The Curse Mandate (The Dark Choir Book 3)

by J. P. Sloan

  “Jerome Durning.”

  “I’m supposed to know who that is?”

  “Congressman. He had an announcement at the tavern today.”

  She nodded. “Oh, right. Your thing.”

  I hopped off my stool. “Well, it wasn’t the thing I was expecting. It was another thing entirely, and now it’s possible we’re both completely screwed.”

  She held up a hand. “Start over.”

  “Durning outed the Presidium on live television.”

  Her face froze. “Try again.”

  “Durning. For some reason, he decided to announce the existence of the Presidium in front of a press corps. He even named names. A couple I recognized. His information was… accurate.”

  “What the hell would he do something like that, for? What, is he one of them?”

  I thought that over. “Don’t think so. Seems to me like someone got to him, maybe put him up to it. Point being, the Presidium’s about to go on a tear. Last time that happened, we got the Red Scare. Before that, Manifest Destiny.”

  “Where do we stand?”

  “Unknown. But I don’t want to take chances. I’ve always been kind of on the cusp with the Presidium. So, if we can avoid aggravating them?”

  Ches nodded. “That’s all you had to say, Dorian. But, I don’t think this merits moving my crap into your guest room.”

  “They work silent and quick, Ches. They grab you off the street and disappear you. I want to keep an eye on you whenever possible.”

  “I have classes.”

  “Which are basically three blocks away.”

  She searched the ceiling for another excuse before finally waving me off. “No, let’s just see how things play out. Okay? This would be… it would get weird.”

  “Yeah. It would.”

  “We’ll be Switzerland. Right? Neutral.”

  I nodded. “Switzerland.”

  She lingered a moment, then turned for the stairs.

  Before she could disappear, I asked, “What’s my thing?”

  “Hmm?”

  “You said everyone you met had that one magic they’re good at. What am I good at?”

  She grinned at me, then replied as she turned up the stairs, “I don’t know, you’re pretty good at getting your way.”

  “That’s not magic,” I called up the stairs.

  Good at getting my way, huh? At the moment, my most regrettable quality was being “in the way.” But Ches was probably right about the Presidium. Making a move too quickly would only make me look guilty. Best to sit tight and hope for this all to blow over. Switzerland.

  But as I sat back down on the stool, I considered Durning. If he was strong-armed into this whole media attack against the Presidium, then whose arm was pushing him? The gears in my skull kept clicking despite all common sense screaming to leave this alone. Admittedly, solving the Presidium’s problem for them might ingratiate me enough to keep from getting a gift-wrapped curse dropped on my head, but nosing into their business has never ended well for… well, anyone to date.

  After Ches had gone home, and I had retired for the evening with a couple fingers of my Glenrothes in hand, I sat in front of the evening news without paying any real attention. The media was abuzz with what they were calling Durning’s public meltdown. They had already declared Durning’s political career over, and were just re-hashing the event over and over. At least Light Street Tavern was popping up on the video at least three times per hour.

  I had an entire plan in place by the time I was done with my scotch. I would approach Durning, ingratiate myself… somehow… and step directly into this mess in order to save Ches.

  And myself.

  Well, both of us. It wasn’t much of a plan, but the first step was clear. I had to get Durning alone. He needed to trust someone. And I was on the outside. Neutral party. I was pretty sure I could sell that.

  I reached for my remote to turn off the TV and the Breaking News banner flashed across the bottom of the screen. My gut twisted. Somehow, I knew this wouldn’t be good.

  Sure enough, my plan shattered as a blanched news anchor announced that Congressman Jerome Durning’s body had been found in his living room. He was survived by three grown sons and a wife who had been at a Black Caucus meeting in Michigan.

  To the news, it meant Durning’s story had ended in tragedy. A public meltdown ending in what everyone was speculating was a long-overdue heart attack.

  To me, however, it meant the Presidium had begun its counter-attack.

  espite my assurances to Julian otherwise, I decided to keep my distance from the tavern for the next few days. If the Presidium was in a lather, I didn’t want to present an easy target. Ches returned daily for her training, but continued home each night. My tension with the entire scenario eased over the space of a couple days. No one had gotten themselves black-bagged yet. My accounts were intact. And most of the media had moved on to another news cycle. My butt could only pucker so far, it seemed, and I needed to tend to business.

