Never Say Sever in Deadwood

by Ann Charles

  Doc leaned his elbows on the table, focusing on Cooper. “Did you detect aggression in the ghosts at any time while you were in the room with them?”

  “Aggression?” Cooper absently scratched at the table. “No, I’d say they were curious more than anything else. Especially so when it came to Parker.”

  I froze with the last half of my biscuit held partway to my mouth. “What do you mean when it came to me?”

  “I didn’t want to tell you while we were in there, but I think two of the inmates took a shine to you.”

  Harvey chuckled, crunching on a mouthful of pretzels. “Sparky has a way of making an ol’ rooster’s comb stand up real straight.”

  “Cock-a-doodle doo,” Doc said and kissed my temple.

  Aunt Zoe laughed, shaking her head.

  “So, were they checking out Sparky’s breedin’ hips?”

  Cooper’s face pinched, like he’d bitten into a grapefruit.

  “What’s with that face?” I set the biscuit down. “What were they doing, Cooper?” I remembered a look he had on his face at one point while talking to me in the jail room, making me wonder at the time if one of the ghosts was standing right behind me.

  “One seemed to have a fascination with your hair. He kept trying to run his fingers through it.”

  I touched my curls, grimacing. “Please tell me it wasn’t a prisoner that was burned.”

  He grimaced. “Sorry.”

  Oh God. I shuddered. It reminded me of Wolfgang Hessler and his morbid fascination with my hair.

  “Great!” I threw up my hands. “Now I’m going to have to shave it all off.”

  “Or not,” Doc said, wrapping a curl around his finger and tugging playfully.

  “What was the other ghost doing?” Aunt Zoe asked.

  Cornelius stopped stirring his ice cream and looked up at Cooper, eyebrows raised.

  “Kissing her.”

  I gasped. “He was not!”

  “That might explain the moaning sounds I was hearing at that time,” Cornelius said, taking a slurp of his ice cream.

  Natalie’s horrified expression mirrored my own feelings.

  Cooper shrugged. “I know what I saw.”

  “Kissing her what?” Harvey asked with a big fat grin.

  I fell back in my chair. “Please tell me it was just my cheek.”

  “Okay, sure.” Cooper was fighting to hold back a laugh, I could tell. “It was just your cheek.”

  “Was he trying to give her the tongue?” Natalie asked, now obviously stifling some giggles.

  “Not in the normal way.”

  I made a loud, keening sound of my own.

  “This ghost was into licking,” Cooper explained.

  I fake-gagged and buried my face in Doc’s shoulder. His body shook with laughter as he rubbed my back, trying to console me.

  “Violet, you couldn’t feel any cold sensations or anything when this was happening?” Natalie asked.

  I sat back upright, still gagging on the inside. “Not a thing.” I grabbed my beer and took a long swig of the coffee-flavored stout to wash all of this grossness down. I hoped like hell the licker wasn’t the ghost who had an eye dangling. Wait, that had been a guard, hadn’t it?

  “Your inability to sense ghosts is a good thing in this case,” Doc said, squeezing my leg under the table. “Imagine the nightmares you’d have if you could see what Cooper does.”

  Cooper shook his head, sobering.

  If I could see the ghosts, I’d certainly be more open than he was to trying some of Cornelius’s salt experiments.

  “Where do you think the banshee came from?” Aunt Zoe asked, focusing on Cornelius this time.

  Cornelius crumbled one of his cookies into his bowl of ice cream before answering her. “If my memory of Irish mythology serves me correctly, banshees were originally thought to only show up when members of certain well-known families died. However, which families in particular changes depending on who is telling the story. Being we now know that Mr. Ewart died tonight, it is most likely that his death had something to do with her appearance.”

  “Ewart is an Irish name?” Natalie asked, scribbling something on the paper she’d brought from the other room.

  “It sounds kind of Irish,” Aunt Zoe said. “Or Scottish.”

