by J. P. Sloan
“Thank you,” she whispered.
I tried to say something distracting and flippant, but words failed me.
She gripped me close for a half-minute, then pulled away.
Before I could ease the tension, she reached up and kissed me.
Time stopped.
All I could think about was the feeling. Her lips on mine, her hands sliding up my back, my hand reaching for the back of her head as we breathed thin breaths between motions.
Then, in a second, she jerked away.
The distance was as jarring as the immediacy.
She held her forehead with the tips of both hands.
“Shit,” she muttered. “That wasn’t supposed to happen.”
“It’s okay.”
“No, no it isn’t. Because I didn’t want to do that, and that’s not on you. That’s on me.”
“I really don’t mind.”
She paced a tight circle. “We’re not a thing. We can’t be a thing.”
I slid my hands into my pockets, trying to present as small a target as possible.
She shook her head, clenched her jaw for a few seconds, then mumbled, “Hell with it.”
The distance between us vanished as she rushed back into me, throwing her arms around my neck. This time, her mouth slipped onto mine with considerable abandon. Her tongue parted my lips. The tiny breaths escaping her nose rushed across my cheek as we kissed. Floral perfume. The rising musk of sweat. Everything filled my head except the first thought of what we were doing.
When she pulled away, I kept my eyes closed. It had to be a dream, and I didn’t want to wake up to the reality of things. But even as I willed away the thought, it smashed into my head nonetheless. This was going to change things.
I opened my eyes, and found Ches grinning at me.
“What’re you thinking about?”
“Trying not to.”
“Seriously. I need to know where you’re at with this.”
I stepped back until I leaned against a wall, and put my hands on my head.
“Words fail me.”
“That’s a first.”
“I suppose I’m worried this will get weird, now.”
She shook her head. “That’s tomorrow. I mean today, right now. How close are we going to get? How far’s too far?”
“I don’t think we’re going to know until we go too far.”
“That might not be good enough.”
I smirked. “Suck it up, Magic Woman.”
She grinned, stepped slowly to me, then smacked my arm.
“Ow.”
“But you’re not freaking out?”
“Not expressly.”
“Because I’m not freaking out, either. And that’s kind of freaking me out.”
I pulled my hands off my head. “It’s possible we’re overthinking this a hair.”
She nodded with an air of gloom. “I’m not used to things working out in my favor.”
“I know the feeling. But hey, today was a good day. We lifted your brother’s curse. Who knows how much of that curse was blowing back on your life? Could be, things are turning around for you, too?”
“Come on,” she urged, gripping my shoulders and turning me to the stairs. “Let’s see how he’s doing. You know, before we do something else we’ll regret.”
We moved up the stairs to the ground floor. I didn’t spot Ricky immediately. After a quick tour of the floor, I cocked my ear upstairs. Still nothing.
Ches shrugged.
I stepped to the front door and pulled the curtain from the door pane. There he was, standing on my stoop, facing the street.
“Here he is,” I whispered.
“How’s he doing?” she asked, hopping up to the door.
I squinted in the poor light outside, and noticed his phone was in his hand.
I released a “hmm” before reaching for the doorknob.
“What?”
“Don’t know.”
As I opened the door, Ricky kept his back to us.
“Ricky?” Ches called. “All’s good with Susanna?”
He turned, finally, his face drawn, his eyes glazed.
“Ricky?” Ches repeated in a whisper.
He dangled the phone in his fingers. “She found out I’m on the East Coast.” With a ragged sigh, he added, “On Monday, she’s moving for termination of my parental rights.”
Ches groaned, and reached out to him.
He pulled away with a single step.
It didn’t work.
I was so sure. Everything seemed correct. The theory was sound. The energy lines were carefully and thoroughly extricated, and the curse form sent back to its creator.
Yet, here he was, worse off than before. Was it the curse, after all? Or would it take more to heal the damage than a hermetic working?
Ches advanced until he couldn’t fight her off, wrapping her arms around him.
I stood dumbly on the stoop, hands at my sides. There was nothing I could offer.
I was a fool.
Ultimately, I turned back to my house, retreating from the Bakers’ misery. I wound my way to my sideboard, crouching down to pull out my new bottle of Glenrothes. It wasn’t the pricey stuff, just something I’d bought a few months ago, then forgot about. Hadn’t had a craving for scotch in a while.
I poured three fingers and brought it to my nose. The fumes spread up my nose, wiping away the memory of Ches’s floral perfume.
Before long, the old feeling crept into the space between my shoulder blades. The old doom, the certain knowledge that my death was upon me, and I was standing here without a soul.
The door opened behind me.
With another swig, I turned to face Ches. Only, it wasn’t Ches.
Malosi stood in my foyer, consuming most of the space, his eyebrows drawn together.
“What’s up?” he asked, nodding to the siblings in front of my house.
I set my glass onto the nearest table.
“Your errands finished?” I grumbled.
He nodded.
“Well, there you go.”
“Dorian? Something happened, and the longer it takes for you to just tell me, the more irritable I’m going to get. Let’s just save us both some agony.”
