by J. P. Sloan
Chuckles from the crowd.
“Then he goes and gets elected to the Hill. And he gets elected again.” Sullivan turned to Durning. “I guess they like you, Jerry.”
More laughs.
“So, it came as no surprise when he gave me a call and said, ‘David, I’m going again.’ Of course he was. He’s done more for Maryland Seventh in the past three terms than any predecessor. Federal funds for schools and highways, advocating to keep our military bases intact and people safe in their jobs. So, here we are in front of the Light Street Tavern in the heart of downtown Baltimore to take another swing at the ball.”
A spattering of applause rippled around the crowd as I gave Julian’s shoulder a nudge with my own.
Sullivan reached into his pocket and produced a baseball. He tossed it in a lazy arc to Durning, who caught it with a slight bobble. Sullivan then produced a tiny hand broom from inside his jacket and bent over to literally sweep the sidewalk in front of the podium.
“You’re up to the plate, Jerry!”
The crowd clapped as Sullivan stepped aside to grant Durning his stage, though he had more than stolen the show by this point.
As Durning gathered himself at the podium and thanked Sullivan, I whispered to Julian, “That was quite the show.”
“You noticed that, too?”
“Didn’t Sullivan just get re-elected?”
Julian squinted. “Well, governor’s race is in two years, but I can’t imagine he’d be ramping up…” He balled a fist as his spine straightened.
I peered at him. “Julian?”
He turned back toward the tavern with a huff. “Son of a bitch.”
“What?”
“Ronetta made this comment the other day. Something about Barclay and McClaren.”
I gathered him closer to the door as Durning began his speech.
“I’m supposed to know who Barclay and McWhatshisnuts is?”
Julian ran a hand over his forehead. “Maryland Democratic committee. Compliance and political directors. That explains why Madelyn is here. My God, he’s running for governor!”
I smiled. The thought of Sullivan running for yet another office struck me with a degree of fatigue, but I liked him. He was honest, straightforward, and managed to pull off that folksy charm without having to engineer it.
“This is a good thing, right?”
“Maybe.”
Julian stared over the crowd, which seemed especially riveted to Durning’s words.
As was Sullivan and his wife, who was gripping her husband’s arm.
Julian pulled me aside. “What did he just say?”
Durning shuffled papers on his podium as microphones and recorders inched closer.
“I have a list of names here. Lobbyists, directors and executive officers of corporations in and around the Beltway, and more alarming… members of the Senate and House of Representatives.”
I stepped forward. What was he doing?
“I’ll remind you, most of these people have never been elected to public office. Yet they control significant power within the capital. I dare say they influence decisions within the White House, itself.”
Murmurings spread throughout the crowd as the sole cameraman jockeyed for a tighter angle.
“These men and women belong to a secret society with very strong occult connections. Their private observances, clearly un-Christian and contrary to all common decency, may include acts of bloodletting, devil worship, and may even be sexual in nature.”
The murmurings bubbled to a flurry of questions.
Sullivan turned to his wife and began to ease her away from the podium.
I turned to Julian, whose face was awash in confusion.
Durning held up his hands until questions subsided. “This group of individuals who call themselves The Presidium represent a core disease within our American democracy, and they should be held accountable.” With a deep breath, he added, “I shall now read the list of names.”
My knees buckled, but I managed to grab hold of Julian’s arm to steady myself.
“Bob Alonza, Senior Partner of Alonza Duggins and Reznik. Senator Ron Blankenship. Alderman Clifford Brinks.”
Julian pulled me inside as the list of names continued, swallowed by barks and shouts from the press corps.
Ben straightened up as we crashed into the tavern. “What’s going on?”
I dropped onto a bar stool.
Jesus.
Durning was outing the Presidium on live television!
And he was doing it in front of my bar.
Julian took the stool beside me and said, “The Congressman’s committing political suicide, is what’s going on.”
“Huh.”
“Remarkable. He must have had a nervous breakdown, or something. It’s unbelievable.”
Ben shrugged. “Still, can’t be bad news for us, though. Right? Any press is good press.”
Julian replied with a look to the window, “It’s bad news for David.”
“Who, Sullivan?” Ben asked.
“If he’s planning a run for Annapolis in two years, this won’t help him. My God, this is embarrassing for everyone.”
The Mayor’s car slid out of view and up the street. Only about four blocks from City Hall, but it would be a long four blocks.
Julian turned to me. “I’m sorry, Dorian. This was supposed to… this isn’t helping.”
He had no idea.
Of all the damned places for Durning to pull this stunt, it had to be in front of my bar. The Presidium was going to be pissed. Not just normal pissed. Mounting heads on pikes levels of pissed. And my status with the Presidium could have been charitably described as “dubious” to begin with.
Julian put a hand on my shoulder and turned me toward him.
“Dorian? You have that look, again.” He pulled his hand away. “This wasn’t random, was it? You know what he’s talking about?”
I didn’t answer.
“Dorian? This Presidium crap. Please tell me it’s crap.”
“Durning said this wasn’t an accident,” I muttered.