  “According to Cooper,” I told them, “the docent was wearing a green clover pin on his green suit.” Which was why he’d initially called the docent a leprechaun when we were down in the basement. Damn, Cooper’s eagle eyes worked even when he was plastered.

  “But the banshee couldn’t have just appeared out of nowhere, could she?” Aunt Zoe asked, looking at me. “Maybe there is a gate between realms in that old jail, like those patrolled by Timekeepers.”

  I considered that, knowing what I did about Timekeeping, which wasn’t much. “If so, that means there is a clock for her, being that she’s considered a ‘traveler’ in Timekeeper lingo.”

  Cornelius scooped up a chunk of cookie and ate it before saying, “There is also the possibility that a vortex of some sort created by a past mystical event opened a doorway for her to appear.”

  “Vortex?” Harvey asked. “You mean like the tornado Pecos Bill travels around on?”

  “I’m referring to the energy fields in the earth’s grid systems and the intersecting ley lines that produce a hot spot of energy.”

  “In English, Curion,” Cooper ordered.

  “These intersections produce different effects when it comes to psychic-related activities, several of which are focused along the lines of spiritual healing. However, many psychics believe that vortices are portals to other realms or doorways into other dimensions.”

  “Swirling masses of electromagnetic energy that pull beings into our realm,” Doc added, resting his arm over the back of my chair. “Such as a banshee.”

  “Speaking of swirlin’ occasions,” Harvey said, rising from his chair. “I need to go take a leak.”

  Cornelius nodded. “Another interesting facet about tonight’s events is that traditionally in Irish mythology, a banshee does not harm anyone. She merely keens in sadness for the person who is about to die.”

  “Why is that interesting?” I asked, finishing the last bite of my biscuit, which had gone cold.

  “Because she seemed determined to sink her claws into the two of us tonight—but especially you. And while I’m no expert on mythological fairies, I’ve not once come across a tale about a banshee attacking anyone. So what makes you special, Violet?”

  Cooper smirked. “Parker has a way of causing friction with all sorts of pains in the asses. Just ask Hawke.”

  I smirked back. “Doc, the next time I take Cooper with me to another realm, do me a favor and remind me to leave him there.”

  Doc picked up his beer and pointed it at Cornelius. “You know, I’ve been wondering about that same thing, Curion. Why did she go after you and Violet?”

  “Did you come up with an answer?” Aunt Zoe asked.

  “Possibly.” He took a sip from the bottle before continuing. “Maybe the banshee focused on you two in particular because she really wanted to deliver her message about the docent’s impending death. I suppose it’s even possible she could sense that Cornelius had the ability to hear her, and that Violet, being a physical medium, could apport her from the spirit world into ours so that Mr. Ewart might be able to actually hear her wails. Both of you could aid her in carrying out her duties of foretelling his death.”

  “Poor Mr. Ewart,” Natalie said. “He was such a cute little guy.”

  “I thought banshees were Scottish, too,” Aunt Zoe said.

  Cornelius nodded. “Actually, there are stories about other beings much like banshees in Norse, Welsh, and a few other cultures. But the banshee is one of the superstars of Irish mythology. Their origins come from the practice of hiring a talented woman singer to come keen at a funeral. The better the keener, the higher the status of the person who died. Of course, the most important families were sa
id to pay the best keeners in the land to show up at the grave of their loved one in order to wail through the night. From that, the banshee myth was born. The fact that many of these keeners were paid in alcohol probably didn’t help the banshee’s reputation over time, especially when the women eventually became haggard drunkards and were banished from their villages.”

  Aunt Zoe tapped her pencil on her notebook. “That would explain where the idea for an old, wrinkled version of the banshee comes from.”

  Harvey returned from the restroom. “What did I miss?” he asked Natalie, sitting back into his chair.

  “Banshee History 101. I’ll give you the abbreviated version later.”

  “The stories take different avenues from there,” Cornelius continued between bites of cookie. “Some say banshees only showed up for those about to die a violent death. Others talk of the keening only happening at night. And yet others say the banshee would take the form of witchcraft-related animals, like weasels or crows.”