“We tried to lift Ricky’s curse.”
Malosi blinked, then looked back out the door with a solemn nod. “Fucked it up, huh?”
“Looks that way.” I reached for my glass again. “His wife’s filing for termination of parental rights. He’s going to lose his kids.”
Malosi shook his head and eased the door quietly shut.
Before I could take another belt, he rushed forward and snatched the glass from my hand.
“What the―”
He took it to the kitchen. I followed, like trash caught in the wake of a cruise ship. A yelp slipped from my throat as he poured the scotch down the sink.
He rinsed the glass in the sink, set it aside, and cracked his neck.
“So,” he announced, “Mister Clement sends his regards, and wishes to offer his assistance with this Presidium bullshit. What should I tell him?”
I glared at Malosi.
He didn’t budge. Rock of Gibraltar, that guy.
“You poured my whiskey down the drain.”
“What shall I tell Mister Clement?” he pushed.
“How the hell should I know? I’m not sure what I’m doing here, Reed! I have the fucking Ipsissimus summoning me to some meeting I’m not entirely sure I’ll survive. I have Felix Parrish pounding the astral streets, shaking down every shade and demon for the whereabouts of my soul. I have Ricky Goddamn Baker and this stupid curse which apparently I can’t lift, and I might have just cost him any meaningful part of his children’s lives. Jean wants to throw in? Fine. Just don’t know what good it’ll do.”
If Malosi had a helpful response, he kept it to himself.
The front door opened, and I spotted Ricky brushing past the kitchen doorway toward the stairs.
&nbs
p; “Ricky?” I called out.
He paused.
“Need to talk?” It was the best thing I could come up with.
Ricky shook his head.
“If you need anything…”
“I need to turn in. Interviewing staff tomorrow.”
My stomach twisted. “Look, you don’t have to worry about the tavern. All right? You got stuff to deal with.”
He frowned. “Are you firing me?”
“Uh―no.”
“Then I should get some sleep. See you in the morning.” He added with a wilt, “Mind if I catch a ride in?”
“No problem.”
He ascended to his room.
I stepped into the front. Ches leaned against the front door, arms folded across her body. A single tear ran down her cheek as she looked over to me.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
She nodded, then gave Malosi a weak wave.
Malosi said from behind me, “You two want my help? Then listen up. You put your asses to bed. No drinking, either of you. Get focused. We’ll lay things out tomorrow, see what we know and what we don’t.”
Ches slipped past me and went upstairs without a word.
I turned to Malosi. “You calling the shots, now?”
“I’m the only one left without any skin in the game. I’m not up in your house, giving orders or anything. But you need to pull your head out of this cloud of crap, if you’re going to get your soul back.”
“You’re right. Like always. One of these days, I’m going to start listening to you the first time around.”
“Not holding my breath.”
I left Malosi with the room-temperature remains of my abandoned Shepherd’s Pie and turned in without any scotch or wine or any of my usual remedies for a shit day.
he following morning, I found a full spread of eggs and pan-fried ham waiting for us downstairs. Malosi shoved the last grocery bag into the recycling bin and gave me a nod.
“What’s this?” I grumbled.
“Protein, fucker.”
“Okay then.”
It wasn’t long until the smell of actual edible food called the Bakers downstairs. Ricky was shaved, dressed, and by all accounts looked like he was ready for a day on the job. However, his eyes hung with a haunted distraction I recognized from so many people I’d seen doomed in my years. His soul had given up; his body just hadn’t caught up to the fact.
Ches wasn’t much better. I asked her how she felt three times before she heard me. They were a matched set of dreary siblings. I couldn’t blame them.
We ate largely in silence, and Ricky excused himself to brush his teeth.
Malosi stood up and gestured for the steel door leading to the basement.
“I got something to show you.”
We followed him down into the workspace, which had transformed overnight into a kind of conspiracy command center. A large, ostensibly newly-purchased white board sat over Ches’s desk. Words stood in large, neat block letters, connected with lines as Malosi saw fit. Familiar words.
Deirdre.
Durning.
Geomancy.
Gettysburg.
Enoch Pratt.
I stood back to take it all in.
“You missed Lee Harvey Oswald and the Cubans.”
Malosi slugged my arm with what he probably thought was a light tap.
Ches stood blank, staring forward. I suspected she wasn’t really seeing the whiteboard. Her eyes flickered with rapid thoughts, likely about her brother and sister-in-law.
“It’s nice, Reed,” I added. “Mind if I make some additions later?”
“That’s the idea.”
Ricky’s voice called from upstairs, “We doing this, or what?”
We all packed into Malosi’s car and drove to the tavern. No one was expressly talkative, least of all myself. My brain hummed in several directions, trying to make traction but finding little. The funk remained as we filed through the back door and into the tavern itself. My attention being so wrapped up inside my head, I managed to miss the limousine parked along the front of the building on Light Street. Spotting that limo would have been helpful, too, since it was with a degree of alarm that I found Wexler’s driver, Reginald, sitting at the bar chatting it up with Ben.
I froze, reaching up reflexively to keep Ches from advancing. I couldn’t play it off, either, as Reginald spotted me almost instantly.
