The Curse of Thelonious [✓]

thirty one

"So, what brings you here?" Lane Wakelin asked his nephew as he stared at him from across his desk.

Atlas had turned up at his office unexpectedly, still clad in his ratty brown school uniform. Despite his busy schedule and the plethora of meetings he had, one look at his nephews determined grimace was enough to cancel them all. Something was wrong.

Atlas was so stoic, so cold without Lera that Lane found himself rather surprised.

"Do you believe in magic?"

Lane's usually carefully controlled expression contorted in confusion, his lips tightening at the unexpected question. Atlas was straight to the point, so serious, so calm. His dark eyes scanned the view of central London from outside the window before turning back to his uncle's cerulean ones.

"What's going on, Atlas?" he asked gently, his voice dropping and affection lacing his words. He was hardly an affectionate person, far from it really but there was something about his nephew that brought out a new side to him. A side he didn't know still existed after Colette's disappearance eighteen years ago. A very real, very loving side.

"Last time, you said the curse wasn't real. But it is," Atlas explained, his tone quiet but solemn. "People keep dying and it's got something to do with me. It's got everything to do with me. I don't know if it's magic or not but it's evil. It's so so evil, Lane, and it's inside me."

Lane stared at his nephew. He wanted to pass it off as a joke, as though the boy was delusional but he knew Atlas was telling the truth. He could see it in his eyes; eyes that were so like his fathers. Whatever was happening was real and it was hurting him.

He stood up, pushing his brown hair out of his eyes and shrugging his suit jacket over his broad shoulders. "Come with me," he commanded, beckoning him to follow without an explanation. "I think it's time you see the world you could have been part of."

---

They were in a library. Or more specifically, they were in the library in the back quarters of Wakelin Manor.

Atlas couldn't believe how large it was. The walls were towering over him, beautiful leather bound books in neat rows. The windows on the wall directly ahead of him were tall, sunlight flitting in and lighting everything around him. The carpet was think and plush, a deep red colour which perfectly complimented the mahagony furniture. It was beautiful, it was so beautiful that it didn't seem possible that it was real.

On the nights Atlas couldn't sleep easily, he had begun reading some of Leras books. It wasn't anything too exciting, just simple childhood tales and fantasy. But he lapped it up, engrossed in worlds he could almost imagine. He had never heard of Harry Potter before Lera, having lived a life of stark solitude hidden away in the forest. But as he stared up at the magnificent library, he was reminded of the way he was sure Hogwarts would look if it was real.

"Wow," he breathed, quietly, as though the ancient books could hear him.

Lane smiled, watching the way his nephew was so entranced. He was so accustomed to his life that it was refreshing seeing it all from someone else's eyes. "Let's see what we can find about this curse then," he said, moving gracefully towards the left side of the room.

Atlas followed him, looking up at the mythology section in awe and together they looked. They searched through books, skimming the words and often reading out lines to each other. But it was no use, they couldn't find anything that was real or described the curse. They weren't exactly sure of what they was looking for but were hoping they would find something relevant.

Atlas frowned, thinking back to what he had found out in Jubaida's copy of the Quran. Surely, if people believed in the existence of jinn, they wouldn't be considered as myths. Without a word, he stood up and walked over to the other side of the large room, his eyes scanning spines of books until he found the section he was looking for.

He stood in front of the Spirituality side with a gleam in his eye, hoping the answers to all his questions would be hidden in the yellowed pages. Lane stood behind him and although he didn't know what Atlas was doing here, he followed his lead and looked through the books.

Atlas found a few books on Islamic beliefs but nothing to do with parallel dimensions and other wordly creatures. Just as he was about to give up, they heard raised voices and sharp footsteps.

Lane frowned, standing up straight as two people stood in the doorframe, peering in with disapproving looks. "Why aren't you at work, boy?" the man asked, his voice rasp and his eyes tough.

Atlas stared at them in wonder. Although they looked older with all the years that had gone by, he recognised them. They were his grandparents.

He froze when the realisation hit him, his fingers curling up in a calm rage. These were the people who had abandoned their daughter, leaving her to die beneath Mad Mannings hands without an ounce of care.

"This is Atlas, he's a student doing some work experience with me. We're just looking for something and then I'll be back at the office soon, father."

Atlas grinned at the way Lane was so easily able to take control of the situation, at the way he avoided telling them who he really was, knowing perfectly well that his nephew was not ready to announce it yet.

Mr Wakelin nodded gruffly and turned to walk away, his footsteps diminishing against the marble floors. His wife however only stared at Atlas, the realisation spanning across her ice blue eyes. Her lips rose, as though she had smelt something bad and she turned around in a huff, gliding after her husband. There was no doubt that she knew who he was, seeing the strong resemblance he had with his father, Kelvin. She had known Colette was pregnant, she had left her and her baby to die at the hands of a murderer. She had been too proud to release Colette's trust fund after her daughter had angered her, instead knowing that if it wasn't for the ransom money, Mad Manning had no use for the girl.

She was guilty for her daughter's death and yet, she didn't care.

Atlas shivered, his thoughts overwhelming him to the point where he couldn't open his mouth. He didn't trust himself to talk, instead turning back around and methodically going through the books. He had almost given up, nightfall sweeping over the city, when he finally found something. It was a small red book, the outside animal-skin and the words handwritten. The print was small and difficult to read but the curves of the words seemed familiar.

With a trembling finger, he pulled the chain up from around his neck, inspecting the word engraved into the metal.

It was the same handwriting.

A lot of the information seemed to be very factual, talking about demons and the underworld in a very scientific way. Dates and numbers were dotted all over but Atlas skimmed past them, his eyes boring into the words. He was just about to put it back on the high shelf when a subtitle caught his eye.

Exorcism.

Remembering that Kevon had hinted at this, Atlas's eyes widened as he lapped up the information, like a man who hadn't tasted water in years. A strange trepidation coursed through him, somewhere between fear and joy. Of course he was terrified of what he realised must happen but another part of him was relieved that there was an answer.

With a keen interest that even he didn't expect from himself, he read the passage. It wasn't written in a mystical flouncy way but instead, was fairly straight to the point. It seemed easy, too easy, a nagging voice at the back of his mind told him but he ignored it, until he realised what it was saying.

The book outlined the various ways a person could be possessed by a demon, by a jinn.

The word made him shiver, dark hairs on the back of his neck rising. He felt sick, having never thought of himself as possessed before. Although he knew the jinn was festering inside him, it wasn't part of him, it didn't control him.

Or did it?

Bile rising in his throat, he thought about what he had written on a paper on his journey here. All the deaths, with the exception of Anya's, were linked to his anger. If it wasn't for his emotions getting the better of him, they would not have happened. It was his fault, it was all his fault.

Lane watched the tsunami of emotions play across his nephews face: the sadness, the anger, the determination and the reservation. And as Atlas explained his findings and his plan, he felt his heart break for the boy.