She stared at me for a moment. "Sometimes I wonder if it's worth the extra headache."
"It's worth the few extra pints it buys us." Mr. Cullen snorted. "And it paid for your hair coloring."
"True." Mrs. Cullen ran a hand through her white hair. "Perhaps we could train him to feed himself so we didn't have to take him everywhere."
"Yeah. Maybe he's smart enough for that at least."
I can feed myself. I wasn't smart, but I wasn't mental. The Lewises used to leave me and the others alone for days. We'd survived on bread, jam, and lots of cheese. Sometimes Mrs. Lewis even left food in the fridge when she and her husband left on their monthly holidays. Apparently, the government money was quite good for four children.
The Cullens had been convinced from day one that I was unable to survive on my own. I would rather be left at their house than forced to sit in the car while they drove around and yelled at each other or left me outside while they went into the pub for hours.
"I say we make him get groceries while we go to the pub," Mrs. Cullen said.
"The boy can't tie his own shoe," her husband replied.
She looked back at me. "He's not that daft."
"I don't trust him with money."
"We don't have to give him money. He can put it on our tab." Mrs. Cullen rubbed her husband's arm. "It'll give us more time in the pub."
"True." Mr. Cullen's dark eyes found me in the mirror. "If you mess this up, boy, I'll make sure you don't ever forget it."
I looked away. "I won't."
A few minutes later, we reached Bedford. Mr. Cullen pulled into the parking lot of a supermarket. He got out and opened the rear door. "Clean off the bird."
I walked around to the hood and looked at the dead animal. A little stream of blood dribbled from its beak and one of its legs was twisted and broken. I felt sorry for it.
"Well, don't just stand there, boy!" Mr. Cullen nudged me with his elbow. "We've got places to be."
With trembling fingers, I reached out and picked up the bird by a claw. Just touching something dead made me want to throw up again. I found a rubbish bin and dropped the bird inside.
Mrs. Cullen got out of the car and gave me a sanitary wipe. "I don't want you touching our food with filthy hands." She inspected me. "Be sure to rinse your face. You've got sick on it."
I nodded. "I will."
She handed me a long grocery list in messy handwriting. "You are to purchase exactly what I listed. Don't you dare get a single thing more." She gripped my chin and forced me to look at her. "Do you understand?"
"Yes."
Mr. Cullen stepped next to her. "We'll be back in an hour or two." He pointed to a nearby bench. "Wait for us there." He pulled back his sleeve and checked a large gaudy watch. Light reflected off the fake diamonds on the band. "Let's go."
Mrs. Cullen touched the watch. "I love how it makes you glitter."
He chuckled. "I reckon most ladies do."
The pair climbed into the car. It puttered away, leaving a trail of dark smoke behind and vanishing around a curve.
I looked at the list. Beer, pork, ice cream, frozen chips, frozen pizza, soda. I couldn't read the next two items. Mrs. Cullen had listed several kinds of pastries and other snacks. She had forgotten to write down eggs. I wondered if I would be in worse trouble if I bought them or didn't buy them. I knew I would be in trouble either way.
There weren't a lot of people in the store. I walked around for several minutes and looked at the shelves. Bags filled with wonderful looking treats lined the aisl
e. One nice couple I'd lived with had let me have crunchy cheese balls. They upset my stomach, but tasted so good. Corn chips were another snack I'd eaten before.
I found the cookie aisle and walked up and down for several minutes, wishing I could try one of everything. I was tempted to steal something. When I was seven, my fosters at the time, the Taylors, taught me how to nick small items and take them outside to their car while they distracted the store clerks. They even took me to help burgle houses since I was small and could fit through pet doors and small windows.
"Can I help you?" asked a young clerk.
I turned to him. "No thank you, sir." I showed him the paper. "I have a list." He must think I'm trying to steal something.
He smiled. "Any cookies on the list?"
"No, sir. Afraid not."
"Well, let me know if I can help you find anything." He walked away.
I looked at the list again and decided to start collecting the items. Since I knew the Cullens wouldn't be back for a long time, I went very slowly and read the ingredients on some of the packages. Most of the food contained a lot of ingredients with very long names I couldn't pronounce. I didn't know if that was good or bad.
The soda drinks were last on the list. I picked up a pack of Mr. Nutter's Orange Delicious and put it in the cart.
Contains Element ZR Thirty. Boil to powder. Applications include rocketry, explosives, sweetener. This random thought surprised me so much I stumbled backwards and knocked over a display of Mr. Nutter's Angel Biscuits. Where did that thought come from? What was Element ZR Thirty? I realized another patron was staring at me and pushed myself back to my feet. It took several minutes to reorganize the pastries. I noticed angel biscuits were on the list, so I put two bags into the cart.
No more strange words popped into my mind as I finished shopping. By the time I had everything bagged and ready to go, it was dark outside. The clock in the store showed seven in the evening. My stomach rumbled and hurt. I knew I couldn't stand inside for long without looking suspicious so I rolled the cart outside to the bench and sat down.
