Nothing about Sorren’s appearance would make someone wonder whether he was undead, although someone might question whether he was out of graduate school. He looks about my age since he was turned in his twenties, but that was back in 1465. Tonight he was wearing a hoodie over a t-shirt, jeans, and sneakers that when combined with his dark blond hair and boy-next-door looks let him blend in. As with the cell phone and email, Sorren adjusts well to the times.
I filled him in on what had happened and what we knew thus far. He listened with a serious expression, which was never a good sign.
“I remember the Wellright incident,” Sorren said. One of the curses of immortality, he had told me once, was that immortals never forgot anything. Forgetfulness, he had told me, was an underrated blessing. “There was an outbreak of Yellow Fever that year, but many people who died didn’t die of the fever.”
“Let me guess,” I said. “Some bad vampires came to town.”
Sorren nodded. “They came in with one of the pirate ships from the Caribbean. By the time the ship made port, a third of the crew had died. The vampires had altered the memories of the others enough that they didn’t seem to notice.”
He was looking past me, not really at me as if seeing those long-ago days. “When they got to Charleston and realized there was a plague in town, they decided to make the most of it.”
“The epidemic hid the killing spree,” I said, feeling nauseated. “People were dying left and right, and it was easy to hide the bodies.”
“No one wanted to handle the corpses. They didn’t know the fever spread from mosquitoes, and they were terrified of contagion,” Sorren recalled, a note of sadness in his voice. “If the bites were carefully placed, they could easily be overlooked. Many of the dead were just dumped into mass graves.”
I shivered. “What stopped the vampires?”
“I did.” Something in his face looked harder, much older. Most people can’t meet a vampire’s gaze without being glamored, put under a compulsion that makes them do the vampire’s will. Maybe it’s my magic, or maybe it’s the old bond between Sorren and my ancestors, but glamoring doesn’t work on me. I met his gaze then, and I saw the centuries filled with losses and compromises and sorrow.
“Then how did one of them come back?”
Sorren grimaced. “We destroyed one of the vampires, body and soul. I thought the other destroyed as well. Apparently, I was wrong.”
“Who were they? The vampires you fought.” Teag asked.
“Betienne and Renya had been thieves in Haiti back when the French-controlled part of the territory,” Sorren replied. “They were turned sometime in the late 1600s. Eventually, they decided to find a larger hunting ground. So they came to Charleston.”
“How did you defeat them?” It still blew my mind that Sorren could reminisce about things that had happened three centuries ago. On a few occasions, Teag and I have gotten him talking about the old days, and hearing about history from someone who was actually there is very different from what’s in those boring textbooks.
“I didn’t do it alone,” Sorren said. “Your ancestor—another Evann—helped me. So did Mama Nadege. She was a powerful Voudon mambo, even then.” I had heard him talk about Mama Nadege many times. And it made me think about what Alistair had told me, that even some of the gentry secretly used Voudon amulets to protect against dark forces.
“What do you know about St. Roch’s?”
Sorren frowned. “It was built as a plague church, to bury the dead without endangering the living. The rector there was a very good man. Father Conroy. Anglican priest. He was part of the Alliance, and he helped Evann and me on more than one occasion.”
A vampire, a Voodoo mambo, and an Anglican priest walk into a bar… I made myself focus on the serious business at hand, and left the matter of unlikely partnerships for another time.
“This is what we found in the crypt,” I said, and Teag withdrew the wooden box from his bag. He set it on the coffee table between us, and carefully opened the lid. Inside, something was wrapped in a long piece of old, stained purple cloth.
Teag touched the cloth and let his Weaver magic stretch out to gather its secrets. “Not just cloth,” he murmured. “Consecrated. A priest’s stole.” He paused, then went on to describe the stole’s last wearer, someone who resembled the man I had seen in the vision at the crypt. “Is that your Father Conroy?”
“I’m certain that it is,” Sorren said. “And that means I’m also sure what you’ll find wrapped in that stole. You’ll have to be the one to handle it. I can’t, and Cassidy shouldn’t.”
Reverently, Teag unwrapped the layers. The stole was long enough for a priest to drape it around his neck like a scarf, reaching nearly to the hem of his cassock. Though the cloth was faded and stained, I could still make out the careful embroidery that marked both ends, and the fragile silk fringe. “Purple,” I murmured. “For funerals.” Underneath all the layers lay a knife with a long, steel blade and a bone handle carved with runes. Even without touching it, I could sense its power to destroy.
