The Warlock's Curse (23 page)

“We’ll call him tomorrow,” said Will. “In the meantime, can you direct us someplace nearby where we can stay the night?”

“
Sure
I can.” The old man smiled pleasantly in an unpleasant way. “You just go out those doors over there, walk along Adams until you get to Brush. Go down Brush a few blocks. You’ll find a swell hotel just across the street from the Michigan Central Depot. The Hotel Acheron. Tell ‘em I sent you.”

Touching his cap to the surly janitor, Will hurried Jenny out of the building.

Walking out onto the night street, they were surprised to find that it wasn’t dark. The streets were lit with a high, harsh light that made the shadows of the buildings seem even darker, and gave the street a strange, unreal feeling, sharp and contrasty, as if they had stepped into a silver nitrate photographic print.

“The moon isn’t full, is it?” said Jenny, puzzled.

Will shook his head, and pointed up the street toward a very tall, slender scaffold, supported on all four corners by steel guy wires. “Those must be moonlight towers. I’ve read about them—they’re how Detroit lights their streets. Up at the top is an array of electric arc bulbs, so bright you’re supposed to be able to read your watch by them at midnight.” He gazed at his wrist to confirm the report. Jenny took his arm and pressed up against him.

“I wish they’d thought to install heat lamps instead,” she said. And indeed, once Will’s interest in the moonlight towers waned, he noticed just how bitterly cold it was. Soot-grimed snow was piled up in the gutters, and a biting wind sliced them both to the bone.

“I always wondered why women made such a fuss about furs,” Jenny said through chattering teeth. “What I wouldn’t give for a mink or a sable right now!”

Cold as it was, when they got to the Hotel Acheron they both hesitated before going in. Surrounded by seedy saloons, it fulfilled every qualification of the worst kind of flophouse, clearly catering to traveling salesmen and their hangers-on.

“Maybe it’s not so bad,” said Will, shivering. “It’s probably nicer on the inside.”

Unfortunately, it was worse. The walls of the lobby were stained with old damp and the room smelled of mold and urine and harsh tobacco shake. Jenny stood in the very middle of the lobby, as if unwilling to get too close to any of the greasy-looking walls, as Will went to speak to the night-man.

The night-man was gaunt, his rat-like features deformed by what must have been a protracted childhood bout with Black Flu. The entire left side of his head, from eyeball to ear, was engulfed in a coal-black mass of protuberant cauliflower-textured flesh, shiny and moist-looking.

“By the hour or by the night?” He did not even look at Will, but rather leered at Jenny. His left eye—sunken like a dull ochre bead within the massive doughy growth—glittered suggestively. Pulling silver from his pocket, Will slapped it down on the counter, hard.

Laughing softly, the night-man pulled himself painfully from his chair—he also wore a heavy leg brace supporting a twisted, misshapen leg—and retrieved a room key from the pegboard behind him.

The room they were given was on the third floor, and reaching it required navigating not one but two puddles of fresh vomit. The room had peeling wallpaper with a pattern that suggested leering demonic faces; a swayback bed with a rusted iron frame; and a window that opened onto a brick wall. It was lit by a single, weak electric bulb, and there was a small, disgustingly filthy handsink in the corner. Will didn’t want to say anything to Jenny, but he would bet that the grim parade of down-on-their-luck men who’d occupied this room before them had used that sink for very specific purposes that had nothing to do with the washing of hands. The room was freezing—if possible, it seemed almost colder inside the room than it had been out on the street. Will discovered that the radiator was cold to the touch; someone had turned off the valve. He turned it on and was greeted by the welcome hiss of steam.

“It’ll warm up soon,” he said, glad to find one note of comfort in the otherwise cheerless room.

“At least there’s a b-blanket,” she chattered, climbing into the bed without even bothering to take off her shoes. “Only one though.” She eyed Will with some hesitation. Her next words were colored with false bravado. “Well, I suppose there’s nothing else to do. Come on, pile in!”

When he lifted an eyebrow at this, Jenny made a noise of exasperation. “I can’t let you freeze to death, can I? And we’ve both got all our clothes on.” Making her face grave, she crossed her heart with her index finger. “William, I promise I won’t take advantage of you.”

Without a word, Will climbed into bed beside Jenny and wrapped a corner of the blanket around himself.

“I say, this isn’t a bit like California, is it?” said Jenny, as they shivered against each other.

“Not at all,” he said. “Thank God.”

Opening her purse, which she had kept clutched close to herself, she withdrew the envelope she had gotten in San Francisco. He wasn’t sure if she was doing this for his benefit, or if she just wanted to confirm that she still possessed their ill-gotten gain. He watched as she pulled out ten pieces of paper. Each one was a gold certificate. Each gold certificate bore a face value of $10,000.

Will’s heart leapt into his throat, and it took some doing to choke it back down.

“Jenny ...” he finally managed. “Jenny, that’s ... that’s ... a
hundred thousand dollars
.”

Jenny nodded.

Will sat up straight. If his marrow wasn’t chilled before, it sure as heck was now. “You’ve been walking around with a hundred thousand dollars in gold certificates in your purse?” He clapped a hand over his mouth, wishing he hadn’t spoken the words aloud.

“You’re right, it would be an awful shame if some random purse snatcher got ahold of them.” She placed the certificates back in their envelope, then, instead of returning the envelope to her purse, she slid it down the front of her dress. She patted her bosom. “There. Better.”

“Better?” Will squeaked. “You don’t thwart purse snatchers by inviting rapists, Jenny!”

She laughed softly. “There are a lot more random purse snatchers than random rapists, my sweet darling William. And besides, I’ve got you to protect me from them.”

