A Slave To The Coin Page 3

could just reach down and pick it up. It was so close. Just bend down a little bit and it would be his. He imagined the serrated edges against his thumb, the hard round shape pressed into his palm, the metallic smell it would leave on his fingers.

  “Pull over please. I . . . I, uh, forgot something.”

  The cabbie looked at him in surprise and swerved to the curb. “Sure.”

  “Don’t you want your change,” he called as Emerson shoved a twenty into his hand and bolted out of the door.

  Change. Spare change?

  “Have any change, Mister?”

  Emerson jumped, practically falling as he twisted to look at the panhandler sitting on the step of a coffee shop. The man showed him a toothless grin and shook a metal can at him. An unmistakable sound of money banging against the can’s sides echoed through Emerson’s ears. The can ruptured, spilling its contents over the pavement, rolling away, down gutters, through sidewalk cracks, under passing tires in the streets. His heart thumped. Everywhere. He’d never be able to find them all. Lost.

  “Mister?”

  He blinked at the man in front of him, shaking his can.

  “I have no change,” he said, his words muffled as if from far away.

  The next taxi he hailed was clean, and he’d regained some self control by the time it dropped him off at his home. He’d done it. An entire day of not picking up coins. He’d come this far. Just one more task, and then he’d be free.

  Thankfully his housekeeper had the day off. Grabbing a couple of garbage bags, he headed upstairs. It would take hundreds of trips, but he’d get them all out of this house tonight. Every last one of them.

  It wasn’t so hard. Boxes piled by the door, ready to go down, a few trash bags full. He’d tried to open the window, thinking he could just toss them down into the yard below, but it had been painted closed, probably never opened since he’d bought the house twenty years ago. Picking up a garbage bag, he walked over to the broken shadowbox frame, noticing again the paper with its faded script.

  A slave to the coin.

  The door slammed shut behind him, clicking with the sound of multiple locks sliding into place. How? There was no one else in the house and he’d set the alarm. A breeze blew through the room from nowhere, smelling of copper, rust, and mildew. He heard the clink of metal and saw the coins rise on their edges, rolling toward him.

  Emerson ran to the door, tugging futilely on the handle. Trapped. The coins followed him, stacking up around his legs. He kicked them, trying to move away, but they kept coming. More and more of them. On his hands and knees, he scooped and threw the coins, but they piled up against him faster than he could push them away.

  You have triumphed over the curse. But without the curse, you cannot have the boon. Because you have won, now you must lose.

  The coins were heavy against him, so very heavy.

  ***

  Nathanial Cartwright adjusted his laptop case as he walked down the jet bridge into the airport. He’d been in a state of shock ever since his assistant had interrupted the pre-production meeting to take the call. His brother, dead. He hadn’t spoken more than a few words to Emerson in years; they had always been so busy. Memories of their childhood flashed before him and his eyes stung. A happy childhood. A happy, successful life. Nothing that should have led to this.

  The housekeeper had discovered him Friday morning, in an unused upstairs bedroom with the door wide open. The coroner had found six hundred and sixty six coins in his stomach. Cause of death was asphyxiation from a penny lodged in his throat.

  Nathanial bent his head and ran a quick hand across his eyes. Regret for all the things he hadn’t said, all the times he hadn’t called sat like a lump in his chest. Then a glint of metal caught his eye. There, by the newsstand, was a quarter. Without a second thought, Nathanial swerved and bent down to pick up the coin. It went into his pocket, held safe there by his hand. Why? Why would Emerson do such a thing? What burden could possibly have been so heavy that death was preferable?

  Questions unanswered, Nathanial stepped into the waiting limo, thankful that he carried no such burden.

  ***********

  Debra Dunbar lives on a farm in Frederick County, Maryland with her family and a multitude of four-legged friends. Her novels feature supernatural elements in local settings. In addition to a young adult short story, LOVE MAGICK, included in the anthology BELTANE: TEN TALES OF WITCHCRAFT, she also has published an urban fantasy novel - A DEMON BOUND, the first novel in her Imp Series.

  Samantha Martin, is an imp living among humans. She tries to keep her identity a secret, but when she spots an angel one night, clearly hunting demons, the imp comes out of the bag. Sam ends up smack in the middle of trouble, dragging her human neighbor, Wyatt, along for the ride.