Cursed: An Urban Fantasy Novel (The Thrice Cursed Mage Book 1) (16 page)

The door behind me slammed shut, and I jumped. I spun around to look at the door, but it wasn’t even there anymore. Instead, there was just a big, smiling portrait of Pete Rose on a Wheaties box. Laughter that ran across my nerves like brambles and fire filled the room, and as I turned back toward the guy, I saw he was now occupying the seat beside where he’d set the Pabst.

“Why don’t I have a choice?” I asked, moving woodenly toward him. Every step I took seemed to fill my mind with sawdust and packing tape, making it so I could barely think by the time I sat down next to him. Even though he couldn’t have weighed more than a hundred pounds soaking wet, I got the feeling he could break me over his knee with little effort.

“My Cursed has asked me to stall you for a bit, and because I am feeling particularly generous, I have decided to help him this one time.” He pushed the beer into my hand. The can was frigid in my grip and served to drive away the fuzz on my brain. “It really has nothing to do with him though. I was more curious about you, Mr. Brennan. This isn’t the first time we met, and I’m very interested on seeing how you’ve gotten on with yourself.”

“It isn’t?” I asked, releasing the can of Pabst as I turned to stare at the tiny man. I had come to this guy for help? I could hardly imagine myself doing it because he seemed… evil. For me to have gone to him was truly troubling. It meant I had been out of options, and when people are out of options, they tended to do stupid shit like make deals with demons for power.

“No, it is not, Mr. Brennan. We met when you summoned me and begged for my help.” His lips curled into a twisted smile that made me feel like a worm on the end of a hook. “I refused, naturally, but it looks like you found someone else to help you.” He flicked a hand disdainfully at my tattooed arm. “Part of me wonders who, but most of me knows you don’t yet know.” He sniffed, his nostrils flaring wide as the smell of sulfur and brimstone drifted off of him like bad cologne. “There is no mark of claim upon you. That means part of the deal has remained unfulfilled.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked, trying to figure out what he was going on about. I knew he was just trying to stall me, and while I wasn’t sure why, he was the first person to know about who I was.

“Mac, can I call you Mac?” He waited until I nodded before continuing. “Mac, you came to me seeking power to save someone or was it something?” He waved his hand dismissively through the air. “I don’t quite remember the details because I don’t go in for that whole noble savior thing. It takes too long to twist your kind of people to my whims. I’m more into the whole gamblers and rapists thing. Not hard to push them the last few steps into full on bloodthirsty Hell minion.” He shrugged and tapped out Stairway to Heaven on the bar with his fingers. “You can see why I’d opt not to help a person like you. As many people as you’ve killed, you’re not really evil at heart. At least, not my kind of evil. The big guy upstairs may disagree. You’ll have to let me know what he says when you meet him.”

“So you were too much of a douche to help me because I wouldn’t, what, kick puppies?” I cried before I could stop myself. If what he said was true, I’d likely come to him for help to save that mother and son, and he’d refused, not because I wasn’t qualified, but because he didn’t want me saving people? Seriously? Who the hell did he think he was?

“Now, now, there’s no need to curse.” He sighed at me and I got the impression he was disappointed with my outburst. “We’re just having a nice conversation here, but if you insist on being rude, it can become a not nice conversation very quickly. Trust me when I say that will not end well for you.”

I took a deep breath, forcing my sudden anger to recede. He was stalling me. If that was the case, I had to get past him. That left just one tiny problem. I didn’t see any doors or passageways.

“If you know so much about me, what’s my mother’s name?” I asked because I was sure he wouldn’t know the answer, but as I said the words, I realized he could say anything and I had no way of knowing if he was telling the truth. I didn’t remember my mother at all. It made me sadder than I cared to admit.

“Her name is Martha. She died of cancer a few years ago.” He smiled smugly at me, and as I tried to let his words sink in, he continued to talk without pause. “I also know one other important thing.” He reached out and patted the pocket of my trench coat. “You, sir, are a fine darts player.”

“A darts player?” I asked, still trying to process the fact that my mother had died of cancer, and I couldn’t remember anything about it. In that moment, I was functioning almost entirely on autopilot.

