by K.E. Rodgers
Chapter 3-
Standing outside of Happy Haunts, a local tavern owned by Anita and Roger Mendez, resident ghosts, Jackson and his brothers waited for the women to meet up with them. Only recently were they allowed to hang out at the Eidolon establishment.
Most of St. Augustine’s businesses and visitor recreations were owned and operated by ghostly hands. With the help of the S.S. they ran much of the city. Though they were still not overly friendly toward the LeMoyne family, there was less open hostility. At Clarissa’s influence she’d gotten the owners to let her new family come to the tavern well after hours when most of the living and the ghosts would have returned to their homes.
Jackson’s new family had stock on Anastasia Island and the commercial real estate they sold kept them monetarily satisfied. They had property further inland too and outside St. Augustine. Several decades’ back Ambrose had made a hefty sum from selling a sizable portion of swamp land to the Disney Corporation. They invested the profits and have never wanted for anything since.
“What’s taking them so long?” Jackson muttered to himself as he stood a distance from the brothers who reclined against the side of the building. He watched as Chas was making subtle movements of his head to the sound filtering through the ear buds stuck in his ears. He noticed Trueman wiping invisible smears from his faux glasses while Xavier was studying one of many of his collection of daggers. Corrigan was playing with his new cell phone that Clarissa had picked out for him, laughing softly to whatever amused him on the bright screen.
Jackson looked to Ambrose, the leader of their family, who stood next to Corrigan. His head was thrown back against the solid wall behind him, his eyes closed and his arms folded over his chest.
If Jackson were honest with himself he’d say that Ambrose freaked him out more than the others. Not that he’d want to get into an all out brawl with any of them. But while he knew that Chas, Corrigan or even hot tempered Xavier might rough him up a bit for mouthing off once too often, it was Ambrose who possessed a calm lethalness that kept Jackson from airing his grievances to the eldest brother. If Ambrose gave the word, and his word was law in the family, he could have Jackson exterminated and none would be the wiser.
The LeMoyne family governed themselves outside of the law of most others. They held life and death over their own kind and those that got in their way.
Ambrose opened his eyes a moment before he spoke. “Clarissa’s coming.” Then he closed them, continuing to stand in that still position like he was resting when the truth was far from that.
An instant later Jackson felt a change in the energy patterns around him. The lateral plans of time move rather consistently floating with the streams of earth bound energies. Humans used these energies in lesser degree than other earth bound creatures and it was easy to find the patterns that they made on the planet. A ghost, however, used the earth’s energy in its fundamental component, making and molding it to form what they needed to survive.
Clarissa manifested behind Jackson, her presence sucking the flow of energy around her like a breathing magnet.
“How do you do that, Ambrose?” Clarissa asked with a chuckle. She touched Jackson’s shoulder for a second, walking around to look him in the eyes.
Clarissa was another one who freaked him out sometimes. Like Ambrose she was deceivingly nice when the truth was that she could take down any of his new brothers and himself with little more than a wave of her delicate non-corporal hand.
“Hi, Jackson,” she said, reaching up to kiss him on his cheek. She was his sister now, had taken a special initiative to see that he was adjusting to his new existence. They had been friends before his death so it hadn’t been difficult to accept her as his sister. Over these past months, she was one of the only ones he felt he could talk to openly. His brother Corrigan came in a close second.
“Hi,” he answered back.
Clarissa gave him one of her dazzling smiles before she made her way over to her boyfriend, possibly future husband. Jackson watched as she fell into Corrigan’s embrace. In a strange way it was like they had been made for each other. Despite their biological and social differences some divining light had made them compatible.
“Why are you guy’s waiting outside?” Clarissa asked, looking between her brothers.
“We were waiting for you?” Xavier answered, concealing his weapon under his clothes. “The woman doesn’t like us in her establishment if you’re not with us. Your spook friends are exceedingly rude and I know she’s been giving me the evil eye when I ask to have my meat served rare. I don’t care about health code violations, I am the customer and Casper is just the cook, what I want is paramount.”
