Nefertiti’s Curse: An Urban Fantasy Read online

  She smiled, then pulled his head down and sang in his ear.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  The next morning, after Zina had gone for her daily workout, Xavier found a middle-aged white man reading the Wall Street Journal in the suite’s kitchenette.

  The story Paxton Briggs liked to tell magazines was that he discovered Zina when he overheard her singing while she and her mother cleaned another unit in his Miami condominium tower. Moved by the grit Zina had shown in facing poverty, the former entertainment attorney claimed he had become a father figure to her long before she signed a record deal. This inspirational tale always omits his foreknowledge that Zina and her mother were Asanti Sea Women hiding from the DSO and the millions he had subsequently pocketed as her manager.

  Xavier had given Zina his word he would not physically harm Briggs, but that did not mean he had to talk to the charlatan. He emerged from the bedroom and headed toward the front door.

  “The prodigal boyfriend returns,” Briggs said.

  Xavier ignored him and kept walking.

  “A man named Baynin came to see me about a week ago.”

  Xavier stopped and narrowed his eyes.

  “Don’t get riled up,” Briggs said. “I’m not one of you people.”

  “Then why would Baynin waste his time on you?”

  “He came to me because he knew there was a zero chance Zina would take his fruit without consulting with me first.”

  Xavier dropped his bag then walked over and snatched the newspaper out of Briggs’s hands. He grabbed two fists full of the man’s lapels. “Listen, I will throw your crooked ass out that window right now. Did you let him do something to Zina?”

  “Am I supposed to be intimidated?” Briggs asked with amusement. “We both know about the little promise you made, so take your damn hands off me before I have you put in jail with the rest of the ghetto street trash.”

  Xavier counted to ten to control his temper and then let go. “Maybe if you did that Zina would see you for what you really are.”

  “What I really am is her protector. Without me, she would still be scrubbing piss off toilets and singing in hole-in-the-wall clubs on the weekend. I gave her the whole world, but all you do is make her cry on the back of her tour buses from loneliness and turn away the actors and athletes who trip all over themselves to get her attention.”

  “Did Zina take the fruit or not?”

  “She doesn’t know about the fruit or my talk with Baynin.”

  Xavier took a step back. “Good. Keep it that way.”

  “That would be idiotic.”

  “Why is that?”

  “The fruit can protect her from the one thing that neither you nor I can.”

  “Which is?”

  “The DSO.”

  “How?”

  “Baynin said the fruit will block the siren frequencies her voice produces.”

  “It will steal her magic?”

  “It will take away the legal basis the DSO has to come after her.”

  “Her voice is part of who she is.”

  “Her voice is the rare kind that can transmit a tiny fraction of its psychotropic effect on males over recorded mediums. Do you know how I know that? I’ll tell you: The DSO measured it. They have a whole task force dedicated to making a CPA case against Zina.”

  The Corman Profiteering Act was a classified law that made it a felony to use magic to sell goods or services. The forty million albums Zina had sold would make her one of the biggest CPA violators of all time.

  “Then why haven’t you given her the fruit?”

  “Because I’m smarter than your public-school SAT scores say you are. Baynin’s fruit is worth more outside Zina’s mouth than in it, so it’s basically the opposite of you.”

  “Get to the point, man.”

  “The DSO is more desperate to stop Baynin than it is to prosecute Zina. We can offer them a live sample of Baynin’s fruit in exchange for immunity for Zina and me plus whatever you want to throw in for yourself. But we need to act before they get a sample elsewhere and the window of opportunity closes.”

  Inside his head, Xavier admitted he would have never thought of this tactic. “So why are you looping me in? Why didn’t you just go the DSO yourself?”

  “Because I’m not supposed to know the DSO exists. If I go to them, it will be apparent that I know what Zina really is, which would undermine the plausible deniability I could use to defend myself if they bring a CPA case against her. Besides, you have relationships that I don’t. You could take the fruit to the top man and skip the red tape.”

  “How do you know so much about the DSO?”

  “The DSO Oversight Committee is composed of politicians who need lots of donations to keep the one percent in power. And certain members of that esteemed body view supers in the same bad light as other undesirables.”

  “Where is the fruit?” Xavier asked.

  “It’s on the counter under the serving dome.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Xavier’s Amtrak train back to Philadelphia went dark for a few seconds when it passed under a tunnel. When the lights returned, Satan was sitting in the seat across from him.

  The serpent stitched into the fabric of the Devil’s necktie was slithering up and down its shaft.

  “That must be hell to iron,” Xavier said.

  “You should see my underwear.”

  “I’ve already taken your test.”

  “I cannot allow Baynin to go forward with his plan.”

  “Why are you telling me?”

  “Because he needs you to carry that plan out.”

  “God gave me free will.”

  Satan laughed. “God gave humans free will, not us. Do you know what else He gave them that He did not give you?”

  Xavier turned to look out the window.

  “A soul,” the Devil said. “When we die, that’s the end. So, I would advise you to make the most of your remaining days. Would you like me to tell you how many days you have left?”

