Commins' Case: Bloody Burlesque ✅

Chapter 10

The interior of this tent is impossibly larger on the inside than it appears from its exterior. I suppose that's often the case with magical abodes, though I couldn't possibly give a reason for it. It disturbed and disoriented me on my first visit; now, I don't bother to question it.

The room is cluttered with ornate vases and beautiful marble busts and statues, and a vast collection of porcelain dolls of varying sizes. There are rows upon rows of golden-plated rifles and blades, labelled jars of magical ingredients, along with other things that I cannot begin to recognise. Among all this organised, sundry chaos sits a handsome young man, reminiscent of a French royal in his looks and incredibly ornate dress. He sits on his cream-coloured provincial loveseat, with one slender leg draped over the other. He looks at me, gives me a sweet smile, and motions for me to sit across from him.

I tip my head to him. "Jean-Joël Jolicoeur. It's good to see you."

Jean laces his fingers together and lays them in his lap whilst giving me a questioning look.

I take my seat and say, "I need a counter-spell. Someone is trying to kill a friend of mine using high-level black magic. I perhaps some defensive charm wouldn't go amiss either."

Jean continues his silence and remains unmoving. His crystal-blue eyes bore into mine as though he can see directly into my soul.

"Listen, I understand that we've never particularly seen eye-to-eye," I tell him, clearing my throat. "But many innocent people are going to die unless you help me with this death curse. What is it going to take to earn your help?"

-

The young clown breathes in, closing his eyes. In exhaling, he finally responds by saying, "A memory." His voice is as smooth as silk with a thick French accent.

I can't help but laugh. "You want a memory? I must warn you, a lot of those aren't too great."

"Then you have no reason to horde them," Joël says.

I consider his offer and shake my head. Memories are tricky things; after all, I keep them in my head for a reason. I can't be sure which memories he may decide to take, making it a dangerous gamble. I stand and make a start towards the exit. "I'm sorry, Joël, but you're asking for a lot."

He inclines his head. "As are you, Claude. A death curse is not so simply cast and perhaps much more difficult to dispel. If you did find and kill your enemy, the curse would remain in effect."

I hesitate for a moment, and without turning away from the exit, I ask, "Which memory do you want?"

"You are not such a fool," he grins. "You will still remember your name."

This is not the first time Jean has said something that convinces me he can read my thoughts. I take my seat across from him again, chew the inside of my cheek as I consider it and say, "Very well. But you must give me your word that you can lift the curse."

"I will dispel it," he assures me, waving his hand in dismissal. "I can also gift you a powerful totem to use against this sorcerer. It will offer you protection."

"Alright then," I nod. "Which memory do you want? Something from my childhood?"

-

Jean's supple lips form into a charming, lopsided grin. He knocks a porcelain clown figure onto the floor and causing it to smash, spilling ash onto the ground. After a few seconds, blue smoke rises from the ashes and begin to dance and shift around us. Suddenly wary of what I've gotten myself into, I swallow hard.

The tent begins to tilt as the sound of a roaring ocean fills my ears. I feel my eyelids growing heavy before I find myself floating through a void of blue smoke. When I look closely, I see little memories, pictures in the nimbus clouds. There are sounds too; distant, but growing louder, more distinct.