“Father Conroy hid a powerful weapon in the basement of the church,” Sorren said. “A knife that could destroy a vampire’s soul as well as the body. He used that knife to destroy Betienne.” He shivered. “For obvious reasons, the knife must be wielded by a mortal.”
“I saw Father Conroy in my vision,” I said. “And there was another woman. With dark skin dressed in white.”
“That was Mama Nadege,” Sorren said.
“How did you get a Catholic priest to work with a vampire and a mambo?” Teag asked.
Sorren chuckled. “Father Conroy was Anglican, not Roman Catholic,” he said. “And although the hierarchies don’t acknowledge it, throughout the centuries people on the front lines are more practical than dogmatic.”
“Strange bedfellows,” I quoted.
“Indeed,” Sorren said. “Father Conroy was a member of the Expeditus Society, a secret group within the Anglican clergy who fight dark supernatural forces. They have long been allies of the Alliance.”
“And he was okay working with a mambo?” I mused.
Sorren smiled. “In the islands, the slaves took the names of Christian Saints for their Loas, their Voudon gods, so that they could blend both traditions and escape punishment from their masters. Saint Expeditus corresponds to a powerful Loa, Baron Samedi.” I recognized that name. Baron Samedi was the Loa of the dead, the protector against curses.
“So Betienne isn’t our problem,” Teag mused.
Sorren shook his head. “No. It’s Renya we need to worry about. Father Conroy and Mama Nadege had their hands full with Betienne. I took on Renya. In the battle, Father Conroy destroyed Betienne with that knife, but his injuries cost him his life. I badly damaged Renya, but he must have managed to escape.”
“The thing that attacked me at the new Wellright mansion and at the crypt was a ghost,” I said. “That squares with the attacks on Ryan’s people as well.” I frowned. “The ghost drains all the energy from whoever it touches. Could we be dealing with a vampire’s ghost?”
“Unusual but possible,” Sorren replied. “It’s possible that the damage I did to Renya was fatal after all,” Sorren said. “It destroyed his body, but he was able to tether his soul here. As a Conjure, he may have been able to work a spell to keep himself from passing on. It’s not impossible for vampires to become ghosts, but it’s very rare.”
Sorren looked concerned. “Renya was Betienne’s maker, and he was quite loyal to her. His grief at her destruction—and his fury with me—may have been enough to bind his soul to Charleston, waiting for a chance at revenge.”
“I felt as if something was draining all of my energy,” I recounted. “It took my body heat, my will, my strength. Kurt felt the same thing, and Ryan said it also happened to one of his exploration crew.”
Sorren nodded. “Renya would still be a vampire of sorts, even without a body or a thirst for blood. As a spirit, he needs to drain energy in order to keep
from passing over. I suspect he has been gaining power, a little at a time, for a while now. Waiting for something to shift the balance in his favor and let him avenge his Betienne.”
“Something like having the old graves disturbed?”
“Violating the graves would have weakened the spells we laid on them,” he replied. “Mama Nadege placed binding spells on the graves of the victims, and other magic to dampen any remaining power. Both on the grounds and at St. Roch.”
As we had been talking, Teag had logged into my laptop. He let out a low whistle. “I think we got very lucky,” he said. “There’ve been killings at the construction site by the old Wellright place. Five workers dead. All of them working a night shift, and not a mark on any of the bodies.”
“You’ve likely aroused his anger. Using my talisman brought the memories to the fore and showed him that you were in league with those who took his Betienne,” Sorren replied. “He needed energy to replenish. And he will strike again.”
“How is the developer explaining the deaths to the media?” I asked.
Teag shook his head. “It’s not public. I hacked into the police files.”
“What next?” I asked.
Sorren met my gaze. “We go see Mama Nadege.”
Charleston is an old city. Unless they burned down or fell down in the earthquake, most things built in Charleston are still here, especially from the old days. Tourists love to see the historic homes, the streets and alleys that look just like they did several hundred years ago. But those same old houses and alleyways anchor the past in other ways that aren’t always pleasant. Restless spirits and unhappy memories are tied to those buildings and byways.
Some folks call this anchoring a “stone tape”—the idea that the energy, memories, emotions, and even spirits made an indelible impression that never gets erased. Maybe. That might account for the visions I get from objects that I touch. Maybe I’m a better than average psychic DVD player for left-over drama. It might even explain the ghosts that seem to “loop” a particular action over and over again. What it doesn’t neatly explain are the ghosts who interact with the living, either for good or bad. I don’t have an explanation for those kinds of spirits. I just know they’re real.
