The Demon Curse (13 page)

So
this
is
it
.
The
demon
curse.

It was as if the scorpion's claws were inside his skull, tearing at the flesh inside. The claws were burning hot, and their jagged tips buried themselves into a spot behind his eyes, another one at the base of his neck. Harry felt his back arch and saw his wrists and arms flex. His whole head pulsed with the pain.

No
demon
, he told himself.
Only
pain
.
But
what
demon
could
ever
be
as
terrible
as
this?

The claws dug, twisted, scraped. His arms flailed, and his head twisted to the side. A few feet away, he saw a fragment of one of the glass jars, and he saw, in its curved surface, the reflection of his face. The muscles were stretched wide, the teeth bared. He hardly recognized himself, and then he recognized himself even less as the claws dug again, and his face became a blur. He closed his eyes. The claws kept ripping through the tissue inside his skull, and every rip released a terrible sight.

A gun, flashing with light.

A pen lid, lodged against the foot of a chaise longue.

A glass jar, clutched in two shaking hands.

A flower of blood, spreading over Dr. Mincing's shirt.

Madame Melrose's spectacles, glimmering…

The claws dug on. He noticed a new pain, a different one, down in his left arm. A smaller jab, followed by a cool sensation spreading toward his shoulder. A different pain, and not nearly so powerful. He opened his eyes and looked down to see what it was.

Billie was holding his arm. In her other hand, she clutched one of the syringes from Dr. Mincing's desk. Its needle was buried just beneath his shoulder, its vessel full of the green antidote, and she was pushing the stopper all the way in.

Chemicals flooded up Harry's arm. He felt them in his blood, flowing into every part of him. They pulsed in his neck, and he knew they had reached his brain, because the claws were releasing their hold. But he could still feel their tips, hot and jagged, and his body shook. Sprawling, he watched Billie pull the needle out of his arm.

“How did you know how to do an injection?” The words struggled out of his mouth.

“Did a stint as a hospital worker back in Kansas City when I was on the road to New York—didn't I ever tell you about that?” Billie held up the syringe and the bottle of antidote. “Just mopping the wards, but I used to watch the nurses give plenty of injections, so I pretty much know what to do.”

“But…how did you know…the right amount to use…” Harry winced as the claws pushed back.

“Didn't. Still, this syringe's got a green stain up to the seven-fluid-ounces mark.” Billie tapped the syringe. “And I guessed Mincing used it to give himself a dose. Bit of a risk, but you're used to taking those, aren't you?”

A corner of her mouth curved up, the beginnings of a smile, and she jerked a thumb toward a spot a short distance away. Using all his strength, Harry pushed himself up onto his elbows and saw the shapes of the two straitjackets, their necks still chained to a cell door. Scorpions scurried over them. He felt his own mouth curve too.
One
heck
of
a
trick.
He slumped back down, but he felt a warmth across his back and saw that Billie had caught him. He looked up. He saw his reflection in her eyes, just as he had in the fragment of glass. His face was shivering, he noticed, but that little curved smile could still be seen.

“You did it…” Billie whispered. “And we've got enough antidote for Mayor Monticelso and Artie too.”

“We did it together.” Harry heard his own quavering voice. “We—”

He stopped. His vision was blurring again, his body slumping back onto the floor. Billie's eyes had turned away, her mouth falling open as the asylum flashed with light. Thunder throbbed, and Harry clutched at his head. The claws were back.

“So you think you have escaped,
mes
enfants
?”

Madame Melrose stood in the doorway at the far end of the asylum, the leather bag containing the jar of scorpions hanging from her shoulder, the revolver gripped in her hand. Its muzzle blazed, making the asylum thunder again, and something whined past Harry's ear. He saw sparks shower off a cell door to his left as a bullet ricocheted off it.

“Mincing is disposed of. I see some work remains regarding the two of you.”

“Run, Harry! Run!”