  In the quiet hours of Thursday evening, after the buses on the MLK backed off of rush hour timing, I grabbed my phone and gave Deirdre the Dowser a call to follow up on her daycare conundrum.

  She answered, “Hello?”

  “It’s Dorian Lake.”

  After a weighty sigh, she responded, “I’ve been debating calling you. How’s your assistant?”

  “She’s okay. More to the point, how’s the daycare?”

  “I can’t clear a jinx, Mister Lake. I’m not on that… level.”

  I sat at my roll top desk, looking out over Amity. “Few people are. Which begs the question, who the crap could or would do this?”

  “I thought about what you said. About me having enemies?”

  “Yeah?”

  She cleared her throat. “I honestly can’t say.”

  “But?”

  “But… there’s something else I didn’t mention.”

  I knew it.

  “Go on?”

  “The couple who ran the daycare told me they’d found graffiti on the walls. They cleaned it up before I could see it.”

  “Did they describe this graffiti?”

  “Not very well. It scared the Hell out of them, though. Said it looked like Satanism. Symbols.”

  I swiveled in my chair to jot down notes: SIGILS ON WALL, INTENTIONAL.

  “Is this why you’re so eager to duck the Presidium on this?”

  After a long breath, she responded, “It’s not what I do that heats the Presidium’s hackles, Mister Lake. It’s who I do it for. There’s hardly any market for my skills anymore. The only way to make a living is to cater to immigrants. Believers. Sometimes they belong to formal groups.”

  “Foreign cabals. Yeah, that’d be a no-go for our little friends in D.C. What about the Korean couple who owns this place. Any known affiliations?”

  “I don’t ask.”

  “Well, I’m going to call that my Number One Theory, Deirdre. If you do some digging, you might find out these folk have family in one of the old cabals in Korea. This is probably collateral damage from some old blood feud. At any rate, you’d probably do best to dissociate yourself and stay out of the line of fire, if you know what I mean.”

  “This affair with Durning?” she asked.

  “Just keep your head down, and stay in touch. Things are going to be tense for a while.”

  Deirdre harrumphed her agreement, then hung up.

  Tense… that was an understatement.

  I checked my burgeoning voice mail box, and decided to give the tavern a call.

  Julian answered, “Dorian? Are you still alive?”

  “Despite all evidence to the contrary. How’s business?”

  “Did you listen to any of my messages? I mean, I’ll take just one. Just one message.”

  I sighed. “If I said yes, do you think I could fake my way through this conversation with any kind of satisfaction?”

  “Business is up. That hullabaloo with Durning actually w
orked. Which is kind of the problem.”

  “I’m lost. More business is a problem?”

  Julian called out to someone nearby, muffling the phone, before answering, “Sorry. Yeah. Too much business, too few employees. Not to mention Ronetta basically presides over the liquor board, and she’s had a few too many notices she’s kept in orbit until we get the kitchen running. I don’t think she can keep it up, Dorian.”

  “I got it.”

  “You said you’d interview managers.”

  “I said I got it.”

  A knock on the door provided the perfect opportunity to duck the rest of this conversation. “I’ll call you later, Julian. Got someone at the door.”

  I pocketed my phone and took my time walking to the door. My darquelle sat mounted to a plaque on the wall within easy reach of the front door. I hadn’t had to use the blade since I brought down Ches’s errant servitor last summer, but with the Great High Muckamucks in the Presidium on the hunt, I made sure any constructs or energy bonds that found its way as far as my threshold wouldn’t make it much farther.

  I peered through the peephole to find an unassuming blond man in a polo shirt hoisting a duffle bag over his shoulder. I didn’t recognize him. Like, even a little. I was pretty sure he wasn’t one of my former clients, and if he was, I hoped he hadn’t lost a pet recently.

  I eased the door open against the chain. “Hello?”

  He tucked his chin and gave me a tidy wave. “Hi.”

  “Hi.”