“What is the Presidium, Dorian?”
I stood up. “I very much doubt there are any blood orgies involved, but yes. They do control basically everything.”
Ben snickered. “This ain’t some Illuminati thing, is it?”
“This isn’t a joke, Ben,” I snapped. “Durning just painted a giant bulls-eye right on each of our asses. Mine, in particular.”
Julian waved his hands as he winced. “No, this isn’t going anywhere. No one’s going to believe this is bonafide. It’ll be written off as the ravings of a man in need of retirement, and possibly lithium. No one will care.”
“They’ll care, Julian. The Presidium will most certainly care.” I paced a slow circle. “We have to get ready for the blowback.”
“What blowback?” Julian shouted.
“We’ll need wardings. Lots of wardings. And get your accounts overseas, if you can.”
Ben huffed. “You mean my first million? Sure. I’ll get right on that.”
“These people are vicious and unforgiving, Ben. The only real defense is to not be important enough to merit their attention. It’s possible they’ll overlook the fact this happened outside the tavern, but I doubt it.”
“Have you merited their notice?” Julian grumbled.
“More than once. It’s never ended well.”
The crowd outside swelled into a roar of questions as Durning tucked his head, pocketed his pages, and slipped into his cadre of security to be whisked away. The press corps remained outside the tavern, taking notes and frothing in general. The water had just been chummed.
“I have to warn Ches,” I announced, turning for the back door. “Try not to talk to anyone with a microphone.”
Julian lifted a brow. “This isn’t my first scandal, you know. I’ll be fine. You, on the other hand, really need to take a breath.”
“I should probably reach out to them. Make su
re they know I had nothing to do with this.”
“Think that’ll help?”
“At this point,” I called out as I wound around the back hallway, “I’m as lost as you are.”
sat in my car, parked in the alley between my two-story red brick row house on Amity and the high-rise bank building next door. That building went up quick, and ever since McHenry broke ground on Carrollton Estates the entire neighborhood seemed to have become a non-stop work zone. I gripped my steering wheel as reflections in the bank’s windows skittered in and around the roof of my house. This was a bad sign. The shadows always grew anxious when my life was threatened.
I finally stepped out of the car and rushed for my door, like I was ducking in from a rain shower. I keyed my lock, but the bolt was already open. I froze for a moment, spying up and down the street.
I knew I had locked this door before I left that morning.
In the silence, I heard voices inside. One of them was Ches; I could tell from the warding on my threshold. The other? No clue.
With an easy nudge, I opened the door and stepped inside. There was no one in the front room, but as I closed the door behind me, I spotted Ches hopping up into the kitchen doorway.
“Dorian!” she bumbled with her arms stiff at her sides.
I watched her for a second, then strode toward the kitchen.
“You alone?” I asked, knowing full well she wasn’t.
She occupied as much of the doorway as she could, but without fully blocking my way she couldn’t stop me from spotting a middle-aged woman sitting at my kitchen table. Two glasses of water sat on the table alongside a notebook with Ches’s handwriting filling the pages.
The woman looked up to me, bloodshot eyes and a line-worried brow watching with anticipation.
“Uh, hi,” I blurted.
She nodded, straightening in her seat a bit.
Ches turned to the side and lifted a hand to me.
“Mrs. Garcia, this is Dorian.”
The woman’s eyes eased, and a smile finally stole into her mouth as she muttered, “Hello.”
Ches cleared her throat and lay a hand on the side of her forehead. “Mrs. Garcia and I were just having a consultation. I, er, your thing’s over already?”
I glanced over to her notes, and recognized a series of logograms I’ve used in charm-crafting before.
I brushed past Ches just enough to extend a hand to Mrs. Garcia. She took it with her fingertips, clenching them away quickly to hide the tremors. Her shoulders hunched and she looked quickly down to the table.
I squeezed the salt packet in my pocket to clear her nervous energy. “I apologize for interrupting. May I borrow Miss Baker for just a quick moment?” I asked with as cordial a tone as I could muster.
Mrs. Garcia nodded, and I swept back around Ches, ushering her into the front room.
“This is… what?” I whispered.
“Don’t freak.”
“I’m not freaking.”
“She’s part of a project for class. I’m interviewing subjects for a class on addiction psychology.”
I crossed my arms.
Ches looked over to the window.
“Right, okay, it’s not just for class.”
“You’re making charms for addicts?”
Ches huffed and stretched her neck. “I know you told me I’m not allowed to practice, but I was already interviewing them―”
“How many?”
“She’s the third.”
“You made charms for all of them?”
Ches shook her head. “I haven’t made any… just one. The first, so far. Mrs. Garcia was going to be my second.”
I turned away, bracing against the foyer archway. Fantastic timing.
“Go wrap up,” I grumbled. “Then come downstairs.”
“Dorian―”
I turned on my heel and took a step into her, whispering as low as I could, “Get her out of here.”
With a squint, Ches turned back to the kitchen.
I descended into the work space, pacing several circles around my bench, reviewing every conversation Ches and I had specifically about her not practicing any kind of magic until I had given her my blessing. I was sure I wasn’t even remotely unclear on the subject.