  Dominick Masterson’s words the other day about the truth behind a creature’s origins and facts being changed over time came to mind.

  Cornelius shrugged. “Some describe banshees as ugly, old haggard women. Others say they are beautiful, like sirens.”

  I raised my hand. “Beautiful was my experience.”

  “You do have to keep in mind that the Irish are known for their love of alcohol, so these stories can be wildly varied. However, one common trait is the banshee’s haunting wail.”

  Aunt Zoe leaned back, her mouth pursed in thought. I wondered what all of this was adding up to in her head.

  I looked at Harvey. “Did you happen to figure out where the door key was for the escape game?”

  “I found a safe behind that framed black-and-white picture of the old jail on the wall when I was foolin’ around in there waitin’ for you guys, but it had a four-digit combination lock on it. As soon as the paramedics came bustin’ through that door between the kitchen and the sheriff’s office, scarin’ the livin’ daylights out of me, the game was over.”

  “I think I know the code for that lock,” Natalie said, sliding the paper she’d been writing on my way. “That clue of Doc’s shows a sequence for the colored rubber duckies. Remember how the ducks had different reward amounts listed under their names?”

  I nodded, staring at what looked like a complex math problem scribbled on the paper.

  “I bet if you take the first number of each reward amount and put it in the order of the colors listed on Doc’s clue, it’s the combo.” She smiled. “Or something like that. We’d have to go back there to try it out.”

  “No way in hell is that happening,” Cooper said.

  “Nope. Never again. Playing the banshee version of the escape room is a once in a lifetime deal for me.” I slid the paper back. “I vote we consider your answer right and call it good. Well done, you.” I raised my bottle of beer to her and then finished it off.

  “Violet,” Aunt Zoe said, rejoining the conversation. “You didn’t actually execute the banshee, did you?”

  I set the bottle back on the table. “Nope. She was still shrieking when Cornelius reached into the dark and pulled me back out.” I should have known those bony fingers were his.

  Aunt Zoe frowned and then made a note in her book.

  “When you say go ‘into the dark,’ ” Natalie said, “you mean only in your mind, right?”

  I nodded.

  Officially, I’d not actually left my body during the experience. Neither had Cooper, for that matter. We’d been physically in that jail room the whole time. Even though I was a physical medium, I’d somehow taken him along for the ride only in my head. Unfortunately, I’d also taken the banshee. Lucky for us, she was more of a phantom fairy than flesh and blood, so there was no actual body to leave behind.

  Earlier, as in shortly after we’d arrived back from Spearfish and settled in here at the kitchen table, I’d told everyone what had happened after I’d panicked and accidentally taken Cooper with me into the dark. When I’d asked Doc why the banshee hadn’t been in that bright version of the jail room with Cooper and me, he’d told me he didn’t know.

  He’d gone on to explain to us that when Cooper had separated from me in the dark version of the jail to look out that square window in the door while I was messing around with the banshee, Doc had been able to pinpoint the source of Cooper’s “energy.” He had then opened the steel door and pulled him out of there.

  I, on the other hand, was not so easy to find, even though we were in the same place. Doc couldn’t “see” me due to the blast of energy flowing from me, frying his mental radar. Apparently, screeching alongside the banshee like a pair of baby birds hadn’t helped my cause any.

  However, Doc was able to find and open the same door he had for Cooper with the hopes that I’d try to follow in his footsteps. That was why the door handle worked when I fell to my knees and the door pulled open for me, which allowed me to slip outside and close the banshee in on the other side. After I’d settled down outside of the room and focused my thoughts on the candle again, Doc found me and sent Cornelius in after me.

  By that time, the emergency situation with the docent had grown into a worrying problem as medics and a fire crew arrived on scene and wanted to know how many of us were in the mansion. Since Natalie had hid the registration paperwork sitting on the desk in the foyer before anyone could see it, they had no way of knowing we were in the jail. Harvey distracted everyone while Natalie raced up and got Doc, leaving Cornelius and Cooper the task of getting me back up on my feet.