  He shifted on his feet, looking up the street, before finally saying, “Um, is Ches here?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “Oh.”

  We stood in awkward silence for a moment.

  He cleared his throat, and asked, “But she comes here after school, right?”

  “Not to be a dick, or anything, but how is that your business?”

  His eyes widened and he took a step back. “Oh, I’m not some freak or anything. Holy crap, this looks really bad. Sorry.”

  He turned to walk off, but I called out to stop him.

  “Wait, are you here for one of her interviews?”

  The man froze and turned slowly back toward me. “What interview?”

  “Her thing.”

  He blinked. “Thing?”

  Jesus, I really did need to work on my pronouns.

  “Sorry. Her addiction studies. I guess you’re not here for an interview?”

  “We’re talking about Francesca Baker, right?” he asked. “You are Dorian Lake, aren’t you?”

  I eased the door closed and unchained it to step out onto my stoop.

  “I am, but who are you?”

  “Oh, I’m Ricky.”

  I shook my head. “Ricky?”

  “Baker?”

  “Ricky Baker.”

  He nodded. “I’m Ches’s brother.” His face wilted. “Shit. She didn’t tell you.”

  A ball tightened in my gut, and I rubbed my temple. “What didn’t she tell me, Ricky?”

  He shook his head and held out his hand. “I’m sorry, boss. I’ll go.”

  “Hold on,” I blurted, trotting down my front steps. “Let’s start this over.” I held out my hand. “Ricky Baker? I’m Dorian Lake. Pleased to finally meet you.”

  Ricky considered my hand, then shook it with a vice grip. “Yeah, finally.”

  “So, you’re Ches’s brother, huh? What brings you to the East Coast?”

  He tucked his head again. “Nothing. Just visiting Ches.”

  “That so?” I gestured for the door. “You need a coffee or something?”

  “Coffee sounds just about perfect right now.”

  In the space of five minutes, we were both sitting in my kitchen with empty mugs as the coffee pot worked its magic behind me. I watched as he sat stiff in his chair, though his shoulders had begun to relax.

  “Wish I knew you were coming,” I chimed in to break the silence. “I would have made a bigger deal about it. Banners, a bowl of punch, or something.”

  “Yeah, wish you knew I was coming, too.”

  “Right. So, things have been a little crazy this week. Ches probably just forgot to mention it.”

  He lifted a brow. “That’s probably it.”

  “So, how are things in Portland?”

  His other brow lifted, and a sneer crept into his lip.

  Well, this was going well.

  “You said she comes here after class? When’s that, usually?”

  “Somewhere after lunch, depending on whether she grabs fast food or insists on hunting down the Taco Muchacho truck on her way in.”

  He laughed, full-on mouth open belly laugh. “Shit, Ches and her tacos.”

  “What, that’s always been her thing?”

  “Ever since she discovered tacos on that stupid trip to San Diego when she was six. Longest road trip ever. She gets bored, like, super-quick. Right? All the way back up I-5, she was whining to stop and find tacos somewhere. Mom put a ban on tacos at our house for basically a year, and that only made them more mysterious to Ches.”

  “So, she’s always had an appetite for forbidden things?”

  “If you only knew.”

  “No… if you only knew.”

  We shared a look, and I leaned back in my chair.

  The lock clattered up front, and I stifled a grin as the door swung open.

  “Ches?” I called out.

  “What?”

  “I’m in here.”

  She shuffled around up front, dropping off her backpack with a loud thump of what sounded like a handful of books before she stepped into the kitchen.

  “Got lunch,” she said, dropping a Taco Muchacho bag onto the table.

  “Got enough for three?” I asked, nodding across the table.

  She looked up and froze.

  Ricky stood up slowly, shoulders stiff again.

  Ches balled a fist a few times, then whispered, “You’re here.”

  He wound around the table and threw his arms around her. She returned his embrace, pulling her head to the side, eyes latching onto mine.

  “Hey, kiddo,” he grunted.

  She laid a hand alongside his face when he pulled away. “You okay?”

  He shrugged.

  “How long do you have?”

  “I’m supposed to pick up the kids a week from Monday.”

