Southern Souls

by Stuart Jaffe

  “You’ll all pay.” Another whispery, wet voice called — Jackson Wheeler, his ghost throat sliced open like the day he died, grabbed at those who had betrayed him.

  But neither Wheeler nor Klein stayed for long. Their tethers were too new, too strong. As they snapped away, Isaac hustled into the circle and hauled PB to his feet. “Come with me, son. Your fake parents have ruined our chance at happiness tonight.” PB stumbled at his father’s side as they hastened west toward the Marshall Street Bridge.

  “Don’t,” Max said, straining against his ropes. But PB never looked back.

  As the ghosts continued their attack, they began to fade from Max’s view. Glancing down at his leg, he saw the page from Leroy’s book — nothing more than ashes.

  Drummond flew in fast. “I thought you two would never get around to dropping that ward.” Wincing at the pain, he worked to untie Sandra.

  Sandra said, “I’m just grateful you brought help.”

  “More help than you realize — that G.I. is an expert with bombs. Once we finish up here, we can help PB.”

  “Fantastic,” Max said, turning to let PB know. But PB wasn’t there.

  Freed, Sandra pulled away. To Drummond, she said, “Follow Isaac. I’ll take care of Max.”

  Drummond soared off as Sandra went to work on Max’s ropes. “It’s going to be okay. It’s going to be okay,” she murmured like a mantra. “I can be a good witch. I can be a good witch.”

  A crack formed in Max’s heart. Over the last three days, he had heard Sandra’s doubts and fears, but he had been so wrapped up with his own concerns about being a good father that he never let her side of things sink in. Once freed, he whirled around and pulled her into his arms. “You are a good witch and a great mother. Don’t ever think otherwise. Now, let’s go get our boy.”

  Lacing their fingers together, they walked away from the jerking bodies of the Soro Group. Max grinned — only seeing Drummond seemed just fine. He preferred to avoid the horror of other ghosts from now on. Several of the Soro Group lay unconscious on the ground. A few attempted to throw wild punches in the air. They never had a chance.

  “Thank you,” Sandra said, nodding at a handful of empty spaces. To Max, she added, “They’re leaving now.”

  Limping as they walked — the burn on his leg sent waves of fiery pain through his body every time he put too much weight on it — Max squinted ahead. Drummond waved for them to hurry over.

  “Go, go,” Max said, urging Sandra onward. He quickened his pace, hobbling out from under the Cherry Street Bridge. Drummond hovered over Isaac and PB like a beacon. Max wondered why the ghost did not simply give Isaac a little bit of brain freeze, but then he recalled the pendant around Isaac’s neck — the one that matched PB’s. Any gambler would be willing to place money down that Madame Yan had given Isaac his own personal ghost ward.

  Sandra dashed under the Marshall Street Bridge and kept going. As Max followed, he spotted Isaac and PB scrambling up the dirt incline. Sandra rushed to catch up.

  Off to his right, Max spied a long cable running from the city street all the way down into the construction area. Picking it up, he discovered that it was heavy but manageable. With the help of this improvised rope, Max pulled up the incline quicker than he could have on his own.

  When he reached the top, he did his best approximation of running to reach the others. As Sandra stepped onto the level surface, Max was there to lend a hand. He pulled her up and they hurried on together.

  Scanning ahead, and with the help of Drummond’s pale light, Max spotted Isaac and PB — and Max’s body froze inside.

  Isaac should have taken PB to the right, crossing by some homes, and into the city, to be lost amongst the people and cars and winding streets. But as he stepped in that direction, two police cars sped by with lights flashing and sirens crying out. They headed back toward the Cherry Street Bridge. When Leroy’s book destroyed the wards against the ghosts, the wards hiding the Soro Group’s activities also went away. Somebody living nearby finally noticed.

  Reacting to the police more than thinking logically, Isaac turned left — probably expecting to cross the bridge over the construction site and keep going away from the city. But the Spruce Street Bridge had been demolished as part of the restructuring of traffic flow. The bridge ended with ragged concrete and rebar while bits of pipes and wiring poked out in a haphazard manner.

