I hurried inside, greeted Baxter, and took a hot shower. Between ghouls and zombies, I was going through soap faster than usual. Usually, I didn’t like heavily scented bath products, but when it comes to washing off gore and blood, I found a real use for body wash I would have otherwise considered to be overpoweringly strong.
It was only eleven o’clock, and the thought of curling up in my sweats on the couch with Baxter and watching some TV sounded wonderful—especially if that also included a glass of wine and fuzzy slippers. But as I got a treat for Baxter and poured myself a nice glass of Shiraz, my phone went off, and the ringtone told me it was Kell.
“You still up?” he asked.
“Yeah. Just starting to wind down. You?”
Kell hesitated. “We came back from a ghost hunt about an hour ago, and I’m still pretty ramped up. Want company? I’ll bring snacks.”
I smiled. “Throw in a bottle of wine and plan to spend the night. I’ll fill you in on my day. I’d rather not be alone tonight.”
Fifteen minutes later, Baxter did a happy dance at the door when Kell arrived. Baxter is the official guard dog and welcoming committee, torn between biting noses and wriggling for hugs. Kell patiently scooped Bax up, held him at arm’s length until the growls subsided, then ruffled his fur and snuggled him before releasing him and turning his attention to me.
I knew from the way Kell pulled me close and the feel of his kiss that something had gone wrong. He held me tight, a gesture that seemed more protective and reassuring than romantic, and the touch of his lips felt like he wanted to affirm that both of us were still safe and alive.
“Bad hunt?” I asked, taking his hand and leading him into the living room as Baxter jumped and pranced around our feet.
“Not the worst I’ve been on, by any means.” Kell leaned against the kitchen counter as I pulled goodies from the grocery bag he’d brought. Kell is about Teag’s height, with blue eyes and light brown hair, a combination that caught my attention from the first time we met.
“Then again, you’ve been on the scariest hunts,” he added, moving away from the counter to help me get a plate for the selection of yummy appetizers he’d picked up. Cheese, olives, crackers, spreads, and toppings along with some charcuterie made my mouth water. He opened a new bottle of Cabernet and poured himself a glass to match mine, then followed me into the living room.
“Fill me in,” I said, settling into the corner of the couch with one knee pulled up, facing him. He smeared pimento cheese on a cracker and gobbled it down. I realized that he looked rattled, and my concern grew. Kell had been chasing ghosts for years, and not much shakes him up. We’ve seen some pretty horrific things on hunts, and he’s usually pretty cool about it. So I wondered what had gotten under his skin.
“I think Charleston’s ghosts have all gone mad,” He said, taking a gulp of wine. “The phone at SPOOK has rung non-stop. Ghosts that never had the juice to make themselves seen are now visible. Or audible. Or able to throw things. And most of them seem disturbed about something. Jittery. Even the repeaters seem more solid and active.”
Kell ran a hand back through his hair, and I noticed how tired he looked. “I thought maybe it had something to do with the phase of the moon or some upcoming obscure holiday. But…I can’t find any connection. And I told myself that it was just ghosts, no one was getting hurt.” His voice trailed off, and I reached out to put my hand on his arm.
“What happened?”
Kell closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the couch. “I got a call from a friend who does tours at the Old Jail. Not many of the tour companies in town will go there at night, because we all know the ghosts are real, and they’re not nice. But usually if anything manifests, it’s some cold spots, or a disembodied voice, or someone feels a touch on a shoulder or an arm.”
He let out a long breath. “My buddy said he heard the gallows trapdoor dropping open, and heard voices all around them, muttering and mumbling.”
“Someone’s idea of a prank?” I asked, though I doubted that was the case. “Maybe a bunch of theater majors who thought it would be fun to freak the guide?”
“I don’t think so,” Kell replied. “He saw orbs materialize right in the same room with them and zip around. You know those usually only show up on pictures. The guests thought it was great, until one of the orbs went right through a woman and she passed out. Then the lights went off.”