  Satan said a number small enough to make Xavier wince. “My faith is stronger than your lies,” he said.

  “Heed my words, Earth Speaker. I have corrupted this world just to my liking. I have no intention of letting some glorified zookeeper interfere with that. If you so much as grow a single blade of grass for Baynin, I will defecate down the throats of everyone you care about and wipe out your whole community, starting with the children.”

  Xavier’s phone vibrated in the charging dock between the seats.

  Satan looked down at it. “He is annoying.”

  Then the Devil waved a hand and made the train lurch to a full stop. Bodies, luggage and anything else that was not stationary crashed into the nearest hard surface at the train’s former speed. Forty-eight passengers died instantly.

  Xavier’s tattoos burned hot as they healed the multiple broken bones he had suffered when he slammed into the empty seat across from him. He reached over and picked up his phone. On the screen was a text message from James York.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

  Xavier rapped his knuckles on the door frame of a small office behind the main sanctuary of Bethel Community Church.

  An African American man in his early sixties looked up from the Bible on his inexpensive laminate desk. James York backed his wheelchair away from the desk and rolled it toward the door. “Xavier. Come in. Have a seat.”

  Xavier sat in one of the folding guest chairs.

  York closed the door and maneuvered his chair to a spot that was only inches from Xavier’s seat.

  “You wanted to see me, Pastor?”

  “Sister Hopkins told me you were aboard that Amtrak train that crashed yesterday?”

  “I was, but I’m okay.”

  “God is good,” York said as he took in Xavier’s apparent lack of injuries. “We rescheduled Bible Study to pray for you.”

  After small talk, York pulled an envelope from a pouch on the si
de of his chair and handed it to Xavier. “I asked you to stop by to give you this.”

  Xavier opened the envelope and found a certified bank check for $82,138.22 payable to himself. “I don’t understand.”

  “That’s what left over from the one hundred thousand dollars you donated to the Church last month. We got new brakes on the Church’s van, purchased books for the members we have in college and paid the funeral expenses for Sister Hargrove’s Homegoing ceremony. All the rest is right there, down to the penny.”

  Xavier went to great lengths to keep all his donations anonymous, but he knew better than to play coy with York. “I can’t accept this, Pastor. I gave it to the Church for you to use as you see fit. There has to be something you can do with it.”

  “Do you trust my judgment?”

  “Of course.”

  “If you really do, then you will accept this check and sit down with me before making any more major donations beyond your tithes. I can let you know if we have need of anything and then we can pray about it.”

  “I was only trying to help.”

  “I know, son. Trust me we appreciate every cent and we appreciate you. Thanks to your gifts, we no longer have a mortgage on this building, the air conditioning works and no child in this congregation will have to go through winter without a meal or a coat. But at the same time, we know from Timothy 6:10 that wealth is a snare. There comes a point where money is a corrupting influence. The Church folks on our Finance Committee are not immune to this. And you also need to be a responsible steward of the abundance God has given you.”

  “I’ll take the money back,” Xavier said. “But if you don’t mind me asking, how do you know any of those things were from me?”

  “About three years ago,” York said, “one of those anonymous checks got jammed in the copier. The routing number was torn so we couldn’t deposit it. Our bank told us to call your bank and ask for a replacement check. The new check they sent had a stub with your name and account number on it.”

  “So you’ve known it was me for three years?”

  “The Finance Committee has known for three years. I’ve known since the month you joined.”

  “What gave me away?”

  “Two things started happening shortly after you became a member here. First, our tithes and offerings increased dramatically. Then our Sunday worship services started having guest visitors I could tell were some kind of law enforcement. In the beginning, I thought they were here for you because they always sat two pews behind you regardless of where you sat. But then I became confused when they showed the most interest in members who I’m absolutely sure have no involvement in any criminal activities. When Sister Wilkerson sang like an angel, they took notes. If somebody caught the Holy Ghost, they took pictures. When Darnell Tate gave a testimony about getting a surprise inheritance from one of his deceased relatives, they took him downtown to the Federal building for an interview. He said he wasn’t even sure which agency they were from.

  They never sent the same two people, but one Sunday I noticed that one of them had taken Communion with us, so I approached her after service. I asked her if there was a drug kingpin in my congregation. She said there wasn’t. I said, ‘Is there a terrorist or a pedophile?’ She said no to both of those. I told her that maybe I could help if someone could explain to me why the federal government was so interested in a small church in Mt. Airy. She looked right over at you and said she wasn’t at liberty to say. I told her that I was at liberty to call my Congressman. They never came back after that.”

  “I’m sorry that happened,” Xavier said.

  “Sorrow is for loss, Brother Hill. When you joined us, we didn’t lose anything, but we gained a friend and Heaven gained a soul. I would have asked you to leave if I thought anything else.”

  “You aren’t concerned about why I would be followed by federal agents?”

  “Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. was followed by federal agents. Now I have an appointment at the hospice to visit our sick and shut-ins. Was there anything else you needed from me before we close in prayer?”

