Conrad Edison and The Living Curse (Overworld Arcanum Book 1) Read online

  Do not fear the chicken.

  I had to be like Brickle and not show cowardice. I paced straight toward the rooster without hesitation. The rooster fluttered its wings. It stopped and crowed. In a moment, it would fling itself toward my leg and strike. It ran at me. Wings flapping, it leapt. I jumped to the side. The rooster missed me and landed to my right. Before it could recover, I grabbed it, hands firmly around its wings. As an added precaution, I tucked it beneath an arm and held its legs with the same hand.

  The rooster went absolutely still. It glared at me from one eye. It clucked, but thankfully, it didn't try to peck me. Using my free hand, I did something else I'd witnessed Brickle do, and ruffled the rooster's feathers.

  "Who's the boss now?" I said. "I am. Don't attack me again."

  I set down the rooster and walked toward the chicken coop. It crowed. I turned and faced it. The rooster came at me. Once again, I dodged, scooped the bird into my hands, and ruffled its feathers. I held it out in front of the hens as they clucked in concerned tones and watched the spectacle. I set down the rooster in the middle of the hens and once again went for the chicken coop.

  The rooster clucked, but it didn't crow. Still bracing for a sneak attack, I entered the coop, gathered the eggs, and exited. The rooster kept a wary eye on me as I walked back toward the house, but it didn't attack.

  A surge of pride lifted my heart. It was so liberating to be able to reason through a problem and solve it. The rooster might forget this lesson by tomorrow, but I didn't care. Over time, it would learn to respect me like it did Brickle.

  After depositing the eggs inside the kitchen, I walked to the cow barn at the far end of the dirt road and milked the black-spotted Holstein cows. Feeding the orphaned lambs came next, followed by serving the pigs slop. Brickle must have installed the temporary fence around the pen. Later today, I would have to assist him building a proper one.

  I finished my chores by six, went inside, and cleaned up for breakfast. Oadby served pasty, tasteless porridge for the morning meal. I took my usual seat at the back corner of the room. William and Stephan smirked at me as I walked past. The girls sitting at the table began to whisper among themselves, their eyes darting to me as if I were a criminal. I overheard some of the conversation.

  "He killed the bull!"

  "I can't believe he survived."

  "Such a puny boy…"

  As usual, I ignored their comments and continued on. I took my seat and tasted a spoonful of the white goop. Thankfully, it had very little flavor, though the texture was quite disgusting. I looked at the Goodleighs and other staff at the front table enjoying scrambled eggs, bacon, and orange juice.

  Anger formed a fiery pit in my belly. The government paid good money to feed and care for the children here. Instead, we were used as free labor to maintain a farm, which provided delicious food for the staff while we ate garbage.

  "Are you ill?"

  I jerked with surprise and realized Ambria, a girl my age, stood to my right. She smiled. My mind flashed back to several occasions where she'd approached me and asked how I was doing. I usually muttered something, lowered my head back to my food, and ignored her.

  How impolite. Cora would not approve.

  "I'm well, actually." I mustered a smile. "How are you?"

  She blinked in obvious surprise. "I'm splendid." Without asking, she slid into the seat next to me and put her bowl on the table. "I heard you had an adventure yesterday. Alice and I haven't stopped talking about it all morning."

  "The bull attacked me." I was going to leave it at that, but the hunger in her eyes alerted me to something that only just now occurred to me. Girls enjoyed drama. I'd observed the phenomenon several times as a dullard. Thankfully, my memory had retained the pertinent data and was able to formulate a solid theory. In order to craft a suitable story, I'd need to embellish.

  "Do go on," Ambria said, eyes alight with desire.

  It took a moment for me to arrive at a suitable opening. "There I was standing on the dirt road when I heard a snort. I turned and saw the bull, eyes red with fury, its hoof pawing the dirt, head tossing back and forth." I let the hook sink in for a second. "It was then I knew the old bull wanted to kill me."

  By the time I finished my story, Ambria was nearly breathless. "Goodness, Conrad!" She touched my shoulder. "I'm so glad you survived. Who knew what that bull was thinking?"

  "I don't know, but apparently I'm to blame for the temperamental beast."

