The Curse Mandate (The Dark Choir Book 3) Read online

  A Division of Whampa, LLC

  P.O. Box 2160

  Reston, VA 20195

  Tel/Fax: 800-998-2509

  http://curiosityquills.com

  © 2016 J.P. Sloan

  http://jp-sloan.com

  Cover Art by Eugene Teplitsky

  http://eugeneteplitsky.deviantart.com/

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information about Subsidiary Rights, Bulk Purchases, Live Events, or any other questions - please contact Curiosity Quills Press at [email protected], or visit http://curiosityquills.com

  ISBN 978-1-62007-201-1 (ebook)

  ISBN 978-1-62007-205-9 (paperback)

  Start Reading

  About the Author

  More Books from Curiosity Quills Press

  Full Table of Contents

  For Courtney, whose dedication and patience allow these fever-dreams to find their words.

  n my experience, I’ve found “fairness” as a Cosmic principle to be a load of horseshit. Why should it be fair for one man to be born into privilege while another struggles to escape a life of squalor? Most sweeping forces for change appear to be utterly arbitrary. An odd assertion, I recognize, from a man who deals in karma manipulation. Still, the observation holds. A freak tornado, the right lottery number, a sudden onset of cancer… these are things Man cannot control. Such fortunes, either enjoyed or suffered, are not of our own making.

  Other fortunes, on the other hand, we bring upon our own heads. Take losing your soul, for example.

  Most times, when a person loses his soul, he is rendered into a husk of a human. Worse, really. There are those who become little more than marionettes for the Dark Choir. That space, once occupied by something permanent and worthy, becomes a receptacle for those ancient forces that prey upon Humankind.

  Well, I wasn’t there quite yet. So that was something.

  Often it didn’t seem fair to me how I had come to this position. How did I manage to detach and immediately after, misplace my own soul? The short answer: I got fucked. The more circumspect answer: I assumed I was a bigger deal than I was, and if I didn’t correct this metaphysical conundrum, I would pay for that arrogance.

  Perhaps it was my karma that, despite all the knowledge I’d crammed into my skull over the past decade-and-change, I still had zero clue how to reunite myself with my own soul. It was my karma to be tasked with the tutelage of a dabbler in the hermetic arts, lest we both end up the target of particularly frightening Netherworkers.

  And most certainly my karma that, immediately after I just claimed I didn’t need to ask directions into Gettysburg, I’d miss my turn.

  “That was the exit,” Ches grumbled from the passenger seat, her face illuminated by the glow of the map on her phone as we drove through the night.

  “No, it wasn’t.”

  “That… that was it, Dorian. I’m looking at it on my phone.”

  “I never trust those phone apps.”

  She cocked an eyebrow at me. “You still use a flip phone. What do you know about apps?”

  “I know that York Avenue is quicker.”

  “It isn’t,” she chimed with an amused shake of her head.

  “It totally is.”

  I double-checked the next exit sign. It totally wasn’t.

  I managed my way off the highway and through perhaps more of Gettysburg than we needed to see, before my headlights found a tiny stone-faced building, a daycare tucked behind a row of street-front restaurants and shops. A thin, gray-haired woman stood waving next to a Prius parked by the front.

  “Is that her?” Ches asked.

  “That’s Deirdre.”

  “Deirdre the Dowser. Think she puts that on her business cards?”

  I put the car in park and grinned. “She goes with Geomantic Consultant, I think. Feng shui had its moment a decade or so ago, but she’s staying alive despite passing out of fashion.”

  Ches put a hand on my arm as I went to open my door. “So, why did she call you? Feng Shui isn’t really your thing.”

  “No, it isn’t,” I replied, keeping my eyes on Deirdre, who had wrapped her arms in front of her as she eyed the front of the modest, bordering on decrepit, childcare facility. “Which means something’s up. Come on. She looks like she’s about to crawl out of her skin.”