“You remember darts, right? It’s the game where people throw metal tipped cylinders at a circular board trying to get the bull’s eye?” He smiled at me, revealing a mouth full of translucent shark-like teeth. “Go on, check your pocket.”

I glanced at the spot he’d touched. There was a pocket on my trench coat I hadn’t noticed before even though I had a hard time seeing how I’d missed something that obvious. I had searched myself pretty well over the course of this little adventure. The idea that I’d missed something that noticeable made my gut tighten in apprehension. What else had I missed? I checked my pocket but not because he told me. It was because I wanted to do it.

There
was
something in my pocket. I pulled the object out and stared at it in shock. It was a silver case about eight inches long with an angel emblazoned on its lid. I flicked it open and saw, much to my astonishment, three darts lying on a bed of black velvet. They were steel tipped with pencil-shaped barrels and crimson flights.

“On average, no man who carries his own darts isn’t at least passably good at the game.” The guy at the bar said before pushing himself off his stool and leaning in close to look at my darts like the concept of personal space had no meaning. “It’s not a hard and fast rule of course. You could be a poser, or someone with delusions of grandeur. Hell, you could be someone who played for years and is still terrible at the game. Let’s face it, not everyone can play well. Just like not everyone can dunk like Jordan, no matter how hard they train. Life isn't fair.” He tapped the darts with one finger. “But maybe that’s not the case. Maybe, you’re this side of awesome.”

“Okay, so what? What does it matter if I’m good at darts? What’s that even matter?” I said, pulling away from him a couple steps. He was being way too buddy, buddy. It was really strange because even though he was acting like we were old friends, I got the feeling he didn’t like anyone. No, his sudden interest in my dart case was weird, and it unnerved me. Another shoe was definitely about to drop.

“Well, it matters quite a lot,” he said, moving past me toward a dartboard on the wall and picked out three darts with green flights from a tray next to it. “Since we’re going to play darts.”

“Why the hell would I play darts with you?” I exclaimed in exasperation. I didn’t have time for this. I knew he was stalling me to help his Cursed, but Sera wasn’t my only concern. I had to save her
and
the woman from my memory. The last thing I needed to be doing was playing darts.

“Because we need to pass time somehow. I did promise to stall you, remember? Try to keep up, Mac.” His smile reappeared again. “But I have no desire to sit here prattling on with you. It wouldn’t really be fun. You’d argue with me or call me a liar until I eventually got annoyed and ripped out your spine. So, instead, we’re going to play darts. Understand?”

I nodded as a bad feeling swelled up in my gut.

“Good. If you don’t mind, we’ll use the traditional rules for 501. We each throw three darts, three separate times. The cumulative total of our scores is then subtracted from 501 with the goal being to reduce it to exactly zero,” he said, approaching a white line painted onto the floor with the numbers 7’ 9 1/4” stenciled onto it in green. “You know what the crazy-making part of playing any game is? It’s really tough to tell when you just haven’t worked at it enough and when you really just aren’t good enough and never will be no matter how much time and effort you spend at it. The line between those two things is a tough one for anybody to draw. It’s why I love games like this.”

“I’m failing to see why I’d play with you,” I said as he nonchalantly tossed the first of his darts at the board and sank it into the triple twenty. “Barring the whole spine ripping out thing.”

“See, I knew you wouldn’t just trust me that this is the best way.” He tossed the second dart, landing it right beside his first dart in the little square for another sixty points. “That’s why I’ve decided to add some bonus stipulations.” He threw the final dart and wouldn’t you know it, got another triple twenty. “If I fail to clear the board and reduce my score to zero, I’ll let you through immediately with no more delays.” He moved across the floor and plucked his darts from the board. “But here’s the rub, kid. If you fail to clear the board, I’m going to chop something off, though I may let you pick what it is. It depends on how annoying you are.”

“You’re going to chop something off?” I asked, surprised I could get the words out because it was suddenly very hard to breathe.

“Yes, but not off you.” He gestured to my left, and even though he wasn’t there a moment before, Sera’s son John was suddenly sitting on the bar with his hands and legs bound in duct tape. The sudden appearance of the boy in his Spiderman T-shirt and jeans unnerved me to an extent I hadn’t thought possible. He tried to say something when he saw me, but no words made it through the gag over his mouth. He tried again and when he failed, panic filled his eyes to near bursting.