  "The Goodleighs don't care about the facts," she said with certainty. "They only care about pinning the blame."

  "That's the truth." I sighed.

  Ambria regarded me for a moment. "What happened to you? You're so much livelier than normal." A grin lit her face. "It's as if you were a rainy day but now the sun's burned away the clouds and the birds are singing."

  I couldn't help but laugh. "That's a better explanation than any I could imagine."

  We continued to talk as it helped keep our minds off the tasteless food. It seemed a scant number of minutes later that Mrs. Goodleigh rang the bell and dismissed everyone to their chores.

  Ambria squeezed my hand. "I very much enjoyed talking with you, Conrad. May we do it again soon?"

  I nodded. "I won't be here for lunch, I'm afraid."

  Her eyes grew worried. "The doctor?"

  "Yes."

  "I visited him three months ago. He seemed excited about something."

  My forehead tightened. "Excited?"

  "Yes. Even the Goodleighs seemed happy." She shrugged. "As usual, they wouldn't tell me why."

  "I suppose you're in excellent condition which means they don't have to worry about medical bills." By now, the dining hall was nearly empty. "I'm sure the government wants to be sure we're not burdening the taxpayers with poor health."

  Ambria stood and gathered her bowl. "I believe you're right. Good luck, Conrad."

  "Thank you." We dropped our bowls into a large sink just outside the kitchen. Two girls were already putting on aprons and rubber gloves so they could wash dishes while others began cleaning the tables and sweeping the floor.

  The Goodleighs made sure everyone capable of working had a task. Even the very young girls like little Mary and Beth busied themselves wiping the tables.

  I met Mrs. Goodleigh at the front door. She looked me up and down. "Are you ready, Conrad?"

  "Yes, Mother." I reverted to my old personality. The less they knew, the better. I followed her outside.

  Mr. Goodleigh pulled up in his black sedan. I opened the front door for Mrs. Goodleigh. She slipped inside the car. I closed the door and climbed into the backseat. The car pulled out of the driveway and headed down the long, winding road to the highway.

  As usual, Mr. Goodleigh began to sing his strange song. Despite my newfound mental prowess, I could not translate the words. As I listened, I felt myself growing sleepier despite having been wide awake only moments ago. I fought the smothering blanket of exhaustion.

  I woke up as we turned into the circular driveway at the doctor's house. Dr. Cumberbatch lived on a sprawling estate that seemed larger even than the orphanage, though he didn't have a farm or cattle I'd ever seen. It made no sense why someone would want so much land if they didn't plan to put it to good use. The faint sound of the ocean greeted me when I got out of the car. We must be somewhere on the coast. Since the country was one large island, that coast could be anywhere.

  A butler answered the door when Mr. Goodleigh knocked. He led us inside, down a flight of stairs, and into a large wine cellar.

  Dr. Cumberbatch reclined on a leather couch, a glass of red wine in his hand next to two massive casks. He stood and nodded. "A pleasure to see you again, Felicity." He kissed Mrs. Goodleigh's hand and extended a hand to Mr. Goodleigh. "That time of the year for Conrad again, eh, Marcus?"

  Mr. Goodleigh shook his hand. "Indeed, Rufus." His voice held no enthusiasm.

  The doctor stood a head taller than Mr. Goodleigh, with pale skin and washed out b
lue eyes. His thick, unruly black hair contrasted strikingly with the rest of his nearly colorless features. Unlike other doctors I'd seen, he wore silky gray robes over his thin frame and never used a stethoscope. He didn't even have a nurse or assistant. Before this trip, I'd never thought about the obvious differences.

  During my stays with foster parents, it wasn't uncommon for me to come down with an illness every other month. Since health care was paid for by the government, many of my caretakers would drop me off at a doctor's office for an examination. This doctor was the only one we always met at his home. On rare occasions, he would come by the orphanage, but I'd never discovered the reasons for his house calls.

  Dr. Cumberbatch motioned me toward a tall stool. "Have a seat, Conrad." He took a gulp of wine and set it on a nearby table. "This won't hurt a bit." He winked. "I promise."

  "Blindfold," Mr. Goodleigh said.