  By the time Max and Sandra reached the start of the bridge, Isaac held PB only twenty feet away — backed up against the edge. One step further and both of them would plummet to their deaths.

  “Sorry,” Drummond said. “I can’t get any closer to them. I tried — but he’s warded.”

  “We know,” Sandra said.

  “You don’t know anything,” Isaac said, shifting PB in front of him, holding the boy tight with one arm.

  Drummond said, “It’s not just that. When I tried to stop them, the ward blasted out energy to push me back — that energy has cracked this end of the bridge. It won’t take much to fall apart beneath them.”

  Max put out his hand to PB. “Don’t do this.”

  Isaac’s face twisted up tight. “He’s my boy. You don’t get to steal him from me.”

  “Nobody has to die. But if you’re determined — at least let PB make his own choice.”

  With a twitch of his cheek, Isaac pushed PB aside. Max heard bits of concrete break off. His heart dropped as they smashed on the ground far below.

  “They’ll never trust you,” Isaac said to his son. “You’ll never be anything more than the boy that rejected them. Every time they put food on the table for you to eat, every time they buy you clothes to keep you warm or pay their mortgage so that you have a roof over your head or do anything for you, in the backs of their minds they’ll be thinking that you rejected them. That you’ll do it again.” Isaac put out his hand. “But you come with me, and we can build something real. I’m here for you. I’m the one who will never doubt your loyalty.”

  Sandra said, “If PB goes with you, he’s going to die.”

  “I’ve seen magic.” Isaac stomped away a few steps, loosening more concrete. “I’ve glimpsed the power that is out there. And it can be stronger than death.”

  PB frowned. “Is that why you were willing to put this vest on me?”

  The malicious grin on Isaac’s face made Max want to throw up. “Of course, my son. You don’t think I’d ever want to hurt you, do you? And kill you? Never. But I needed my followers to believe that the sacrifice was real. I’m sorry if it scared you. But everything I’ve said is true — I’ve seen that magic is real. When we get out of here, I will take that vest off you because we don’t need it anymore. We’ll find some other spell to get our fortune. Don’t you worry, though. You would never have been dead for long. I would have brought you back.”

  Max took one step closer. “Don’t listen to him, PB. He’s desperate. He’ll say anything. I mean, come on — magic?”

  PB’s feet danced an inch towards Isaac and an inch towards Max. As crazy as the situation seemed, Max understood PB’s behavior. If Isaac told the truth — and PB wanted it to be the truth — then the vest never mattered. It was a falsehood designed to fool others. But if Max told the truth, then his life was in grave danger.

  Isaac must have read the situation, too. “Look at me, son. I’m your father.” He lifted his pendant, and PB focused on the symbol. The boy’s free hand brushed the matching pendant on his chest.

  Max pointed as if he had caught a magician attempting sleight of hand. “The pendant. He’s manipulating you with the pendant.”

  Isaac’s eye glinted. “Just a little magic to ease your suffering. I know how hard all of this has been on you. As your loving father, I want to make life better, easier for you. If you think about it, this pendant is your proof of all I have said. Magic is real, and I know how to use it. If I did not know the things I said to be true, why would I have brought us over here? Why would I have risked our lives? Why would I hav
e gone through any of this trouble?”

  “That’s right,” Sandra said. “Think about it. Why did this man really go to all this trouble?”

  PB turned his questioning eyes upon Isaac. Max caught it — just a flash, but it stabbed out like a searchlight in the night. Max stepped ahead once more. Thrusting his hand out, he said, “PB, push on through.”

  Isaac lunged forward, clasping PB’s arm. “No. You belong to me.”

  PB shoved back, and a large crack cut across the roadway. Max’s eyes widened as he saw the edge of the demolished bridge crumbling beneath Isaac and PB’s feet.

  As Isaac screamed and tumbled into the darkness below, Max jumped forward, grabbing for any part of PB he could. But his fingers only brushed the side of PB’s arm. In that same second, Drummond dove at them, letting the ward hit him hard. As he bounced off the ward’s field, he willed himself solid for a fleeting moment — long enough to bang into PB and knock the boy into Max’s arms. Max clutched the boy close while ripping the gold necklace and pendant loose.