The front door closed overhead, and at length, Ches trotted down the stairs with her hands held up.
“Don’t shoot. I’m unarmed.”
“You’re making charms?”
“Just the one.”
“Two, if you count Mrs. Garcia, which we won’t, because you’re not making shit for Mrs. Garcia.”
Ches rolled her eyes. “I get it, I know. I’m not allowed to practice.”
“Damned right, you’re not.”
She crossed her arms. “Dorian, we really need to air something out. Okay?”
“Air what out?”
“I know you’re supposed to be my teacher. And I’ve played ball as best I could. But let’s neither of us pretend you have the first clue what you’re doing.”
I stepped back. “Excuse me?”
“You’re just taking your experience with a man who, let’s face it, was a fossil even in his own time… and you’re using that as a template for whatever this is.” She waved a finger between the two of us. “You’re not, in fact, my mentor.”
“Quinn Gillette might insist otherwise.”
“Quinn was―is―a killer. She’s a warlord. An alpha beast. She taught us exactly what she needed us to know, because we were all just soldiers in her army.”
I rubbed my face. “And that’s what you call mentorship?”
Ches took a step forward. “No. That’s my point. She didn’t make illusions that she was a teacher or a mentor, or babysitter. Whatever. I don’t think you really understand that. She doesn’t have any expectations of you, Dorian. She wasn’t entrusting me to your care, or trying to do the right thing. She was dumping me off. I was dead weight, and it was cleaner for her to just stick you with the disposal of my remains, however long it would take you to figure it out.”
“I’m not a babysitter.”
“My point is, you’re trying too hard. You’re taking this too seriously, because you’re afraid she’s going to drop in one day for some kind of spot inspection.”
“Not true,” I grunted.
“Dorian, I’m going to start practicing. I was practicing in Portland, I’m going to start practicing here. You can bitch me out all you like, but you actually have no authority to stop me.”
I sucked in a breath to rejoinder, but held my tongue.
Because she was absolutely correct.
I turned away and reached for the stool at my bench to take a seat.
“I’m not afraid of Gillette,” I finally muttered.
“Shit, I am.”
“I mean, I’m not doing this to protect myself.”
Ches stepped up to the bench and leaned on her hands. “I don’t need protecting, Dorian.”
“You do, actually.”
She looked up, then shrugged. “Yeah, maybe. But it’s not your responsibility.”
“I know that. I’m not doing it because anyone’s forcing me to, Ches. I want to help you.”
“And I’m not completely ungrateful. That―that really sounded lame when it came out.”
I reached for one of her hands, but she pulled them off the table, stepping back and shoving them into her pockets.
“Listen,” I said, trying to avoid the awkward moment, “if I feel you’re not ready for something, it’s only because your lack of knowledge makes you dangerous.”
“I don’t lack knowledge. I’m not some newbie practitioner that bought a book on Amazon and decided to go Full-Hogwarts.” She took a breath and added, “I know what I’m doing. I know enough, anyway.”
“Did you know enough when you made the servitor that almost killed a thirteen-year-old girl?”
Her face tightened.
“Ches, we all have filters. Sometimes it’s hard to see our own failin
gs.”
She shook her head and threw her hands up into the air. “Jesus. James Padraig was absolutely right. There really is no magic without ego.”
“Maybe there’s a little ego going both ways, here?”
She scowled. “I’m good at this, Dorian. I feel like every practitioner I’ve met was good at one thing in particular. Gillette was a natural at soul magic. Judith was an accomplished sigilist. Carmody, as big a fraud as he came off, was actually decent at luck charms. There’s this one thing that aligns with our personalities, and that’s usually the thing that sucks us into the Life. Well, I think I found mine, and I want to explore it. Why do you think I stayed, Dorian? In Baltimore?”
“The fact that if you left, Gillette was probably going to have you killed?”
“Well, besides that. I was doing something in Portland. Something bigger than I guess what you’d call ‘regular.’ Now that I’m not beholden to Gillette, I feel like I can do better. I can actually do some good. I mean, if we can’t do anything positive with this Life, then what’s the damn point?”
I traced the spiral on my bench with my finger, thinking over what she’d said. Doing some good. That was the point. Wasn’t it?
“Okay, you’re right. I don’t have any real authority over you. So, I can’t forbid you to practice.”
She exhaled and nodded. “Thank you.”
“But, if I can’t forbid you, then can I at least try to convince you to pump the brakes on this charm-making business? Something’s happened. Something you need to know about.”
She leaned against the far wall and tilted her chin. “What?”
“I… I want you to move in here.”
She shook her head and leaned forward. “Say that again?”
“I want you to pack what you need for a few weeks, and move in here. I’ll clean out a room upstairs. Not like I don’t have space, now.”
“Dorian?”
“Yeah?”
“Have you lost your mind? That’s never going to happen. I don’t know what you think this conversation was―”
“It’s not like that. You’re in danger. We’re both in danger.”
She eased back against the wall. “So what’s new?”