  We stepped out into the foggy night air. I approached Deirdre with a tense smile. Deirdre was more of a “black book” contact, less an actual acquaintance. I knew she was a dowser, one of the few left that managed to earn a living in that particular craft. Her specialty was geomancy, spatial affinities and sacred geometries that often form the foundation for what nose-lifting snobs like myself would refer to as “higher magics.” She had given me a call two days ago to help with a problem client. I wasn’t sure if it was the client or Deirdre who was the actual problem, but I knew she was desperate when she agreed to the first number I threw at her for my fee. So, a two-hour drive to Gettysburg wasn’t too much of a gamble. Plus it gave me a rare opportunity for a little on-the-job instruction for Ches.

  “Welcome,” Deirdre chirped as she extended her hand.

  I shook her hand and discreetly cleared my own with a salt-filled sachet in my pocket… a habit I’d formed as of late, thanks to my dealings with Osterhaus, Carmody, and a host of other practitioners who seemed intent on bending me over a barrel.

  “Thanks.” I gestured to Ches. “Deirdre, this is my assistant, Francesca Baker.” I stifled a smirk as Ches’s shoulders tightened over the word “assistant.”

  “Hi,” Ches replied as she gave Deirdre a nod.

  Deirdre turned to the brick building in front of us. “So, this is it. Eager Minds Daycare. The owners are a lovely Korean couple. I’ve basically remodeled the entire building for them. At least, as far as I can. This building’s old as Hell.”

  I asked, “What’s the problem with the client?”

  “Nothing,” Deirdre answered with a quick huff from her bottom lip that danced a tendril of gray hair from in front of her eyes. “It’s the building.”

  “The building?”

  “Something… something’s in there,” Deirdre added with a squint. “Causing trouble. I’ve done everything I can think of to dissipate it, but things are just breaking.”

  I glanced over to Ches, who was taking it all in. Good. I might need her input on this one.

  “Define ‘breaking’ for me, Deirdre,” I said.

  “Toys falling apart. Literally disintegrating in children’s hands. Window panes falling out. Plumbing. Electrical. It’s putting these poor people into debt. And, I mean, there’s kids here. They hired me to make this place safe. Now it’s worse than it was before.”

  I nodded and surveyed the building itself. Short and squat. Old brickwork wrapping around the side. Wood windows set at odd angles. Old construction. “Does this place have a history of unexplained phenomena?”

  Deirdre replied, “Used to be the old Wickham Inn. The current owners bought it for a song, and turned it into a daycare. The building’s changed hands, like, fifteen times in the last century. Locals call it ‘haunted,’ but I’m assuming that, like me, you don’t subscribe to that particular belief system.”

  With a slow shake of my head, I answered, “You might be surprised.” I finished a slow pace along the front of the building, then stepped in front of Deirdre. “So, I had two questions drilling a hole through my brain as I drove up here. The first, I think, I’ve figured out on my own.”

  She asked with a wrinkled brow, “What’s that?”

  “Why we had to come at night. I’m guessing your clients have no idea
you’ve called me in, and that’s fine. But it’s the second question I want to iron out with you before we proceed here.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Why me? There have to be a dozen practitioners in Pennsylvania. Maybe even someone with experience in Geomancy. Definitely someone who would have been easier on your checkbook.”

  Her lips pulled tight, and her eyes slipped to Ches.

  “Your reputation,” she muttered.

  Sweet Jesus, here it was.

  “My reputation?”

  “You’re not the type to go blabbing your business to the Presidium. In fact, it’s said the Presidium gives you a little space, which would be preferable for me.”

  Ches asked, “You’re a Netherworker?”

  Deirdre shook her head with vigor. “No. Absolutely not. But, you don’t have to be a Netherworker to wind up on the Presidium’s shit list.”

  I added, “And you’re not wrong. The Presidium grants me some latitude.”

  “I just don’t want to stand out. Something like this,” she declared with a gesture to the building, “earns you notice.”

  “Understood. Shall we?”

