Love and the Luftstreitkrafte

Part 6: The Curse

Author's Note: I did a lot of historical research, but I did NO magical research AT ALL. I have no idea if you can curse someone this way or not. Probably not. Nobody try this at home. I don't want anyone blaming me if they get possessed.

Also, cigarettes stink.

Thanks and have a nice day,

-Penny

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There was a young pilot in training whose older brother had been killed by the Red Baron. I pulled him aside as he was coming out of his machine-gun lecture and explained I was trying to curse his brother's killer.

"What, like eye of newt and tongue of bat, and all that?" He gave me a curious look as he lit his post-lecture cigarette. 

"Something like that. I know it sounds mad," I admitted.

"What's this curse supposed to do?"

"Well, my friend is looking into what we can do without killing ourselves. We might not be able to kill him, certainly not right away, but my thought was we might be able to blind him—anything to stop him flying."

The kid's eyes widened, and he seemed to forget about his cigarette. "But that's perfect! Put him through hell for me. If he's still limping around when I find him, I'll finish him off. What do you need?"

I wasn't expecting such enthusiasm, and hurriedly explained about needing personal items to focus the curse.

"Alright. I'll see what I can dig up. Say, have you spoken to Billy Heston? He was chummy with Smart, and might be able to get you something."

I asked around, and word got out. People I had never spoken to approached me to offer items or suggestions.

By the time Rosalind was done with her research, I had six items. There was a uniform button, a hip flask, a cigarette case, a ring, and a badly-burned letter. The magnum opus of this morbid collection was from the first kid: his brother's aviator cap, with a blood-stained bullet hole in the back.

When I showed up at Rosalind's flat with everything—it all fit easily into a briefcase—she wouldn't let me in.

"I take it you got something," she said, scanning the air above my head.

"At least a few. I'm not sure if all of them are the Red Baron's doing, but I thought you might be able to find out."

"Right. Yes, I can do that. Stay there and let me get the other bits." She retreated into the flat to retrieve a traveling trunk and a large hat box. For once Pinkerton didn't come to greet me.

"Need me to carry anything?" I asked, taking a step forward.

"Don't come in! You'll blow the whole flat down."

"Little pig, little pig..." I quoted the Big Bad Wolf in as beguiling a tone as I could manage.

Rosalind snorted with repressed laughter. She tried to point a stern finger at me, but was encumbered by the hat box. Once outside, she handed me the box so she could latch up her door. "Are we really taking this stuff on the omnibus?"

"It's not that much, between us. I can take the trunk if you hold the briefcase."

"The briefcase is the problem—that and your vortex of wrath."

I looked up. The clouds were heavy and threatening to rain, but I couldn't see a hint of anything over me in particular. "'Vortex of wroth' seems a bit much, maybe I could be a whirlpool of woe. Or an eddy of umbrage."