Ex-Communication by Peter Clines (love story books to read .txt) 📕

the images on my left arm slide out from under my sleeve. His fingers stopped an inch from the sandwich. He eyed it for a moment, then leaned back in his chair. He studied my face. “Who’s your friend in the States?”

“Ernie Redd. You might know him as the Go-Between Guy.”

He smirked for a moment. “I know him as Ernie. He’s still alive?”

I nodded. “He’s probably never going to leave his house again, but he’s alive. Most of him, anyway. He lost his left arm and six toes.”

“Lucky bastard,” said Weiss. “It could’ve been his head.”

I nodded. “Or worse.”

Weiss nodded, too. “Or worse.” He pointed at my arm. “Who did the arma dei? It’s a little rough on the edges. The lines aren’t great.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I did it myself five years ago.”

Weiss wrinkled his brow. “You know enough to come to me, but you tried to do one of these yourself?”

“It was a rush job. I didn’t have time to consult an expert.”

He studied my face again. “What’s your name, kid?”

“Maxwell Hale.”

He gave a slow nod. “Hale,” he repeated. “Heard of you. Word on the lines is you’re a cocky little bastard.”

I smiled. “I’m only cocky if I can’t do what I say I can.”

“Like build a working Sativus?”

“Yeah,” I said.

He looked at me for another moment and then his eyes went wide. “No shit?”

“No shit.”

“Can I see it?”

“No.”

“You just want me to take your word for it?”

I sighed and tugged out my travel wallet. “Don’t try anything,” I told him. “It’s bound to me. Fifty-foot tether. We’d both be dead before you got to the end of the block.”

He gestured at his bloated stomach. “Do I look like a big runner to you?”

“Appearances are deceiving.”

“Fair enough,” he said. “No tricks. Let’s see it.”

I pulled the medallion out by the chain, careful not to touch it. It’d been a week and the runes were still warm. The air cracked with fresh enchantments. At least, it did if you knew how to listen for them.

Weiss bit his knuckle. “That’s amazing,” he said.

“Thanks.”

He leaned his head far to the left, then far to the right. “Amazing,” he said again. “Of course, I find myself wondering why a cocky little bastard who can do something like this needs me.”

I let the medallion settle back in the nylon folder, wrapped the Velcro band across it, and tucked the whole thing back under my shirt. It was warm against my chest. “Insurance,” I told him. “Someday this thing might get loose and I want to have plenty of safeguards.”

“Why?” Weiss noticed the second half of his sandwich and picked it up. “After being tied up in there, anything’s going to be too weak and embarrassed to cause you any serious problems. It’d probably just spit a hex in your direction and run for home.”

“Right,” I said. “If it was weak to start with.”

He raised the sandwich to his mouth. “Did you catch a nightmare duke or something?”

“No,” I said while he tore off a mouthful of food. “It’s Cairax Murrain.”

Weiss sprayed croissant and Romaine lettuce across the table. “What?” he shouted. “Are you insane?”

The café was silent. Everyone turned to look at us. Mostly at him, but more than a few eyes flitted at me. “Sit down,” I said in a low tone. “You’re making a scene.”

He glared at me, then at everyone else. In true French fashion, they all politely looked away and began to talk about us in hushed whispers.

He sat down.

“This is Paris,” hissed Weiss. “There are over two million people here and you bring that thing into the heart of the city?”

“It’s safe.”

“It’s Cairax Murrain,” he said through gritted teeth. “You’ve got the Reaver Lord tied up with cobwebs and Chinese finger cuffs and you’re telling me it’s safe?”

“He’s bound,” I said. “It’s a perfect Sativus.”

“You think.”

“It is. You saw it. If he wasn’t bound do you think any of this would be here right now?” I gestured around us.

Weiss shook his head. “So what are you looking for?”

“I need a Marley.”

He snorted. “You need your head examined.”

“Can you do it? I know it’s a specialty piece.”

He sighed. “I can do it. I’m one of maybe three people on Earth who can do one for you.” He sighed again and looked at me. “What’s on your back right now?”

“There’s a curse ward on each shoulder and a Crowley’s Knot between them.”

“What type of wards?”

“One Coptic, one Germanic.”

“Anyone gunning for you right now?”

I gestured at the pouch under my chest. “Besides the obvious?”

“Yeah.”

“Not that I know of.”

He rubbed his chin and the rope-like beard swung back and forth. “Crowley’s Knot isn’t doing anything if you’ve got the arma dei,” he mused. “I can move both of the wards around onto your chest or arms if they’re bare.”

I nodded. “I’ve got three Ka marks on my left arm, but that’s it.”

“I know a woman at a clinic who owes me a couple of favors. They do facelifts and stuff, and they’ve got a YAG laser. It’ll hurt like hell, but we could have your back clean in a week and start working a week after that. I can get all the inks ready while your back’s healing. It’ll take another three days to do the tattoo.”

“Sounds good.”

“You know once you’ve got a Marley that’s it, right? There’s no going back, no getting rid of it. You’re bound here forever if you can’t resurrect yourself.”

“I’m counting on it.”

He shook his head. “You’re one crazy motherfucker, kid.”

“Will it carry through? The Marley?”

Weiss shook his head. “That’s why you have to get it on your back, so you can’t see it. If it carried through to the next life, it could seriously fuck up your soul.”

I smiled. “Well, that’s what I’m trying to avoid.”

“IF I COULD interject for a moment,” said Father Andy. He reached up and scratched his neck just above his clerical collar. “There are some bigger questions here, aren’t there?”

St. George stopped staring long enough to glance up