Harry's body lurched upward. Billie's hands were under his arms, and his boots scrabbled against the stone floor, but the claws were still in his head.
The
antidote
must
take
time
to
work
, he thought as he and Billie toppled toward the corridor through which they had entered the asylum's hallway. They plunged down it. Another shower of sparks, and another bullet whined, but they were out on the wooden jetty, stumbling toward the steps that led down to the boats. Rain pounded off the jetty's boards, and Harry slithered and lost his balance. Billie caught him and pulled him down the last few steps to where their boat was tied.

“Looks like we're not finished with the risks yet,” Billie was saying. “Mind you, that's probably how you like it, isn't it? Keep us all on the edge of our seats, right to the very end…”

Billie's voice gave way. Harry saw the smile had vanished from her face. She pulled him off the bottom step into the boat, where he sprawled out in the rain. The claws kept pushing back, ripping, tearing.
Get
up. Recover.
He heard the splash of oars, and he knew Billie was rowing them away. But Harry also saw, through the rain, the shape of Madame Melrose appearing at the top of the jetty steps.

“Do you really believe you can get away?!” Her voice shrieked after them. One hand reached down and stroked the corked top of the jar of scorpions, protruding from her bag. “Dr. Mincing's creatures may have failed to dispose of you, but do you really believe my bullets will not find you as you paddle your
petit
bateau
? My marksmanship is formidable,
rappelez-vous
?”

She reloaded the gun. Harry saw the revolver's carriage swallowing the bullets as Madame Melrose pushed them in. The carriage snapped back, spun, came to a halt. Billie pulled at the oars, but she wasn't fast enough. From a pocket in her dress, Madame Melrose pulled out her spectacles on their stem. She twirled them four or five times, and then they stopped. Rain dripped from them, but the eyes behind were clear.

The muzzle flashed, altered its angle, and flashed again. Harry felt the boat shudder twice and heard Billie cry out. He swung around and saw that both the oar brackets had been hit, one shot off completely, the other hanging by a single screw. Billie had already thrown one of the oars away and was trying to use the other as a paddle, but it was too long, and the boat was hardly moving. Harry reached for the other oar, but the claws kept digging.
Get
up.
He saw Madame Melrose, her revolver gleaming, the bag containing the scorpion jar swinging at her side. She was descending the rain-covered jetty steps, water flying up around her sequined shoes.

“You are within range,
mes
enfants
. My bullets will find you. True, I am disappointed that your bodies cannot be found trembling with the demon curse. Instead, those two bodies must simply do as the remains of Dr. Mincing have done and become food for the creatures of the swamp.” The spectacles twirled faster, and she was almost dancing as her shoes splattered on down the steps. “Ah well. I must content myself with that.”

“Help me, Harry!”

Billie was thrusting the other oar at him. Harry fumbled for it but lost his grip, the oar splashing into the water. The claws pushed even deeper into his brain.
Impossible.
He lay there shaking in the boat, looking back through the rain at the figure on the jetty.

He saw something.

The slip of a sequined shoe. Water splattering, Madame Melrose slithering down onto one knee. The leather bag containing the scorpion jar sliding from her shoulder and slamming onto the step.

Harry heard something too.

The crack of glass.

“Look, Billie!”

Harry managed to lift an arm and point. Billie swung around and froze. She too was staring at the leather bag, lying on the steps. Harry saw a curved fragment of glass jutting from it and other pieces of glass scattered nearby. Madame Melrose was trying to struggle back up, reaching for the nearby rail while flailing at something on the lower part of her dress. Harry saw a shape scurrying along the blood-soaked hem of her petticoat. Another one higher up her corseted waist. Another on her lace sleeve.

“The scorpions!” Billie cried.

Harry's hands were around his head again. However vital the events at the end of the jetty were, he found it hard to keep his eyes focused. He saw Madame Melrose's back arching. He watched her arms shoot up above her, scrabbling at the air, the revolver falling away. The flesh of her face stretched wide. Harry's eyes flickered shut, but he managed to open them again as he heard the terrible cry and the splash.