Ben nodded and snickered over some joke Reginald must have told before turning back to pull some bottles from the rail.
I steered the Bakers toward Julian’s office, but kept Malosi close.
Reginald pulled himself off his stool and stepped forward.
“You’re late,” he stated.
“According to whom?”
“I was told you would arrive half an hour ago.”
“I’m going to have to go ahead and not give two shits what you were told, friend.”
His eyes squinted, but he held his position.
I added, “Not to be uncordial. Please, have a beer on the house.”
“I’m here to take you to your meeting.”
Ah. Right.
“Wexler sent you to fetch me, huh?”
“We’re already late. Time to go.”
I had Ricky in the back, and couldn’t afford to leave him alone. This was the worst possible time for this.
“Listen,” I replied in hushed volume, “I have a thing or six to work out here. Can we do this later? It’s really not a good―”
Reginald took a step toward me, reaching for my arm.
“Let’s go, Mister Lake.”
I didn’t hear Malosi move, but when the tower of Polynesian obstinacy slipped between me and Reginald, the impact sent me off my balance. I caught myself on the edge nearest four-top and turned to find Reginald and Malosi chest-to-chest. Two giants in tailored suits glared into each other’s face.
Malosi intoned, “Step off.”
Reginald didn’t step off.
My pulse pounded as the realization of the moment crept into my brain. I was keeping the Ipsissimus waiting. And as much as I loved Malosi for stepping in and finally brooming Reginald off my back, this wasn’t a standoff we were going to win.
Before I could work my voice into an audible volume, the front door of the tavern opened.
“Are you sure you’re making a sound decision, Mister Malosi?” a voice swept from the daylight spilling into the room.
I hung my head and turned to Wexler.
She held up a hand and sauntered into the tavern with a genial grin.
“Reginald was an Army Ranger,” she added. “You could try something assertive, but I’d recommend against it.”
I watched Wexler as she stepped to the bar and gave Big Ben a smile.
“Single scotch. Whatever Dorian drinks will do. It’s early.”
Ben gave me a look, and I nodded.
He poured her a finger of ‘83 Balblair, and slid the glass courteously forward.
“Thank you, handsome,” she quipped as she took a slow sip.
I eased Malosi back and faced Wexler.
“I’ll just be a minute,” I muttered.
She nodded and nursed the remainder of the Balblair as I retired to Julian’s office.
I found Ricky and Ches sitting across from Julian. He gestured with a handful of applications as Ricky nodded along. Despite last night’s setback, Ricky seemed to be on course. Either that, or he was good at tucking it in.
That was a lesson for which I was overdue.
“You guys solid?” I asked when a pause presented itself.
Julian gave me a shrug. “A bit meager. We might have to take what we get.”
Ricky kept his eyes down on the desk.
With a quick reach, Ches squeezed my hand, a gesture that didn’t escape Julian’s notice.
“Good,” I deflected as his eyebrows lifted. “Listen, I have to run out.”
Ches scowled. “Where?”
“It’s a big mee
t. Last minute, but can’t skip this.”
“Claye?” Julian asked.
“No. Something else.”
“Ah,” he prodded. “Your other pursuit?”
“Something like that.”
Ches shifted to face me. “Need a hand?”
I squeezed her hand firmly, then released it. “I’m good.”
I left the office and turned to find someone I wouldn’t be able to brush off quite as easily.
Malosi lifted an eyebrow. “You know this won’t be a debate, right?”
“They’re not going to let you come, Reed.”
He turned and marched back to the front of the tavern. By the time I caught up to him, he had faced off with Reginald again, but was looking past him to Wexler.
“You understand, I’m not letting this man out of my sight,” he grumbled.
Wexler cocker her head, finished her scotch, then stood up to straighten her pants.
“I understand your purpose, Mister Malosi. But you must understand that there truly is nothing you can do to stop us.”
He stood firm.
With a tiny nod and sniffle, Wexler continued, “This is a friendly meeting. No harm will come to Mister Lake, assuming,” she added, “he behaves himself.”
I crossed my heart with my finger.
Wexler turned for the door, saying, “He can come, but he stays in the car.”
Malosi looked back into Reginald’s face. With considerable effort, Reginald turned away to open the door for us.
The ride south to the D.C. beltway was unnervingly quiet. Wexler rode in the front, leaving me to share the back with Malosi. He wasn’t feeling particularly talkative. Probably a good idea. The car navigated westward over the beltway, curving south over the Potomac. We exited soon after, winding along a stretch of narrow but well-paved byway alongside the river. We passed lavish properties, gated compounds with guardhouses and gardens manicured on a French monarchy level of precision. Beyond one gate in particular I spotted a tiny birthday party with young children running around an inflatable bounce house in dapper clothing. The sight elicited a laugh from my throat, though I wasn’t entirely sure why.
Malosi turned to give me an alarmed side-eye.
“Everyone loves bounce houses.”
“I always called them moon walks,” he mumbled.
After a space of silence, Wexler announced, “Moon bounce.”
“Hmm?”