  The doctor produced a black piece of cloth with an elastic band and placed it over my head, blotting the word from my view. Under no circumstances had another doctor ever done this. I wanted to question the necessity, but it would be out of character for me to ask. Instead, I sniffed a couple of time and feigned a sneeze.

  "Achoo!" I jerked forward into my hands and managed to push the cloth up just enough so I could see through the crack if I looked down.

  "Bless you," Mrs. Goodleigh said. I heard her high heels click on the stone floor. "Which wine do you recommend, Rufus?"

  "Definitely the seventy-three." His clothes rustled, presumably as he motioned toward the bottle in question. "You'll find it delightful."

  "Fetch a glass for me, dear," Mr. Goodleigh said.

  The doctor spoke to me. "Please place your hands in your lap, Conrad."

  I complied.

  He began muttering under his breath. I felt a slight tug on my hair. A moment later, the hair on my arms began to stand on end. I looked down through the crack and saw the doctor's hand moving a stick over my lower body. Usually, I felt nothing during these annual checkups. This time, I sensed a distinct emptiness buried deep within my abdomen. It was as if a part of me were filled with a void that needed to be filled. The sensation faded as the doctor moved the stick down my leg.

  Light sparkled on my arm. I tried in vain to discover the source, but didn't want to move my head too much and risk giving away my limited ability to see. Just as my curiosity swelled to a nearly uncontrollable urge, a small sphere of light floated down my torso, over my arms, and toward my legs. Numbers and symbols danced in the center of the energy. I couldn't make sense of any of them.

  I stiffened with alarm.

  "Sorry if that tickles, Conrad." Dr. Cumberbatch chuckled. "Not much longer."

  "Still nothing," Mr. Goodleigh said with a trace of anger. "Makes no sense."

  "Agreed," Mrs. Goodleigh added. "Perhaps we should resort to more extreme measures."

  Dr. Cumberbatch stepped to my right side where I could see the lower half of his body through the crack in the blindfold. "I don't know that it would do any good."

  "It certainly wouldn't do any harm," Mr. Goodleigh said. He spoke a strange word and suddenly the sounds in the room became muffled. I heard him speaking again but it was as if I were underwater.

  Deprived of two of my senses, I began to feel confined, claustrophobic. I wanted desperately to jerk off the blindfold. Do it! My hands trembled. The others in the room spoke, but I couldn't understand what they were saying. What was wrong with my ears? I put a finger in my ear and tried to clear it.

  An insubstantial presence like the air itself wrapped around my wrist and pulled it to my lap. I felt it loop around my arms and bind them to my legs. I tried to stand but my legs were immobilized.

  Fear overwhelmed me. "What's happening?" I shouted. My own words sounded clear, which was something of a relief. Being bound, blind, and deaf, however was still too much to bear.

  I saw the glowing orb moving up my legs. It stopped just over my stomach. I saw the doctor's stick moving around the light globe. It turned a sullen red. The empty feeling in my stomach grew until it seemed as if a black hole were forming at my very center and consuming me. Electricity jolted through every nerve. I thrashed and felt the stool begin to topple. A pair of hands gripped my shoulders and steadied me. Another shock hit me so hard my body went rigid and my mouth opened wide in a silent scream of pain.

  Prickles ran up my spine and into my scalp. Every single hair felt as though it was being pulled from my head. Blinding pain shattered my thoughts for an instant. My head lolled with wooziness. I couldn't tell if I'd been physically struck or if the doctor had sent electricity directly into my brain. What sort of mad scientist was this man?

  I heard loud voices, as if people were arguing. For a moment, there was silence and the pain faded. My body relaxed as endorphins soothed me.

  Without warning, agony stabbed into my abdomen. I might have doubled over, but something held me fast. I looked through the crack in the blindfold, fully expecting to see a dagger protruding. Instead, I saw only the light globe. Tears blinded what little vision I had. The pain increased until it was so excruciating, I could barely hold onto consciousness while a loud whining buzz shattered my hearing.

  I had never endured such pain. While the annual checkup sometimes felt unpleasant, it had never reached such extremes. Tears poured down my face and I began to sob uncontrollably.

  How much longer the pain lasted, I couldn't say. At long last, the piercing agony in my abdomen withdrew. The jolts of electricity ceased. I heard muffled voices again. They seemed to speak for a very long time before my ears popped and suddenly, I could hear once again. The bindings on my body slipped away and the blindfold came off.