Madame Melrose had tipped off the jetty. The water churned up, a white mass. Laced arms fought, and hands thrashed in the foam. Harry saw a face, the eyes bulging, swamp water pouring out of the mouth.

His own eyelids drooped. Everything went dark.

Harry forced his eyes open again. The water still surged up by the jetty, but not so high. He saw a hand, its fingers clawing the rain, and he heard Billie screaming.

His eyes closed. This time, it took him even longer to force them open again.

The water by the jetty still rippled, but only with the rain. White flecks spattered up from each raindrop, forming a pale mist. Apart from that and the dim light from the asylum, there was blackness all around.

His eyes closed once more, and everything went blacker still.

Harry's eyes sprang open, this time to a blinding light.

The walls around him were white and gleaming; the ceiling above him was perfectly white too, apart from a few cracks slanting through the glare. Harry looked down and saw something else that was white—a strip wound across his body. He tried to move, but it held firm. He stared back at the wall, his eyelids flickering shut.

“Harry?”

His eyes managed to open again. There were shapes in the brightness now, two of them, dark but growing in size. Staring at them made his eyes hurt less, so he kept watching them as they drew close. The gleaming walls seemed to have faded, and he saw other shapes nearby too: framed pictures, a window filled with blue sky. Harry saw that the strip of white was just a folded-back bedsheet, tightly tucked. He pushed and felt it slide loose, and he realized that one of the dark shapes had reached out to help him.

“You'll come around properly soon enough. You got a particularly big shot of scorpion venom, it turns out—one dose of the antidote wasn't enough. Still, I did my best. That stint of floor mopping in the Kansas hospital came in handy, yeah?”

Billie was now sitting on the bed. Harry's eyes were wide-open at last, and he could make out the room properly, but his gaze remained fixed on his friend. She was smiling back at him as she took one of his hands in hers. Harry's mouth opened to say something, but nothing came out. He had noticed another shadowy figure sitting next to the bed, and he could only think of that.

He recognized the familiar tweed suit, a tie, a pair of hands holding a book.

“Billie's right, Harry. There's no need to worry. The antidote will see you through in the end. I should know, shouldn't I?”

Arthur.
That face was its normal thoughtful self, no longer stretched out of shape. Harry searched it for the slightest tremor, but there was none. Those arms, once thrashing blurs, were calmly at his side, and his hands were paging neatly through the book, the title of which Harry could just about make out:
Theories
of
Animal
Venom
.

“Clever and sinister stuff.” Arthur tapped a page of the book, then lifted up an object that Harry recognized as his friend's leaky fountain pen. “I'd pretty much worked it all out, that night in the library. Found this book and a couple of others, which explained it all, and so when I took off my pen lid and saw what was crawling out of it, I knew what I was in for. Thought I was pretty much finished.” He winced and then smiled at Harry. “But it turns out the clever, sinister business wasn't quite clever and sinister enough, was it? Thanks to you, Harry—oof!”

Harry was up out of the bed. His body was still weak, but somehow he had flung himself forward, and his arms were around Arthur, hugging him tight. Arthur hugged him back, and as he did so, Harry felt a little of his strength return. From a different direction, he felt Billie reach in and join the hug too.

“We did it, Harry,” she whispered in his ear. “You, me, Artie—not to mention pretty much every doctor in New Orleans, working day and night to make sure you were okay. They brought you right here to the city hall, to work on you alongside Mayor Monticelso, and Arthur too. And you pulled through, Harry. I knew you would.” She laughed. “Reminds me of the time I had to spend two days in bed after walking nonstop from Ironville, Kentucky, to Parkersburg, Virginia…I bet you've missed my tales of the road, haven't you?”

Her face was next to Harry's, tears glistening on it, but she was grinning too. Harry blinked, and he realized he could see perfectly clearly at last—his friends and everything else in the room. He touched his head with his fingertips, remembering those terrible claws. But they were gone, he was sure of it.

At last, he spoke. “Mayor Monticelso…is he all right?”

“He's fine. Just down the corridor, actually.” Arthur shrugged. “He says he'll come and see you when you're better… Harry, wait!”