  Isaac’s screams had ceased. Only the crying of PB and Max and Sandra could be heard.

  Chapter 32

  THEY HAD ONLY A SHORT TIME FOR TEARS. Wiping his eyes, Max settled on his knees with PB doing the same in front of him. Sandra stepped behind, supposedly to offer a comforting hand on the back of PB’s head while she looked up how to disarm a bomb on her phone, but in truth, they simply did not want PB seeing her talk to the empty air. Drummond had gone to fetch his military friend, the bomb expert, and until he arrived, they needed to calm down.

  “It’s going to be fine,” Sandra said. “Don’t worry about anything that’s happened until now. You weren’t yourself, and you have nothing to feel bad about.”

  Max put his hand over PB’s to help control the trigger. “You’ve done an incredible job up to this point. Don’t give up. Only a little longer to go.”

  PB’s tears flowed free as his body continually shivered. “I don’t understand any of this. I could see everything happening but my brain got all foggy. He said it was magic.”

  “What do you think?”

  “That pendant — could it have been coated with something? Drugs of some kind?”

  “Something like that. I think so. Your father was a bad man and —”

  “He wasn’t my father. You’re my father.”

  Max said nothing — he could not get his throat to open. His chest, his heart, his entire being tightened into a ball that simply wanted to envelop PB and hold the boy forever. He managed a nod and what he hoped looked like an expression of thanks.

  “Okay,” Drummond said as he flew up from the construction site. “This is Roy. He served two tours in Vietnam, and he knows a thing or two about explosives.”

  Max watched as Sandra focused on the air to her right. She then looked back at Max. “I’ve got what we need. This won’t be too bad. You both listen to me, and follow my instructions exactly, and we’ll survive this. First thing we need to do is follow a few wires.”

  As Sandra detailed each step, Max and PB obeyed. During the breaks when she received more information from Roy, Max talked to PB — to keep the boy’s mind off of the horror of the moment. To keep his own mind off it, too. “I suppose you have a lot of questions about the things you saw tonight.”

  PB shrugged. “My head was a mess for most of it. But it’s not that hard to figure out. I mean, what do you expect from a bunch of cultist nutjobs? My father — I mean, Isaac — he ran a huge cult racket, and when he couldn’t get me to join, he drugged me. Right?”

  “I guess so.”

  Sandra’s shoulders relaxed. “Almost there. Looks like things are going to be easier.” She gave the next few commands which required Max to swipe a few tools from the construction site. When he returned, he carefully snipped two wires and then started cutting at the top of the covering locked over the zipper. As he worked, he said, “I just want you to know that it’s okay if you still care about your dad.”

  “Why would I do that? He tried to kill me.”

  “I know. But family is a weird thing. Sometimes we find ourselves caring about the people who hurt us. Especially when they’re our parents.”

  PB placed his hand on top of Max to stop him for a moment. Once he had Max’s full attention, he said, “I know who my parents are. I know what family is. Blood is not family. People think it is, but that’s an illusion. It’s an excuse people use to avoid fighting for the real thing. But if anything, this night has proven that we are family.”

  The corner of Max’s mouth rose. “My mother has really been teaching you well.”

  Max finished cutting away the last of the security covering. Roy suspected that Isaac had little knowledge of building explosive vests and that proved to be true. Once access to the zipper had been achieved, they carefully unfastened the vest and removed it. Sandra wasted no time tossing it over the edge of the bridge, and PB gratefully let go of the trigger. They heard a distinctive pop and stared at each other.

  Fearing he might pass out, Max put his arms around his wife and son. “Come on. Let’s go home.”

  Chapter 33

  MAX STOOD AT HIS BEDROOM CLOSET and stared at the clothes hanging from the rod. Five days had gone by. For a day or two, the media outlets jumped all over the story of an apparent group suicide performed by a bizarre cult. The police happily let that narrative takeover — partially because some in the department knew the truth and had been ordered to silence matters, partially because some in the department were terrified of any other possible truth.