Will stared at her, speechless once again.

“Sleep tight,” she said, leaning over to press a kiss on his cheek. She recoiled abruptly, with a frown. “Oh! You’re so bristly. I wish you’d at least brought a razor.”

Then Jenny cuddled up under his arm and pulled the blanket tightly around herself. She fell asleep immediately, her face relaxing into an expression so placid that Will found it almost unholy.

He leaned his head back against the bed frame and stared at the grimy orange bulb hanging from the cracked ceiling. Under other circumstances, finding himself cozied up in a bed with a warm, beautiful girl would have significantly discomfited him—especially since the couple in the next room had begun noisily rattling their rented bedsprings and he could hear every particular of their exertions through the thin walls. But all he had to do was imagine what any of the low-lives in this hotel would do if they knew that a couple of kids from California were carrying around $100,000 worth of gold certificates—cash-on-demand, payable-to-the-bearer, no-questions-asked gold certificates. Gee, that was as good as a cold shower and then some!

Suddenly, Will wished he
had
thought to bring a razor, but not for shaving.

Knowing that he wouldn’t be able to sleep a wink with all those gold certificates stuffed down Jenny’s dress, he pulled the letter from Ben out of his pocket. Glancing at his wristwatch to check the time, he was somewhat disoriented when he found that it was just after ten ... but then he remembered that meant it was ten in
California
. He was in Detroit. Removing his watch, he carefully set it forward by three hours.

Then, he unfolded the letter, wondering idly if the Sophos’ magical letterhead reckoned midnight on Eastern or Pacific time. It must have some mechanism for adjusting, he decided, for he found that the words on the paper were new.

Dear Will:

You know, writing you these letters is very odd, because each time I feel like I have to go farther back in the past to explain the previous letter. In the last letter I told you about the fight I had with Father, and why I went away. But then I realized that, to really understand why that happened, you have to understand Catherine.

Of course, you know that you had a sister, and she died of Black Flu eight years before you were born. You probably have some idea how hard Mother took it—but you don’t know, not really. Because you were the one who pulled her out of it. You being born allowed her to live again. You gave her back her sanity.

Anyway, Catherine. I was six years old when Catherine came and went.

Before Catherine, I had a mother, and she loved me. She was the first one who taught me magic. She showed me all sorts of wonderful little tricks—a child’s magic. She taught me silly things—how to turn the down of a baby chick bright blue, how to make a flower bloom with a touch.

Oh Will, I loved her so much. I thought she made the moon rise and set. For six years, I had a mother. But after Catherine, she was gone, and I would never have her again.

It is believed that the children who die most quickly from Black Flu are those with the greatest inborn magical powers. Catherine died within three days of being born, the allergic reaction tearing through her like wildfire. It is possible that she was magically afflicted, for it all happened during a full moon, which surely made matters worse. Magical afflictions are at their worst during a full moon.

I can’t tell you how horrible it was. I remember looking into her crib and seeing her tiny, black, disfigured hands grasping for something, clutching. I was afraid of her, Will. I was afraid that she would try to grab me and hold onto me like a tick or leech. That’s what she looked like. A fat black grub. Something that would get under your skin and burrow. Even to this day, remembering her makes me sick. That’s an awful thing to think about your baby sister. I’ve never told it to anyone until now. I certainly never told it to Mother, but she knew. She always knew what we thought in our heads, Will. And that’s what made her start to hate me. She hated me for the way I felt about Catherine.

And she stopped looking at me.

Do you know what I mean when I say that? You probably don’t. I doubt she ever punished you like that. You were her joy, her life, her sun. But believe me when I say, it was the worst punishment she could ever give, worse than any whipping. After Catherine, she fed me, and put me in clothes, but she never looked at me again. In her mind, I was erased.

Of course, it wasn’t just me. Everyone in the family suffered. Mother completely surrendered to misery and grief. She drank, Will, did they ever tell you that? She drank, she raged, she was violent. Witches are terrifying when they go mad. Have you ever seen her when her eyes go all black? It was all Father could do, taking care of her, and even he didn’t always manage. Someday, when this is all over, ask him what really happened to his leg. They probably told you it was a fall from a horse. It wasn’t.

That was about the time when Uncle Royce started staying long weekends at the house to help with us boys, and help Father. The other boys resented him coming in, because they’d all figured out how to shift for themselves, in their own ways. Argus has always had a soft spot for Laddie, and will always keep him under his wing. Nate has always felt more brotherhood for horses than humans. But no one wanted anything to do with me. No one except Uncle Royce. He thought I was worth paying attention to. I don’t blame him at all for what happened. I would lay down my life for him to this day.

I am very sorry for the tiny writing.

Your brother always,

Ben

Will wasn’t aware that he’d fallen asleep until he woke in a blank panic, from a bad dream he could not remember. His first impulse was to feel for the gold certificates to make sure they were safe. Then he remembered they were down the front of Jenny’s dress. Damn it, he wished she’d never even shown them to him!

Throwing off the thin blanket, he climbed out of bed. Whatever the dream had been about, it had left him antsy and profoundly uneasy. The steam radiator had heated up and then some; the small room was now hot as a Turkish bathhouse, and the damp heat had caused a decade of unpleasant odors to ooze from the walls. He loosened his collar, sweating. Going to the door, he rattled the knob, reassured himself that it was securely locked. He paced under the grimy orange light of the single bulb. The night was dead still. He was surprised at how quiet it was. Even in the middle of California there was always
some
sound filtering in—but here they were in the heart of a huge city, with a train station right across the street, and the silence was so perfect it almost hummed.