Clarissa suppressed the urge to laugh at her brother. Xavier was the most vocal of the bunch and he wasn’t one to shy away from sending things back to the kitchen. Clare did sometimes throw dark looks over at him when she thought he wasn’t looking. She should tell him that if he wanted the ghosts to like him then he shouldn’t refer to them as ‘spooks’ or ‘Casper’.
“They should be used to your visits by now,” Clarissa said instead. She went over to the seemingly closed tavern and knocked on the front door. Several seconds later it was cracked open revealing a single eye and part of a face. Clarissa put on a cheerful smile waiting until the person inside, Clare, recognized it was her.
“Oh,” she exclaimed, throwing open the door. “It’s you, Clarissa.”
“It’s always us, Clare.” Clarissa stepped over to grab Corrigan’s arm, pulling him into view of Clare. “You remember Corrigan, don’t you? And his brothers?” she added indicating the other men who were now moving, gathering around her. Clare eyed each of them falling lastly on Xavier and his stern frown. Clarissa reached behind her and elbowed him in the stomach. He grunted before placing a lopsided smile on his face.
“Yes, I remember. Would you like to come in?” She stepped back revealing the partially lit interior of the tavern.
The LeMoyne family entered the empty tavern, Clarissa leading the way. Jackson was the last to pass by Clare who stood holding the door.
“It’s good to see you, Jackson,” she said, closing the door behind him.
Jackson frowned down at her, seeing her for the first time in months. He’d never been invited to these after hour hang out sessions with the family, preferring to go back to his room and spend the rest of the evening wallowing in his own misery.
“You too,” he said automatically. Clare was a ghost and he’d known her since he was a little kid. Most toddlers were afraid of ghosts and witches and other scary things. Not Jackson, most of the time those kinds of people were his friends. But that had all been when he was human. Now he saw that slight hesitation in Clare’s eyes, the way she held herself a little away from as if at any moment he’d forget himself and attack her.
That was the tip of the iceberg for prejudices against his kind, the fear that at any moment he would be unable to control his baser, animalistic needs; it wasn’t all that far from true. Yet at one time they’d all been human. Lost to the lives they had, yet still able to hold onto the remaining shreds of their humanity.
Jackson knew that what held his adopted family together and kept them from becoming monsters was the bond they had with each other. As hard as this existence was they at least had each other to fall back on when the rest of the world wanted them back in their graves.
Yet Jackson was still an outsider in their family. He didn’t have the years shared between the brothers or the sisters or the new found love between Clarissa and Corrigan. His lack of history kept him apart. Nor could he resume his friendships with the Eidolon and the S.S. because in their eyes he was ‘other’ now. Jackson felt like he was floating in a limbo world where no one really wanted him. And if he was gone from this existence would the world be better off?
“Jackson?” he heard Clarissa calling his name. Turning away from Clare he saw his family gathered around a couple of tables that had been pushed together to accommodat
e them all. Clarissa was turned around in one of the chairs patting the chair on her left, wanting him to join them. It had been her idea for him to be more social with his brothers and sisters.
Jackson walked the distance to sit down next to her, finding Ambrose taking the seat next to him. Looking at them together one would never suspect that Ambrose was so many years older than Jackson. His auburn hair, cut short on the sides but long on top, had the full vitality of a man in his early twenties and in Florida’s humid weather tended to curl making him seem even more youthful. The youngest looking of the brothers, and in total contradiction to the truth of his age he was technically the oldest living person in St. Augustine. Of course that varied based on your interpretation of the word living.
Josh came out from the back, his notepad already in his hands. When he saw the family a strange look came over his face. As always his eyes were drawn to Clarissa’s form. Plastering a blank mask on his spectral visage he walked up to them.
It wasn’t such a surprise to see the flesh-eater family in the tavern. They came by every couple of weeks during the after-hours when the livings were sent home and the ghosts had long since retired to their own haunts. It was usually just him and Clare in the dark hours of the morning.