I’d been to the Old Jail once. It’s one of Charleston’s most popular tourist attractions, but it’s got a brutal history of blood and death, and the resonance reflects its past. I hope I never have to go back again because I sure wouldn’t consider it an evening’s entertainment.
“Those iron steps aren’t great to navigate even with the lights,” I said. “Did someone get hurt?”
Kell nodded. “People started shouting about being pushed. No way to know in the dark what was going on, but then others denied doing the pushing. The guide tried to call for assistance, but his phone was dead—and no one else could get a signal, either.” Ghostly activity often drains electronics. The dead phones didn’t surprise me.
“The guests started to panic. So the guide tried to get everyone calmed down and out of the building. But one woman fell down the steps. She’s hurt pretty bad.” Kell looked at me as if I could solve the mystery. “As soon as she fell, the lights came back on again, and all the paranormal phenomenon stopped. The guests who were near the top of the stairs said they felt a body slip between them, solid but cold as ice, right before she was pushed.”
“Do you believe them?” I asked. “Or were they covering up being scared enough to crowd the stairs?”
Kell stared into his wine for a moment before he took another sip. “Tom, the guide, has been doing that tour for five years. He’s one of two guides at his company that will go to the Old Jail at night. We always used to go out for drinks, and he’d tell me stories about things that happened and none of it ever got to him.” He drained his glass, and set it aside.
“Tom quit after that incident. Says he’ll go home and live with his mom if he has to while he finds another job. But he’s never setting foot in the Old Jail again.”
I finished my wine and moved over to snuggle against Kell. No surprise that Baxter insisted on being on Kell’s lap—he’s a possessive bit of fluff. Kell wrapped his arms around me, and I laid my head on his shoulder. He felt warm and solid, grounding me and letting me know I wasn’t alone. I hoped my presence did the same for him.
He nuzzled my hair and gave me a squeeze. “How about your day? Sounds like you had a rough one, too.”
Kell, like Anthony, knows what we really do at Trifles and Folly. Given his work with SPOOK, he usually isn’t fazed by run-ins with regular ghosts. He’s backed us up on outings where he’s seen real magic at work, and the fact that he’s still here means a lot to me. Kell helped us out in dangerous situations without demanding to know everything ahead of time, because he trusted us—he trusted me. That meant I had to trust him, too. When I explained about the Alliance, Kell wasn’t completely surprised. He said that he had pretty much figured that to be the case, and was waiting for me to be ready to tell him the whole truth. It felt good to share the secret with him, and he swore that he would never tell anyone. We were coming up on our first anniversary of dating, and I had to admit that having a relationship last long enough to settle into a comfortable routine felt…nice. Very nice.
He listened while I told him about the ghouls, and heard me out without needing to throw up, which won props in my book. I went on to tell him about the other weirdness since it had been a couple of days since we’d seen each other. Kell’s a good listener and curled up next to him and Baxter, I felt safe. The house is warded, I have some badass magic, and Baxter is a ferocious watchdog, so I was already physically protected, but tonight, it was really nice not to be alone.
“I wondered if your gang had been dealing with any new weirdness,” Kell said, shifting so we could stretch out. “A
ny idea what’s kicking the supernatural strangeness into overdrive?”
I shook my head. “Lots of possibilities; no real leads. I took our medium friend, Alicia Peters, back to the museum to check out their ghosts. I thought that might help. But we didn’t get anything new, at least not from those spirits. A total dead end—no pun intended.”
Baxter squirmed, and I figured he was getting too warm, although he didn’t go far. He hates to not be the center of attention. I rustled his white fur, and he brazenly rolled over to have his tummy rubbed.
“Maybe the ghosts at the museum have something in common with the ones at the funeral home,” Kell suggested. “Maybe they can sense something going on, and they’re trying to warn you.”
I thought back to what Mrs. Teller had said, and how people were lining up to buy Hoodoo protections. “That would make sense,” I said. “Maybe it’s worth making the rounds of all my favorite botanicas and New Age supply stores and seeing what the gossip is. I could use some more copal incense, sage, and High John the Conqueror root.”