  Sandra and J appeared to be handling their return to normal life fairly well. On the other hand, PB had suffered a truly traumatic experience, and while he put on a brave face, Max saw the way PB turned sullen and distant when he thought he was alone. But Max recognized those moments because he suffered from them, too. So, he did the smart thing. He told Sandra and immediately set up appointments with a psychologist. Despite Sandra’s version of a brave face, Max watched her closely — just in case.

  He reached into the closet for a shirt and stopped. It was the same yellow shirt he wore when Cecily Hull had sent a police officer to the house late at night, when Max first encountered the Odd Fellows Cemetery, when everything had begun. It still had the wine stain. There had been no time yet to get it cleaned. A few days ago, when he visited Cecily Hull again, he wore that yellow shirt again and grinned inwardly when she curled her lip at the sight of the rumpled shirt.

  He provided a full report, holding back nothing, and she surprised him on several levels. She appeared to have true concern over PB’s well-being, and she also displayed genuine remorse over the death of Isaac Brown. She even tossed in a bonus to Max’s fee.

  Most of all, she expressed gratitude that when given the choice of who should attempt to control magic in North Carolina, Max had chosen her. “After all,” Cecily said, “you could quite easily have chosen Madame Yan. You could have let her scheme with the Soro Group succeed and perhaps you could even have gained a position of power under her.”

  “I prefer the devil I know.”

  “I’m hardly a devil. I can’t really even cast a spell.”

  “Maybe not, but you managed to use me and my son to get rid of some of your competition. The Soro Group is destroyed and Madame Yan’s spell that took decades to perfect failed. Anybody else thinking about taking you on will think twice. Unless Madame Yan has a backup plan.”

  “Oh, I don’t we’ll have to worry about her.”

  Max shook his head. “All of this just to continue the same crap your family has always done.”

  “I should think after all this time, you would have learned that having somebody in charge is necessary. I’ve told you that I do not intend to govern magic the way my family has done in the past. They used their power to control people and enrich themselves. Much like a politician. But I have a greater vision, one that will bring peace and prosperity to all.”

  “You sure sound like a politician.” />
  Contorting her mouth into an awkward smile, Cecily poured two tumblers of brandy and offered a toast. “To the Hull Organization. Though you fail to see it, we will have a wonderful future ahead of us.”

  While it turned his stomach, Max raised his glass and drank. Better than kissing her ring again.

  The following day, he and Sandra drove out to Lexington for a visit with Madame Yan. When they arrived, however, they found the house abandoned. Madame Yan and Cheryl-Lynn had packed up everything and left. They must have paid a lot of money to have a moving company arrive on such short notice.

  The rooms were bare — furniture gone, clothes gone, dishes and glasses gone, even the curtains and curtain rods had vanished. Max went all the way underground to Madame Yan’s private apartment. Empty. Her cluttered rooms had been gutted. The air smelled stale as if the place had been unoccupied for many years. Only a few wood shelves and a few unused boxes remained. Not a lipstick in sight.

  Staring at the empty apartment, Max could only hope they never saw either woman again. He doubted he would be so lucky.

  The Sandwich Boys burst into laughter from down the hall. That brought a smile to Max’s lips. Sandra entered the bedroom and popped a suitcase onto the bed.

  Leaning her head back toward the door, she said, “Boys, get packing already.”

  “Yes, Sandra,” they said in singsong unison.

  Coming up behind Max, she put her arms around his waist. With her chin snuggling his shoulder blade, she said, “I think this is a good idea.”

  He chuckles. “Of course you do. You’ve been wanting to go to the beach for a long time.” He turned around in her arms. “But I think it’s a good thing, too. We need to get away. A little vacation.”

  J knocked on the door as he walked in. “Hey, I was wondering if Uncle Marshall is going to be coming with us.”

  Before Max could answer, Drummond flew through the outside wall. “You bet I’m coming,” he said. “I couldn’t let my favorite nephew down.”