“What can I get for you?” he asked. Tapping his pen against the pad he tried to keep his face neutral and to look at anyone but Clarissa. She was obviously in love with her flesh-eater boyfriend. What she saw in the creature, he couldn’t guess at. She’d been banished from the Eidolon society, but that didn’t mean that she couldn’t come into the city at night with her new found family. And those few ghosts who she’d come to make friends with, himself included hadn’t let their political differences keep them from welcoming her into their homes and places of business.
Clare liked to come up with new sweet treats she thought Clarissa might like. She was also hoping that Clarissa would let her make her and Corrigan’s engagement cake, making an effort of course to use ‘real’ ingredients. Clarissa was one of the only ghosts that any of them new about that could consume ‘real’ food.
“The usual,” Maude said, walking into the tavern. She made a polite nod to Clare before she continued through to the tables. Her sisters followed close behind her, their earlier conversation continuing as they made their way to the waiting men.
Clare made a gesture with her hand to Josh before she vanished back into the kitchens. It took a lot of effort for a ghost to create foods and drinks for the ‘flesh’ creatures of this world. Clare had been a renowned chef in her living days and because of this she was sought after for her culinary talents with the Eidolon people. Preparing non-tangible food and drink wasn’t an easy task either. The average ghost couldn’t just whip up a meal without a little knowledge.
Josh watched as the flesh-eater women moved to sit next to their husbands. If he wasn’t aware of what these women were he would just think them ordinary females. That was one of the deceiving lures of the flesh-eater. Simply looking upon them didn’t hint at their otherworldly nature “If that’s all,” he began, “I’ll bring out your drinks in a minute.”
“You do that Casper,” Xavier remarked just as Josh disappeared before their eyes.
His wife Margaret Ann laughed, but punched him in the arm just the same. “I don’t think Clarissa appreciates the way you treat her friends.” She looked down the table to see Clarissa frowning at Xavier. “See,” she said. “I thought we were going to try being nicer to the ghosts.”
“I still don’t trust those vaporous elitists. They think they control the world and everybody in it and if you don’t follow their rules then you’re demonized.”
There was some truth to that. The Eidolon liked to control their world and as far as they could see the flesh-eaters were abnormalities that had to be controlled or run the risk of total pandemonium in their city.
“You wouldn’t believe what we saw today,” Helen spoke up, trying to turn the conversation. She knew what would happen when her brother started talking politics about the Eidolon and their place in this world. It never ended very well and the last thing she wanted to do was break up another quarrel. Clarissa was a ghost. Sometimes they forgot that. She was one of them and yet she was able to straddle the lines and be a member of their family.
“Oh, yes,” Clarissa exclaimed, even as she winked at her sister. “It was the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen. At first we thought it was some kind of aberration because they don’t usually come this far up north.”
“It was female,” Maude added, flipping her long auburn pony tail over her shoulder. “The females are much smaller in form and they don’t travel as far as the males do. So I wonder how she could have made it this far without a male to protect her. She didn’t seem lost or confused. If I didn’t know better I’d say that she was quite accustomed to tromping through the city.”
“What are you talking about?” Chas questioned his sister.
“We saw a panther,” Helen answered him instead. She looked to her brother, Ambrose, “a were-panther.”
The room became instantly quiet as all heads turned to Ambrose. He was staring at the far wall, his expression blank. Nearly four years ago he and his brothers had been attacked by a were-panther. It had been sick and confused. There was no other recourse left to them but to put the creature down. The large male panther had sliced through Ambrose’s clothing, sinking his claws deep into his flesh, barely missing the major arteries. It had taken quick action by his brothers, Corrigan and Trueman, to destroy the animal and to get him back to their commune and patch him up before he bled out.