  Ches nodded slowly and gave him another hug.

  I raised my hand until I caught both of their attentions.

  “Hi,” I chirped. “Dorian Lake. I live here.”

  Ches sighed and guided her brother back to his seat. “You’ve met Ricky?”

  “Briefly.”

  “So, Dorian, I need your help. We… need your help.”

  I folded my hands in front of me. “Let’s start from the beginning so we don’t miss anything important.”

  o, she’s suddenly threatening to contest your visitation privileges?” I asked as I poured some coffee for Ricky. I’d have offered some scotch, but having just learned that Ricky was a recovering heroin addict, I figured sticking to the coffee was a wise course.

  “She’s turning into some kind of vicious bitch. Ever since she kicked me out. It’s like she just drank the Dr. Jekyll Haterade and has had it out for me ever since.”

  Ches put a hand on Ricky’s arm to give it a squeeze.

  I holstered the coffee pot and leaned against the countertop. “You’re not far from the truth, Ricky. The change feels sudden for a reason.”

  He squinted. “Yeah. Ches tried to walk me through that, already.”

  I looked over to Ches, and she just shrugged.

  “She’s not crazy, Ricky,” I said as I handed him the mug. “You’re suffering from a slow-burn curse.”

  He pushed away from the table with the barest lift of a smirk. “Okay, here it comes. Ches told me you were into this voodoo stuff.”

  Ches gave him a quick shot to the ribs. “It’s not voodoo, Ricky. This is important, so pay attention.”

  I
took a long sip from my own mug to let Ricky recover.

  “This isn’t the worst possible news, you know,” I added. “This means there’s a chance the curse can be countermanded. This isn’t something you did to yourself. This is something that was done to you, and as such it flows contrary to the natural order of things. Nature, frankly, hates having to deal with shenanigans of any sort, and tends to want to put things right. That means getting you off the heroin, and putting your family back together.”

  Ricky snarled. “What did I ever do to these… what are they called?”

  Ches answered, “The Dead Dragons. A chapter from an old cabal from China. Spiteful little fuckers.”

  I pulled a chair from the table and took a seat. “It wasn’t you they were targeting, Ricky.”

  Ches sighed. “It was me.”

  I lifted a hand and looked to Ches. “No, it wasn’t you either. It was Gillette. She picked the fight with the Dragons, you happened to be in her group. It’s a pernicious, dick-hole way of doing magic, but destroying the lives of loved ones is classic old school magical warfare. It’s not your fault, Ricky.” I turned to Ches and gave her a slow nod. “Or yours.”

  Ches’s eyes softened, and she pulled her hand from Ricky’s arm.

  Ricky gave us both a look and smiled. “Oh, okay.”

  Ches straightened. “What’s okay?”

  “Nothing. Just, saying okay.”

  She slugged his arm. “Don’t get like that. There isn’t…” She made a back-and-forth gesture between me and her chin.

  “I didn’t say there was―” He repeated the gesture.

  “I’m just saying, he’s just my teacher.”

  “Okay.”

  “Stop it!”

  “What, I can’t say okay?”

  I cleared my throat, and they both turned to face me.

  “Focus, people.”

  Ches took a breath, and dove back in. “So, now Susanna―that’s his wife―she’s holding another court hearing over his head.”

  “She actually filed?” I asked.

  Ricky shook his head. “It’s just a threat. But, with the smack and all… I know she knows. That’s where this is coming from.”

  “Tell me about the heroin.”

  He pulled his hands off the table and shrank a couple inches. “I don’t know, really. I was at a bud’s house. I’d just spent a week on someone’s boyfriend’s couch, and I was feeling kind of shitty in general. Someone came downstairs to shoot up, and then everyone had this stash they were pulling out. Pure stuff, they said. Didn’t have to inject it, just had to snort it. I had maybe three vodka sours in me by then, so I just went with it. And, I don’t know. For the first time since Suze kicked me to the curb, I actually felt good about myself. Crashed at his place for another week, sponging shit off of him when he felt charitable, then I decided I had to go find my own. They had the connections. All I had to do was…”