“You can’t be serious?” I cried, spinning to glare at the man as the world around me died. If I didn’t play him long enough for him to miss, Sera was as good as dead, but if I missed, the boy was going to start losing pieces of his body. The room started to spin and nausea swirled up inside me. I couldn’t do this, couldn’t play for these odds. It was impossible.

“Like a heart attack.” He appeared behind me in a flash and shoved me toward the line. “Now, throw the damned darts. You haven’t got all day.”

Chapter 20

“There’s got to be another way,” I said as he pulled a dart from my case. He pressed it into my hand and closed my fingers around it.

“There isn’t.” He smiled at me and took a step back. “Normally I’d set a little timer or something to ensure you throw in a timely manner, but as I’m the one stalling you, I’ll just sit back and drink beer unless you want to just give up.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, swallowing hard as I looked from the squat man trolling me to the little kid bound on the bar.

He threw his arm around my shoulder and leaned in close. “If you want to go home right now, I’ll let you. The only catch is I’ll have to take a hand from the boy.” He shrugged. “It’s not really a big deal if you think about it. Jim Abbott pitched in the Major Leagues for ten years with one hand.”

“I’m not letting you cut off John’s hand,” I said, nearly spitting the words at him.

He threw his hands in the air and backed away. “Then throw the darts, just don’t miss. I’ll be over here waiting.”

He moved over to the bar and reached across it before pulling a crystal bottle that reminded me of the ones people kept filled with expensive scotch. This bottle was filled with viscous red fluid, and without even bothering to pour it into a glass, he took a swig from the bottle before smacking his lips.

“It’s the blood of a virgin, in case you wondered.” He smiled at me, showing a sheen of red teeth to me. “It’s actually not that hard to get if you don’t mind killing nuns.” He took another swig.

I had no idea if he was really drinking virgin nun blood, but it didn’t matter. He was just trying to goad me. Getting mad at him about it wouldn’t help John or Sera. I turned away from him and rolled the dart between my fingers. Its weight felt familiar. I shut my eyes to tune him out when he spoke up, louder than before.

“If you throw the dart at me, it will count as a miss, by the by. Do you really want to risk it?” He chuckled, and the sound reminded me of an evil bullfrog. “I’ll even let you hit me for all the good it will do. Face it, Mac, your only option is to throw the damned darts. Time’s a wasting.”

Ignoring his words, I opened my eyes and looked down at the line at my feet. The dart felt so familiar in my hand, and as I hefted it before bringing it up, I knew everything was going to be alright. I threw.

“Triple twenty. Nice start,” the man said before slow clapping. “Whatcha going for now?”

I ignored him and picked up the middle dart from my case. I looked down at the pencil-shaped object and smiled, rolling it in between my fingers. There was a nineteen emblazoned upon it. A smirk crossed my lips. I got back in position and raised my arm before letting it fly.

The dart struck the triple nineteen. Netting me an additional fifty-seven points and bringing my total score up to one hundred and seventeen. All I needed now was a bull’s eye. I snatched up the last dart and let it fly in one smooth motion, sinking it right in the center. Fifty more points for one-hundred-sixty-seven total. Exactly one third of what I needed to clear the board.

“You know, some people say that three rounds of one-sixty-seven is considered a perfect score,” the man said, walking up to me and smacking me on the shoulder. “I knew I had you pegged.”

With that, he flung his darts at the board in quick succession. All triple twenties, giving him one hundred and eighty more points. I dutifully threw another one-sixty-seven which he followed with a one-hundred and forty-one point checkout consisting of a triple twenty, a triple nineteen, and a double twelve which brought his score to exactly zero. I managed another one-sixty-seven and heaved a sigh of relief. We’d both cleared the board.

“Ready to go again?” he said, smirking at me. “Or do you need a breather?”

“I can go all night,” I replied, glancing from him to John and back again. The boy still looked terrified but marginally less so than before, presumably because he’d seen my awesome dart playing skills. I wasn’t sure how long I’d played the game, but I was confident my last game was not a fluke.