Kelli Stanley - The Curse-Maker

The Entertainment waited a decent interval for the Host to be patted on the head by the Hostess. Then he looked around the room as if he’d just noticed it. His mouth opened, and the voice was sonorous and commanding.

“Dark. We must have dark.”

Secunda giggled and arched her back toward Faro as if to say, “Take me now.” Big Belly and his wife squirmed a little. Gwyna’s eyes were still on the necromancer. I was beginning to dislike him. He was like a smell that started out tolerable and got rank the more you inhaled. I didn’t object to a con man. Just an oily, good-looking one.

Secundus clapped his hands and told the slaves to put out the lamps. One by one, the room started to become dim, then gray, then nearly dark. It was always dull.

Magic didn’t mean much to me. People like Faro had to make a living, too, and I could usually spot the tricks they pulled on rubes like Secundus. Most necromancers were small, starved-looking men, with lean eyes and furtive mouths, who looked like they not only spoke to the dead but borrowed their clothes. Their palms would be sticky with sweat and anything else that could help them deliver a trick or two. Faro’s hands were dry and steady, more like a doctor’s than a magician’s. I couldn’t see anything on them but skin. Not yet.

When all but one of the lamps were extinguished, a slave brought out a small table with three vases and set it in front of Faro. He picked up the first one and held it up so we could make out its shape in the darkened room.

“A sacrifice of milk-pure milk, mother’s milk, suckled from the breast of the earth-”

Secunda stifled another giggle, choking it down when her mother turned a baleful look on her. He poured it into a shallow dish reverently, then held up another vase in the same way.

“A sacrifice of wine-pure wine, god’s seed, spent from the body of Bacchus, intermediary of the dead, savior of man, intercessor with Proserpine-”

An Orphic touch. Nice work. Showed Faro was educated, maybe even a member of one of the more exclusive religious cults.

He poured the wine into the same dish, just a few drops. No one made any sound. I stifled a yawn. I hoped it wasn’t the old water-to-wine trick. That was hackneyed fifty years ago.

Finally, he picked up the smallest vase. “A sacrifice of honey-pure honey, the moisture of the goddess, the life-giving Proserpine, the wife of Pluto, and mother of the dead.”

The honey drizzled very slowly. Materna leaned forward, waiting for it to drop from the vase, as if she believed the royal couple of Hades would suddenly materialize in the dish. Even Secunda was awake and not picking at her fingernails.

When enough honey oozed out, Faro shook his head three times, shook the plate three times, and started to chant.

“ Amoun aunantou laimoutau riptou mantaui mantou Apollo, hear me, Apollo, God of prophecy and oracles, Amoun, Aunantou laimoutau riptou mantaui mantou, hear me, oh goddess Minerva, goddess that is Sulis, send your fallen, send your secrets, amoun aunantuou laimoutau !”

The chant got louder and more emphatic with every name. Faro’s eyes were rolled back-I could see the white catch in the dim light. A breeze wafted through the room, and the last lamp flickered and died out.

“ Amoun aunantuou laimoutau ! Sulis-your secrets-the dead-lately or past-who is here who wants to speak? Who is here who misses? Who is here that yearns? Amoun -”

He was yelling, building to a crescendo that was almost a scream. The hair on my arms was standing on edge. Faro was good. Too good for Aquae Sulis.

“- aunantou-laimoutau! Sulis-let them speak! Let them hear! Let them see!”

Silence fell like a gravestone. Ragged breathing was the only thing I could hear. Then Faro’s voice … but it didn’t sound like Faro’s voice. It sounded like a child’s.

“Mommy-Daddy-we-we love you.”

Crescentia was sitting rigidly upright, her body trembling in the darkness. Big Belly-Pompeius-was beside her, his arm around her shoulders.

“P-Pompeia? Is-is it you?”

The voice came again. It didn’t seem to be coming from Faro.

“Yes, Daddy. Sextus is here, too. We miss you, Daddy.”

Crescentia turned to Pompeius. “Oh-God-”

They clung to each other. Faro’s mouth was open, but I couldn’t see it move.

“We-we love you, too, children. Please-please see us-come to us-if you can.”

“Yes, Daddy-we will see you and Mommy soon. We will come to you.”

The voice was fading. Crescentia was sobbing in Pompeius’s arms, and her husband was a grayer shade of gray. My muscles were sore from tension. What the hell was going on here? Who the hell was Faro, and what was he getting out of causing people pain?

I was halfway off the couch when a different voice pierced the darkness. This one was deep and authoritative.

“Another one waits. One who cannot talk.”

It was Materna, this time. She thrust her neck out like a turtle, eager for more.

“Someone else? Who?”

The voice was silent for so long I thought it was finally over and we could turn on the lights and get some answers. Mumius grumbled and said something about “not what he expected.” I agreed with him. Then the voice started again.

“One is waiting. He … he cannot talk. He is … too young. He was-never born.”

I heard some shuffling next to me and felt sorry for Crescentia. Would the bastard never stop?

“He-he does not blame her … it is not her fault-for what happened. He says … he says he wishes he could have been-he would have been-a good son … for his mother. And his father.”

One of the tables crashed to the floor, and I could see a figure below me rush off the couch and out of the room, sobbing uncontrollably. Poor Crescentia. I was off the couch and standing. I’d settle the bastard. No one should have to go through something like that.

Secundus called for a light, and a slave lit a lamp to my right. The table was on the floor, and wine was spilled everywhere. Pompeius was sitting, staring down, clutching his wife in his arms. Crescentia was still on the couch. It was Gwyna who’d run out.

The shock was starting to wash over me, but I didn’t have time to feel it. Much. Secundus was staring at me, slack-jawed and stupid. Pompeius tried to quiet Crescentia. Materna’s eyes glittered, darting, the show better than she’d hoped. Faro lay stretched on the couch. Time to break the fucking trance.

I grabbed his tunic and lifted him off the floor. “Mumius! Hold this man. I want him in custody.”

Secundus started to speak. “We-that is, I-”

I turned to him. The look on my face was enough. “Get your sword out, Mumius.”

“But-I don’t-I don’t have author-”

I lowered Faro to the ground suddenly, hard enough to make his knees buckle. “You do now. I’m a senior officer.”

His gladius was shaking, but he pointed it in the right direction. I stared down at Secundus.

“He’ll stay here tonight. You’ll all stay here tonight, except for Pompeius and Crescentia.” They were still holding each other, and I nodded at them. “You’ve had enough. Go home.”

I threw Faro back into the couch and watched it skid a few feet across the mosaic floor. Then I turned to leave. Materna rose from her seat like the Minotaur.

“Just who gave you the right to come into my home and-”

I spun around from the doorway.

“Who gave you the right to do what you’ve done to my wife? Or them?”

I pointed at Pompeius and Crescentia, who were gathering their cloaks, and my finger was shaking with anger. I stared at her glistening eyes, the fat, yellowed face.