  I wiped the moisture from my face.

  The doctor handed me some tissues. "Sorry, Conrad. You had an illness that required desperate measures."

  I wiped my snotty nose and simply stared at him.

  "He's too stupid to understand your apologies or explanations, Rufus." Mrs. Goodleigh sounded extremely annoyed.

  "Please keep those thoughts to yourself." Mr. Goodleigh raised an eyebrow and gave her a warning look.

  "As if he's capable of comprehending what we're talking about," Mrs. Goodleigh said. "I no longer care."

  "You should." Mr. Goodleigh nodded at the doctor. "We'll be off then, Rufus."

  The doctor nodded back. "My sincere regrets we couldn't arrive at a more promising conclusion, Marcus. I'll study the results and get back to you if I discover anything."

  "Please do," Mrs. Goodleigh said in a clipped tone.

  My knees buckled when I tried to stand. My head ached, and my stomach gurgled angrily.

  Mrs. Goodleigh briskly motioned me to come. "Oh, do come on, Conrad."

  "The boy's had bit of a shock," Dr. Cumberbatch said. "Perhaps he needs a moment—as a matter of fact, why don't you leave him here tonight for observation?"

  "He's young. He'll recover." Mrs. Goodleigh gripped my bicep and jerked me forward.

  Taking deep breaths to keep the nausea in my stomach at bay, I staggered along. Climbing the stairs was a monumental effort, legs protesting with every step. We finally reached the car. I crawled into the back seat.

  "Conrad, I know I taught you better manners," Mrs. Goodleigh said.

  I opened my bleary eyes and saw her waiting expectantly near the passenger door.

  Repressing a groan and wincing at the sharp pains racing through my body, I stood and opened the door for her. Once she was inside, I shut the door and fell once again into the back seat.

  "I do wish you'd told me where his last fosters lived," the doctor said as he spoke to Mr. Goodleigh outside the car. "I've always wanted to observe the phenomenon."

  "I'm sorry, Rufus, but you know we have to keep that information confidential." Mr. Goodleigh's polite voice held a sharp edge to it. "It always happens near his birthday."

  Dr. Cumberbatch looked at me and offered a friendly smile through the car window. "Yes, yes. And what's more
special than the day you were born?"

  "Supposedly, this birthday," Mrs. Goodleigh said in a very sharp tone. "Let's go, Marcus."

  What's so special about this birthday?

  Before I could consider it further, my muscles cramped violently and I doubled over. Anger nearly equal to the pain in my bodies ignited deep in my solar plexus. What had the doctor done to me? Why would he trace a stick over my body, and what sort of device was that light sphere? The Goodleighs had ordered him to probe me like a sick animal. His supposed treatment had been torture. If I had this to look forward to year after year, I couldn't simply sit by and do nothing.

  Perhaps my next foster family would be better. If not, I would have to run away and pray I found better circumstances. There had to be something better in the world. Someplace safe I could run to and hide.

  There just had to be.

  Chapter 5

  I woke up when we reached the orphanage. After getting out of the car and opening the door for Mrs. Goodleigh, I headed inside.

  "Brickle needs your help repairing the fence," Mrs. Goodleigh said.

  I felt my hands clench and my cheeks grew hot. I almost spun and shouted at her. It took everything I had to hold it all inside. Trembling with rage, I went inside and upstairs to change into work clothes.

  Mrs. Goodleigh's voice echoed up the stairwell behind me. "Bloody waste of time."

  As I dressed, I couldn't stop thinking about her words. Why was I a waste of time? I did more than my fair share of work on the farm. I behaved within specified parameters. Overall, I should have rated high compared to the others in the orphanage. Instead, they derided me and subjected my body to cruel treatment. I squeezed shut my eyes and took a deep breath. Angry thoughts swirled through my mind.

  Kill them. Make them suffer.

  Eyes flicking open, I gasped. Had that been my thought? I touched my forehead as if I could divine the origin of the idea. It brought me no closer to understanding my murderous thoughts. I looked at my hands and wondered if I was capable of murder, or if perhaps my anger had simply driven an extreme idea into the realm of possibility.