  Ches stepped around me and gave me a slow blink with a confused twist between her eyes as Deirdre unlocked the freshly painted door.

  She ushered us inside. I checked the threshold as I stepped through the door, finding nothing particularly notable about the building’s wardings. Most defense-minded practitioners built permanent energetic shields, or wardings, into place on their threshold. But this was a place of business, and maintaining a solid line of intent on a warding would be difficult… especially with children pinballing around the place all hours.

  I pawed at the light switch to give it a flip. Nothing.

  “No power,” Deirdre called from outside the door. “Electrician’s been out twice this week.”

  I turned to find Deirdre handing over a couple penlights.

  “Thought you might need these,” she added with a cautious eye toward the interior.

  “What’s the diagnosis from the electrician?” I asked, stepping onto a particularly squeaky toy left in the middle of the room.

  “He said the breaker box is fine. The problem’s somewhere between the box and the fixtures, but he can’t isolate it.”

  “So, what do you want me to do here, Deirdre?”

  She took a step away from the door. “I just need a second opinion. What’s going on? I’ll figure out how to fix it, but I… I just need to know what it is.”

  I gave her a wink. “We’ll get to work. Why don’t you wait in your car?”

  Deirdre gave me a brisk nod and rushed back to her Prius.

  Ches closed the door behind us, twisting her penlight to life. “Christ, she looked terrified.”

  “That, she did.”

  My stomach burned at that thought. This simple consultation was getting worryingly complicated, and Deirdre’s anxious posture was infectious.

  “So, is this where you warn me about crossing the streams, or―?”

  “Well, I can tell you with a degree of certainty that we’re not dealing with ghosts.”

  “Old building. History of poltergeist-like activity. Why not ghosts?”

  I turn a circle with my penlight, sweeping more toys aside with my foot. “Because there’s no such thing as ghosts.”

  “Wait, you’ve gone toe-to-toe with a self-aware thoughtform, but ghosts are your hard limit?”

  “Not in the way you mean it. The human soul doesn’t persist outside of a specific construct. Requires a very particular vessel to contain it.”

  Ches shined her light on the toys scattered on the floor. “I happen to know a thing or two about soul magic, Dorian. I’m mostly just busting your chops… are those toys in a spiral?”

  “You noticed that too?”

  I took a step back, adding my light to hers. The toys littered across the floor were not, in fact, simply tossed around. They fell in a rough spiral across the center of the room. A widdershins spiral, at that.

  I lifted my light to a shelf and illuminated the face of a stuffed dog with an eye missing.

  “Well, the bright side? This isn’t the absolute creepiest place this could have gone down.”

  “That so?”

  “Sure. Could have been a doll factory or a clown school or something.”

  “Fair warning. You say the word ‘clown’ to me in the dark again, and I’ll sneak into your house at night and kill you in your sleep.”

  I smirked. “Sorry.”

  “Not joking. You’ll never hear me coming.”

  I flipped her the bird with my free hand as I stepped around the spiral toward a cased opening.

  “All right,” I declared. “Seems like a good time for a teachable moment. Let’s do some palpation.”

  She slipped her penlight between her teeth and mumbled “sounds kinky” around it.

  “Ground and center,” I added as her personal energy tightened around her mainline, and balanced along her chakras, “Now give it a feel.”

  “What, this doorway?”

  I nodded, and she lifted her open palms.

  The swirling pane of energy in front of me twisted, tugged and stabbed in unnatural, random tides. This was no simple exercise for Ches.

  “How does it feel?” I asked.

  “Prickly.”

  “Yep. Anything else?”

  “Temperature’s weird. Kind of hot and cold, on and off.”

  “Bingo,” I chirped. “What does that tell you?”

  “That the energy in this place is in flux. Not really Earth-shattering, though.”

  “It’s not that the energy is in flux,” I replied as I stepped through the doorway. “It’s how.”

  We proceeded into a hallway lined with several doors. I spotted an octagonal mirror at the far end. That would have been Deirdre’s touch. It created a means for energy to flow out of the hallway without bunching up like an old wet sock in the toe of a boot.