We didn’t use a lot of special objects, despite the fact that we banished unruly ghosts, fought vampires and shifters, and dispatched the occasional demon back to Hell. Then again, we buy salt by the fifty-pound bag, and we keep a good stash of the more versatile gems, metals, plants, and roots on hand, because when we need something, it’s often in the middle of the night when the shops aren’t open. The stores I favor aren’t the ones that look like Halloween all year round for the tourists. I go to the little shops that aren’t in the fanciest part of town, where the owners and the shoppers have a spark of something extra, and we all know that magic is serious business.
“Probably a good idea. I’ll hit up my regulars, and see what’s being said on the other paranormal investigation sites,” Kell said. “Discretely, I promise.”
I stretched up to kiss him. He kissed back, and my heart skipped a beat. “We’re still on for dinner with Teag and Anthony tomorrow night?”
“You mean, later today?” he joked. I glanced at the clock and realized how late—or early—it was. “Yes. Looking forward to it.” Kell stretched and sat up, dislodging both Baxter and me from our comfy spot. “Come on. We should get some sleep. The ghosts will have to look after themselves for the rest of the night.”
The next morning, I got to the shop before it was time to open, and found Teag already at work on his laptop in the break room. “Did you make it home before Anthony last night?” I asked, pleased to find the coffee pot already full and hot. I poured myself a cup, noting that it looked like Teag had already drunk a few rounds of java himself.
“Barely,” he replied, not looking up from his screen. “But I did get into the shower and managed to shove my clothes in the washer before he could ask about the bloodstains. Lawyers are funny about those kinds of things.”
“I bet.” After I fixed my coffee, I came around to look over his shoulder. “What’s up?”
Teag sat back and angled the screen so I could see it better. “Sorren left a list of names from the dug-out graves for me, and Father Anne sent me her info. I’ve been looking them up. And big surprise—there’s a connection, but damned if I know what it means.”
“Let me guess. They are all either from families featured in the museum and Archive exhibits, or they were extremely involved in those kinds of hunting sports.”
“Got it in one,” Teag replied with a sigh. He chugged his coffee and blinked hard a few times as if his eyes were bleary from the screen. “And here’s one other little tidbit. All of them died as a result of their ‘hobbies.’”
My eyebrows rose. “Really? So Alistair was right about all those gentry sports being dangerous?”
He shrugged. “Even the carriage rides downtown have a waiver on their tickets about the ‘inherent dangers of equine activities.’ People fall off horses or get trampled. Guns go off and hit the wrong target. Fishermen drown. Maybe it’s karma for hunting Bambi. Things like horse racing or jumping hurdles is even more dangerous. I guess that’s part of the attraction.”
I pulled up a chair to get a closer look at the screen. “Was there talk that those deaths weren’t accidental?”
“Are you looking for murder, or something supernatural, or both?” he asked.
“Not sure. Right now, we need to find out what the connection is. We know the stuff that’s been going on is not random.”
He agreed. “I’ve already looked to see if the deaths came in cycles—or waves—and there’s no pattern that I can see.”
I glugged down my coffee and poured another cup. The bell jangled, and Maggie let herself in. “Good morning!” She greeted, far more cheery than anyone has a right to be this early. Let it be said that I am not a morning person, so skulking around in the wee hours suits me far better than being up at the crack of dawn like normal people.
“G’morning,” I managed, doing my best to fake enthusiasm. Maggie’s known me long enough to recognize that I wasn’t caffeinated enough yet.
“We’ve got a beautiful day today, so hopefully, that means a busy shop.” Maggie stashed her purse and shawl in my office, grabbed a cup of coffee, and headed up front. I joined her, leaving Teag to his research. Together, Maggie and I chit-chatted as we pulled out the jewelry from the safe and put the trays in the glass display cases.
Most of our inventory is too big to lock away each night. Silver candelabra, heavy tea sets, lamps, and clocks, and odd pieces of furniture too bulky and awkward to steal. But in theory, at least, a thief could smash the window and break into a display case and grab a handful of jewelry if we didn’t keep the little pieces locked up. We go through the motions to keep the insurance company happy, but the truth is, no regular thief is going to make it through the layers of magical wardings laid down on the shop over nearly four centuries.