The flesh-eater’s had a denser layer of tissue than typical human skin, but otherworldly creatures had a bad reputation of having extremely sharp extremities. Once a puncture through the skin happened, even a small bleed could be devastating as Ambrose’s system didn’t clot like the livings.
The were-panthers to the south could claw through steel if given the chance. They could easily shred the nearly stalwart flesh of the flesh-eaters. More animal than man, their species attacked relentlessly anything they believed a threat to them until the threat was destroyed. Ambrose had almost died that night; again.
“Did she see you?” Ambrose asked in a deadpan voice, not looking at any of them.
“No,” Maude answered for the sisters. “We stayed far enough away and with all the other smells around us she couldn’t discern our ‘particular’ scent.” The ‘particular’ scent was death. Death wore a heavy, pungent cologne. Those that he came into contact with were left with a residue of it on them, one that did not wash or wear away over time. Difficult to place on the senses, it was described by people as being floral and cloying or by others as bitter and arid; different notes for different temperaments and interpretations.
Ambrose took his wife’s delicate hand, holding it within his larger one. At one time he had been a simple farmer with hands ruff from hard labor and endless hours of toiling work. Maude, despite her unflattering namesake, had once been a beautiful young woman on the verge of marriage and with the hope of a family. She was still very beautiful, but she could never claim the innocence of youth. Both those lives were far behind them, distant memories enveloped in a painful reality.
Taking her hand he brought it to his mouth, kissing the tender fleshy side. “That is good. We will make extra sure not to engage her or make our presence known during her hunting hours. She’ll likely move on into the interior of the State before the fall.”
“And if she doesn’t?” Xavier asked, his hand going to one of many of his concealed weapons.
“If she is sick like the other,” Ambrose paused, turning his attention to Jackson next to him. Jackson was a rare find in this world. He was gifted, or cursed, however you look at it, with abilities he inherited from his grandmother. In his deathly animated state his elemental powers were more than evident, intensified because of the magick used on him by Clarissa’s re-animation.
Jackson was young, but the youn
g should not be discounted. Though he had accepted his existence and tolerated their family rules, he was not at peace with being one of them. There was no tie to this family that would make Jackson loyal to them. Ambrose’s first priority was to protect the family even if that meant protecting those in the family from others in it.
Ambrose continued, looking to the faces of his family, his sisters and brothers in spirit. “Her sickness cannot contaminate the creatures in our community. If she is indeed sick like the male then we will be forced to put her down.” Resting his focus on Xavier he said. “But keep your distance from her. She is no threat to us.”
“If she is traveling in the city as you say then she is the Eidolon’s responsibility.” Ambrose made his remark to Clarissa. She nodded her head in understanding.
“I’m sure the ‘old man’ is aware of her by now.” Clarissa made a disgusted face before leaning into the side of Corrigan. He put his arm around her as she snuggled closer to his side.
The ‘old man’, as Clarissa had called him, was Cyrus Cercopoly. He was the lead councilman within the St. Augustine Eidolon community. His ruling party had consisted of two females and two males. Hanna Zespedes was the closest to his age, dying at the age of 36 in 1846. Her female constituent was a sixteen year old girl who was anything but a child. Her death from the white plague in 1887 had left her spirit suspended in ageless time, but she was all too aware of her adult female experience and used her flimsy ethics to influence any who were fool enough to come near her. At 27, Cyrus looked far from his ‘old man’ nick-name. His temperament toward most of his constituents and enemies, however, revealed him to be a touch on the rigid side. He was also partial to chilling frowns that didn’t inspire friendliness.
Cyrus had kicked Clarissa out of his precious community as well as being the one responsible for bringing Olivier Prince into their city. If he wasn’t hated by the LeMoyne family, he certainly wasn’t well liked. Cyrus didn’t care much for the flesh-eater family either, as his experience with their kind had a left a permanent scar on his psyche.
“Here are your drinks,” Josh said, intruding on the conversation as he came through the kitchen door with a tray. No one could be sure if Clare and Josh hadn’t been listening.