  “What do you mean, how?” Ches whispered over my shoulder.

  “No pattern. It lacks a pulse or any sense of Cosmic language. This is a random fluctuation.”

  Ches reached around and gripped my arm. “You think this is a jinx?”

  “That’s my theory.”

  “Oh, great.” She released me and turned a tight circle in the hallway. “Wait, what about that spiral on the floor? That’s a pattern.”

  “No, it’s an exit wound. The original pulse drained back into the Earth from there. Wouldn’t be surprised if they keep picking up the toys and they just keep falling on the floor in that pattern. What we’re dealing with here are echoes.”

  “Who the crap would jinx a daycare?”

  I shrugged as I reached for my pendulum. “A good question, assuming it was intentional.”

  The next room contained two rows of double-decker cribs. Infant’s room, most likely. The thought of babies trying to sleep in the fallout of a jinx made my toes itch. A jinx is a forced concentration of chaos, unpredictable natural forces that undo orderly systems like bank accounts, the structure of a building, or even a toddler’s circulatory system. I had to assume this particular jinx was a spectacular accident, perhaps some meltdown from a dabbler. It made no sense to jinx a daycare like this. If curses are bullets, then jinxes are hand grenades. A jinx isn’t a practitioner’s tool; it’s an act of war.

  I hooked my pendulum chain around my middle finger and let the tiny copper-caged nugget of quartz dangle. My breathing and heartbeat put a natural spin to the stone. Here I was, dowsing for a professional Dowser. I imagined Deirdre had already tried this, but for whatever reason she couldn’t sort this mess out.

  To be honest, I wasn’t sure I had the answer myself. Good news was, I didn’t have to give her an answer. Just a diagnosis.

  Ches leaned in to watch the pendulum. “You’re going to show me how to make one of those, right?”

  “Sure. You’re buying the copper, though. Shit’s skyrocketed these days. G
illette never taught you people dowsing?”

  “If it wasn’t lethal, we didn’t bother.”

  “Charming woman, that Gillette.”

  Ches leaned in. “It doesn’t bother you that the best dowser on the East Coast is hiding in her car while we do the dowsing?”

  I looked over to Ches. “It’s scaring the hell out of me.”

  “So, why are we still here?” she asked. “Instead of, you know, fleeing?”

  “Because we’re getting paid. Sometimes you gotta―”

  The spin of the pendulum halted abruptly with a tiny figure eight and reversed direction. Classic shift of energy. What wasn’t so classic, however, was that it reversed again almost immediately.

  “Yep. I’m about ninety-percent sure we’re dealing with chaos magic,” I grumbled.

  “So… fleeing?”

  “I don’t hate that plan.”

  “I notice we’re not leaving.”

  I cast a glance back to the baby bunks inside the nursery. “Someone jinxed children, Ches. The Fleeing Center of my brain is being overridden by a strong desire to find whoever did this and shove a hex up his ass sideways.”

  Ches chucked my shoulder. “There you go, giving a shit again.”

  “I know. Bad habit.”

  I continued down the hallway as my pendulum did gymnastics at the bottom of its chain, which teased on and off with heat and cold. Just when I thought I could make some sense of the shifting, I reminded myself this was chaos. The more sense it made, the less likely I had found the source.

  When I approached the last door on the left, the chain went stiff. I held up my free hand and Ches froze behind me. We watched as the quartz lifted just a bit to my left, as if drawn by a magnet.

  “That’s a result,” Ches whispered.

  I followed the chain to the door and tried the knob. As the door swung open, Ches shone her penlight inside to reveal a toilet.

  “The bathroom?” she grunted.

  “Remember. This is chaos. Any positive hit is probably a false positive.”

  “I don’t know. A toilet seems pretty random to me.”

  The chain pulled tighter against my finger. I stepped inside. The pressure eased a little, but the quartz tipped slightly toward the porcelain fixture.