Maggie’s prediction proved true; the good weather brought out shoppers in droves. Fortunately the crabby opal lady didn’t come back, and for the most part, the customers played nicely with each other. Even so, the vibe felt off to me, like everyone was wound tight for no particular reason.
Trifles and Folly attracts an eclectic clientele. That’s putting it mildly. We get bargain hunters who quickly find out that while our prices are fair, we aren’t giving away stuff because it’s old. Collectors frequent the shop and tell their friends. Interior designers who specialize in historic restoration, funky B&Bs, or homeowners with a love of the past shop us or send us their wish lists.
Weekends—especially in the fall—bring out the antiquers, couples who love looking for the perfect piece to set off a room. Tourists get intrigued by the window display, wander in and wander out. Vintage jewelry buyers know that we not only have a beautiful selection, but the pieces always have a positive feel to them. And those in the know about supernatural things either stop by to talk shop, pass on a warning, or look for the more specialized relics and benign magical items we keep in the back.
Today seemed to belong mostly to the tourists, antiquers, and bargain hunters. Plenty of people walked in, took a look around, and walked out. Some of the shoppers had such a specific item in mind for the right spot that while I could offer alternatives, I didn’t have the perfect piece. That’s the trouble with antique stores—almost everything is one of a kind, and the things that aren’t can’t be stocked in bulk. Then again, Charleston has more than its share of antique shops to browse, so I felt confident they’d eventually discover something they could use. And the tourists? Bless their hearts.
I counted ourselves lucky that neither Alistair nor Mrs. Morrissey called with a new crisis. Neither did Father Anne, which either meant that the dead had taken a break from rising, or they were waiting until after dark.
The day passed quickly, and before I knew it, the last shopper headed out the door. Considering all the browsers who came and went, we still sold well, mostly small items like rings or necklaces. I totally understood that if you came to Charleston on a tour bus, taking back a hundred pound silver t
ea set might cause problems. That’s why I talked one lady into having us ship her treasure home for her.
“Want to join us for dinner, Maggie?” Teag asked as we cleaned up, locked the door, and switched the sign to “closed.” When all three of us put the jewelry back in the safe, we’re done in less than ten minutes.
“Thank you, but my neighbor’s cooking tonight, and I wouldn’t miss it,” she replied with a smile. “Thanks for asking.”
“You’re welcome to join us anytime,” I added.
Maggie laughed. “Truly, thank you. But she’s making one of my favorites tonight. Linguine with homemade puttanesca sauce.” Then she blushed. “She’s also inviting her friend. He’s also retired. And single.”
“Then, by all means, don’t let us keep you from a hot evening!” I said. She waved, and we both watched to make sure she got to her car all right, though tourists crowded the sidewalk and the gas street lamps were still bright enough to read by.
“God, I hope Anthony and I are half that frisky by the time we’re Maggie’s age,” Teag said, with a wistful expression.
“I can’t believe you used the word ‘frisky.’”
He grinned. “I can think of plenty of alternatives, but none of them are suitable for polite company.” We closed everything down and headed out the back door, locking up behind us. “See you and Kell at eight?”
“Count on it. We’re looking forward to a good meal and even better conversation,” I promised him as we got in our cars. “See you then.”
I went home, fed Baxter, and took him out in the garden, got a shower, and went through the mail. And all the while my mind churned through the weird stuff going on, trying to make sense of it. So far, no one had gotten killed—at least, that we knew of. But it’s never a good idea to ignore power that can raise the dead, and I had the feeling we hadn’t seen the main event yet. “Worried” didn’t begin to cover it.
Bax gave me his best puppy eyes to try to guilt me into staying home. He’s persuasive, but I figured that since Kell and I would be coming back here after dinner, Baxter wasn’t suffering too much—especially when I knew we’d both slip him some leftovers.
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