But Harry was already up off the bed. Billie and Arthur were trying to hold him back, but he was sliding on his clothes, shuffling his boots onto his feet. A couple of unsteady steps and he was out of the room, his friends running along beside him. Harry recognized the curved door at the end of the corridor and made his way there.
The city
hall.
The door flew open, and he stumbled into a room he knew he had been in before, although it no longer had a bed at its center. He heard a voice, and he saw an elderly figure sitting in a chair at the room's far end.

“Welcome, my friends. My friends, to whom I owe so very much…”

Mayor Monticelso. Harry glanced at the painting on the wall. It still hung there, and this time there was no reason to double-take between it and the face it depicted, because it was a perfect likeness. Those worn but kindly features stared down out of the oils, and the face of the figure in the chair was worn but kindly too, all hint of terror gone. Only a gentle smile quivered on it as the old man rose from his chair and tottered toward Harry with the help of a cane.

“Thank goodness my recovery is complete! For I need every ounce of energy and fitness to express my gratitude once again!” Mayor Monticelso's eyes shone. “Already I have expressed the utmost admiration for young Billie, who supplied the doctors with the antidote that rescued me from my terrible ordeal.”

“Like I've said, it was no trouble, sir.” Billie curtsied.

“Then I conveyed my immense thanks to Arthur, whose investigations led to his own near demise but also to the beginning of the unraveling of this appalling plot.”

“Please don't mention it, Mr. Mayor.” Arthur performed a neat bow.

“Yet still further thanks are needed! For now I meet the boy who performed the most extraordinary task of all.” Mayor Monticelso turned to Harry. “And I am not the only one who will wish to thank you, young Harry. Come with me!”

The old man grabbed Harry's sleeve. He tugged it with surprising strength, his cane tapping the floor as he headed toward one of the room's several doors. He pushed open the door and beckoned Harry in.

“He is here, my friends! Young Harry is here!”

Auntie May sat on a chaise longue while Brother Jacques occupied a leather armchair. All around the room, more of the Islanders were seated, some of them muttering among themselves, others paging through newspapers. Most wore their usual fishing clothes, although a few of the men sported ties and jackets, and Auntie May wore a hat with a ribbon around it. She was holding a cup of tea on a saucer, stirring a spoon in it, while Brother Jacques read the
New
Orleans
Post
, peering through a pair of wire spectacles. He and Auntie May looked up as the mayor and Harry came into the room.

“The agony of the scorpion's sting!” The old man tottered across to the chaise longue and sat down beside Auntie May. “But my sufferings would have been ten times greater, a hundred times greater, had I known about the dreadful scheme of which my agony was a part. You Islanders, accused!” He shook his head. “Thank goodness the plot was so spectacularly foiled.”

“Yes indeed.” Auntie May nodded.

“You are a great friend of ours, Mr. Mayor.” Brother Jacques adjusted his spectacles. “But we Islanders have other great friends too, it turns out. And this boy, Harry—he's turned out to be one of them, that's the truth.”

“It wasn't just me.” Harry's voice was still unsteady. “Billie and Arthur, they—”

“Sure they did!” Brother Jacques leaned forward in his chair. “Billie is a friend of ours from way before, and young Arthur's proved his friendship. Mind you, I'd say we had other help too in this business—the help we Islanders always get in times of trouble. Help that turned out even more powerful than the help of friends…”

His deep, dark eyes stared at Harry, who swayed slightly on his feet. The claws had gone, but he still felt a little weak as he listened to Brother Jacques's words. He remembered the brass jars with the snakeskin, feathers, and seeds inside, and he remembered the smoke, sprawling off in different directions, filling his eyes, making them sting.
Maybe
the
spirits
did
protect
me.
He blinked and swayed again, but he felt two hands grab him and hold him steady. It was Billie, keeping him up.

“Madame Melrose?” Harry remembered. “Is she…?”

“Drowned in the swamp, we believe.” Auntie May shook her head, stirring her tea again. “Now that was another friend of ours, or so she said. But she won't be taking us in with her fine words any longer.”