  “Actually, I had a biblical question.”

  “I’m always happy to impart whatever knowledge I can.”

  “I wanted to ask who God was talking to in the Garden of Eden after Adam ate the fruit and He said, ‘The man has now become like one of us.’”

  York gave a detailed answer that was theologically consistent with their faith’s beliefs.

  “Thank you,” Xavier said. “That was very helpful.”

  “That’s not what your body language is saying.”

  Xavier sighed. “I have a hard decision to make and it seems like every other day something happens that makes it even harder.”

  “Some people think the Lord was talking to the Keepers in that verse,” York said.

  Xavier looked up. “You’ve surprised me for the second time today, Pastor.”

  “Do you know why I’m in this wheelchair?”

  “A car accident,” Xavier said.

  “A car accident is what put me in it, but that’s not what keeps me in it.”

  “I’m not sure I follow you.”

  “Back in Nineteen-Ninety-Six, another pastor asked me to come to Atlanta to help cast out a demon that had possessed one of his members. This man was a close friend of mine, so I didn’t hesitate. I’ve dealt with a few possessions in my day, but I had never encountered a demon as strong as this one. There were seven of us in total—six Protestant ministers and a Catholic priest. We battled with that demon for three straight days with no sign of success.

  On the fourth day, a mysterious man showed up. I call him mysterious because you could look at his eyes and tell something was off. He walked right over to the possessed woman and said, ‘This one is the offspring of my offspring, Rahzael.’

  The demon made the possessed woman spit in the man’s face and say, ‘This vessel belongs to me, Keeper!’

  Then the stranger said, ‘You will release her or I will provide Lucifer with evidence of your dealings with Gregarus at Mureybet.’

  The demon said, ‘You strike no fear in me. You are not special because the Most High let you clean up bird droppings in his Garden.’

  The stranger turned on his heels as if to leave.

  ‘So be it!’ the demon yelled at the stranger’s back. Then just like that, it departed from the woman.

  The next day, a deacon at my friend’s church was driving me back to the airport when he turned to me and said in the demon’s voice, ‘You didn’t think you could rid me of that easily did you, Jimmy?’ Then he spun the steering wheel hard to the right and sent the car over a guardrail on I-78. I was coughing up blood on the side of the road when that very same deacon calmly walked over and sat down on the ground beside me. He touched my shoulder and in a totally different voice said, ‘Peace be unto you.’ My body became still and the pain disappeared. He said, ‘You may rise and walk when your work is done, my faithful servant.’ Then the deacon’s body fell to the ground dead.”

  Xavier was silent for almost a minute after hearing this story.

  Eventually, he said, “I’m not sure what to say, Pastor.”

  “All you need to say is that you will keep what I just shared between us.”

  “You have my word on that.”

  “Good.”

  “Pastor, do you want to know the real reason those agents were following me?”

  York put a hand on Xavier’s shoulder. “I know that you are a member of this church and your faith is genuine. Those are the only things I need to know to assure I will be there when you need me—bail money or a wedding. Now Let’s close in prayer.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Xavier, Isabella and Contessa sat in the cramped living room of Maya’s rowhouse in Northeast Philadelphia. An obnoxiously loud bass line thumped through the walls from the house next door.

  “Can you turn down the air?” Contessa asked. “It’s freezing in here.”

  “Sorry, I h
ave to keep my servers cool,” Maya said. She was dressed in flipflops, a pair of cotton sweatpants with the word PINK stitched across the buttocks and a thick sweatshirt from The North Face with slits cut into fabric for her wings.

  “Then let’s make this meeting as brief as possible,” Isabella said, pulling a wool shawl tighter around her shoulders.

  Xavier reclined on an armchair in a t-shirt, seemly unfazed by the frigid air. A tattoo on his left forearm was tingling like it often did during the winter months.

  “I know this face-to-face was a hassle for you guys,” Maya said, “but I was afraid to have it over the phone, even on the secure lines.”

  “Why?” Xavier asked.

  “I got a weird call yesterday,” Maya said.

  “Weird how?”

  “It was from Carlos Vasquez.”

  Contessa sat up and made a motion in the air with her hand. The thumping bass cut off.

  “Hey!” a man’s voice yelled on the other side of the wall.

  “Uh, I don’t think this is any better,” Maya said into the sudden stark silence.

  Contessa made a different motion in the air and the sound system next door began playing soft classical music that would frustrate any eavesdroppers.

  “That’s so cool,” Maya exclaimed. “Can you cast a spell on my remote so I can do that when you’re not here?”

  “Maya,” Isabella said. “Focus. Tell us about the call from the DSO.”

  “I don’t think it was official DSO business. He asked if I could do him a personal favor off the books.”

  “What kind of favor?”

  “He wanted to know if I could secure his Apple Watch with the same kind of encryption we use to protect our email from the NSA. But he wanted me to use a new set of crypto keys that only he and I would know. And he offered to compensate me.”

  They were stunned.

  Finally, Xavier asked, “Which number did he call you on?”

  “My regular cell line.”