  “You might need to return to that jail again, Violet,” Aunt Zoe said, bringing me back to the present with a jolt.

  “Why?”

  “You left that banshee locked away in another realm.”

  Yeah, but … “Do you think I interfered with some process that will keep Mr. Ewart from finding eternal peace?”

  Meaning that if Cooper returned to the mansion again, he’d find the old docent’s ghost roaming around, looking for clues to escape the place along with other paying guests? The idea of that tugged on my heartstrings.

  “Maybe.” Aunt Zoe tossed her pen down on the table. “But you can’t leave that banshee locked up like that. If she figures out how to escape, or someone else opens that door by accident, there’s a good chance she’s going to find you and come calling. And when she does, she’ll do a hell of a lot more than scream at you.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Saturday, January 19th

  Someone was screaming at me.

  I sat up in bed with a gasp, blinking the blur of sleep from my eyes as I scanned my dark room. Who’d been screa …

  No, wait, it was just my phone. Someone was calling me.

  I looked down at the bed beside me. It was empty. I thought Doc said he was going to hang out at home this morning and maybe head to the Rec Center later.

  What time was it?

  Too damned early if it’s still dark, that’s what time it is.

  My phone was still ringing.

  I leaned over and turned on the lamp on my nightstand.

  There were two cookies sitting on top of my phone.

  I’d forgotten that I’d set them down there before crawling into bed. I smiled and grabbed one, gobbling down the sweet, soft morsel. Chocolate chips, butterscotch bits, and toffee pieces. Yum! I should keep cookies by my bed more often.

  Last night, I’d had big plans on sharing a midnight snack with Doc, and maybe another stimulating treat or two before falling asleep. But Doc had pulled me close under the covers and started rubbing my back, whispering sweet nothings in the dark about how much he liked my smooth skin and soft biscuits. Or had he said “soft tidbits”?

  I must have dozed off about then because I didn’t remember much after he started petting me. Not even any dreams.

  The phone rang again.

  Damn. It was relentless this morning. Cooper must be on the other end of the line, barking at the end of his
chain.

  I picked the phone up along with the other cookie and looked at the screen. Zelda Britton’s name showed, but I knew better. Zelda would have better manners than to call me before dawn, which meant Prudence the ghost had put her up to this wakeup call.

  “Nope. Too early,” I told Prudence. I took a bite of the cookie and sent the call to voicemail before setting the phone back on my nightstand facedown. The world could wait another hour for this Scharfrichter to roll out of bed and start kicking some ass. I chuckled at how cocky that sounded and brushed the crumbs from my lips.

  “Who was that?” Doc asked from the doorway. He had a towel draped around his neck and a pair of cotton pajama pants settled low on his hips.

  Oh, good. A cookie and a freshly cleaned stud. My birthday had come early. Now if we only had some honey butter.

  “Prudence,” I told him and took another bite of the cookie while ogling his eye candy. “She has Zelda calling me, but she can wait. I’m busy.”

  He closed the bedroom door behind him and leaned back against it, watching me chew with a hooded gaze.

  Or maybe it was the dim lighting making him look tall, dark, and hungry.

  Or was he staring at my cookie that way? I tucked the cookie closer to my chest, protecting it.

  “Is that one of your aunt’s homemade cookies?” he asked in a deep, velvety voice.

  I nodded, slowly lifting it to my lips. “I’d offer you a bite, but it’s really yummy.”

  He shot from the door in a blink, diving onto the bed and barreling into me. Before I could catch my breath, he had me pinned under him flat on my back as he straddled my hips.

  Holding the last half of my cookie out of reach, he loomed over me. “Got it.” A victory grin rounded his cheeks. He lifted the cookie toward his lips.

  “That’s mine, cookie crook.” I wiggled my arm free enough to grab his wrist and tug the cookie my way. I leaned up, opening my mouth.

  He laughed, letting the morsel brush my lips, but then tightened his bicep, pulling the cookie away.