“She certainly won't.” Beside her on the chaise longue, Mayor Monticelso's kindly features darkened. “The victim of her own violence in two ways. First, she suffered an attack by her own vicious creatures. Second, she had shot off the oar brackets on your boat, making it impossible for young Billie to row back and throw her a rope or the like. So she perished. Her body hasn't been found, mind, but the alligators explain that.” He winked. “Assuming they hadn't eaten their fill after devouring the corpse of that deranged doctor…”

“Mincing.” Harry saw a spot of blood, spreading on a shirt.

“Dead, dead, extremely so. And at first, that seemed to be a problem.” Servants were serving more cups of tea, and Mayor Monticelso accepted one before waving the trolley on toward Harry. “How were we to rid this city of the rumors regarding the Islanders without the two criminals themselves to account for their crimes? But we need not have worried. Madame Melrose craftily covered her tracks, but Dr. Mincing's notes on his scorpion work remain, throughout which are peppered increasingly demented references to his demonic employer. One glimpse of them set the hideous Oscar Dupont packing his bags, his attempt to ride to office on a storm of viciousness in ruins, I'm pleased to say.” He waved a hand at one of the copies of the
New
Orleans
Post
that the Islanders were reading. “The newspapers have carried the true story in full, and with luck, that nasty mob will have learned the lesson of jumping so quickly to conclusions. A cautionary tale.”

“The fishermen? The ones who tried to put the spirit charms under the floorboards?” One last memory flickered. “What about their plans?”

“Ah, they don't hate the Islanders any less, I fear.” The mayor tutted. “But their hatred is now of little concern. I had no hesitation in revealing details of their feeble but manipulative plot to the
New
Orleans
Post
, and that story is covered too. It is unlikely anyone in this city will be listening to anything they say, on any matter, for some years to come. Again, a cautionary tale.”

A servant pushed a cup and saucer into Harry's hand. He managed to hold it steady as the tea poured, the golden liquid glowing in the sunlight. Somewhere nearby, he heard a telephone ringing. Harry realized that, in the few minutes since he had regained consciousness, people had been talking to him almost nonstop, an endless stream of revelations and observations and discoveries.
And
it's not finished yet
, he told himself as he turned toward Auntie May, who was saying something in his ear.

“Brother Jacques is right in what he says. The ritual we performed, it summoned the spirits and they protected you, helped you; we are quite sure of it. How else could you have survived as you did? And we believe the spirits may have worked in other ways too, ways that we understand much less.” Her voice dropped even lower. “After all, is it not strange that you, all three of you, arrived in New Orleans at the very time you did?”

“The spirits work in many ways, it is true.” Brother Jacques looked over his spectacles at Harry. “And their influence spreads far. Far beyond this city, far beyond this state of Louisiana too.”

“As far as New York, maybe?” Auntie May continued. “Who knows how they found you? Who knows how they arranged for the three of you to meet, and for you all to arrive in New Orleans at the very time you were most needed? Is it not strange that, at that very time, Billie returned to us? Not only that, but she also returned with two friends, each able to help us in their own extraordinary way?”

“The spirits' workings cannot always be understood,” Brother Jacques muttered.

“Indeed they cannot. We can talk around in circles, and still we won't make head or tail of their ways. Who knows how they brought you here, all three of you?” The old woman leaned forward and gently took hold of Harry's chin. “But I'm glad they did.”

Her hand cupped his face. Those eyes stared into him, surrounded by complicated wrinkles. For a moment, Harry found himself almost believing the Islanders' words, their explanation for how he and his friends had arrived in New Orleans.
Hardly
stranger
than
everything
else.
But he reminded himself that there was another explanation too, and at the same time, he noticed that the telephone ring he had noticed a few moments before had cut out.

A door opened, and one of the servants edged in, bowing in the direction of Mayor Monticelso before nodding in Harry's direction.

“Telephone call for Harry and his friends, Mayor Monticelso.”