After dark, only the main streets are still bustling with people in Charleston. After midnight, that traffic has slowed to a trickle except near the most popular nightspots. Side streets and narrow alleys are dark and quiet. People in this town have as much reason to be wary of the dead as they do the living, so they stick to the bright lights. Normally, I do too. But with Teag beside me and Sorren leading the way, I almost felt safe as we headed down a winding, cramped passageway where slave cabins had once stood. Almost—but not quite.
“Sorren,” a man’s voice said from the shadows. “It’s been a long time.”
Teag fell into a defensive stance, and I reached for the packet of salt in my pocket, but we both relaxed when a muscular young man who was very much alive stepped into the light. His hair was cut close to his head, and he had dark skin and black eyes. The man’s deep voice had an island’s lilt to it. And even without touching him, I felt a buzzing sensation that told me he had his own type of powerful magic.
“Good to see you, Caliel.” Sorren turned from the newcomer back to Teag and me. “This is Caliel. He’s a descendant of Mama Nadege—and a gifted medium.” He looked to Caliel. “I’d like you to meet Cassidy and Teag. They run the shop now.”
Caliel’s laugh was deep and musical. “Always, Sorren has his partners with the shop. A long, long time he’s been here. We do business together, Sorren and me.” He met my gaze. “Just like Sorren works with your family a long time, mine too. We have history.”
“Thank you for coming,” Sorren said.
“I see your name on my phone, I pick it up,” Caliel replied, chuckling. “I know if you call me, trouble’s comin’. I talk to you first; maybe I see it before it sees me.”
“I need your help,” Sorren said, and Caliel grew serious. “Something evil that Mama Nadege and I fought a long time ago has returned.” He gave a terse explanation, and Caliel let out a low whistle.
“When you bring trouble, you don’t go halfway,” he said, shaking his head. “All right. I’m in.”
Sorren looked to Teag and me. “Caliel can not only channel Mama Nadege’s spirit, he is also a houngan asagwe, a Voudon high priest.”
“I know all the right spirits,” Caliel said with a chuckle. “Come with me.”
We followed Caliel down the narrow street, into the shadows. The air was thick with the smell of gardenia and honeysuckle, heavy with humidity. At the back of the dead-end alley, Caliel stopped and bowed his head. “Mama Nadege,” Caliel murmured quietly. “We’ve come to see you. I need your help.”
We were far enough in from the main street that the light behind us seemed dim and shadows from the neighboring buildings loomed over the narrow walkway. I should have felt safe with a martial arts expert and a vampire, but I didn’t. I could feel the power in this place. My magic reads objects, and even without touching the old brick walls around me, I could sense the press of memories, sadness, and pain. The impressions carried the weight of bondage and rage, hopelessness, and desire.
“Mama Nadege.” Caliel repeated the name, a little louder this time. He placed a smooth black stone on the cobblestones at his feet. I could see the intricate pattern of lines that had been scratched on the stone, and recognized it as a veve, a mark of one of the Voudon Loas or guardian spirits. I recognized that veve. It belonged to Papa Legba, the Loa who opened and closed the gateway to the spirit world.
The air around us became colder than a walk-in freezer. Nothing outdoors in Charleston is that cold in the middle of summer. I felt powerful magic stirring around me. And while I’m not a medium, and seeing ghosts isn’t my special gift, the resonance from the walls around me and the stones under my feet opened my magic to sense the coming of spirits.
I smelled a whiff of pipe smoke and heard the distant barking of a dog, and I knew that both were associated with Papa Legba. I blinked, and then I saw her, Mama Nadege. She was a big woman in a white, loose gown. Her hair was tied up in a kerchief, and her skin was as black as the night and eyes dark as drowning pools. She looked straight at us, and I knew her image was no stone tape.
“It’s been a while, Sorren.” It was Caliel who spoke, but the voice that issued from his mouth was not the deep, rich baritone of a few moments before. Mama Nadege’s image faded, and Caliel’s stance shifted, becoming entirely different. Part of Voudon priesthood requires allowing the Loas to speak through the priest or priestess, even possess their body during a ceremony. He would be used to sharing himself with the spirit world, so having his ancestor speak through him wouldn’t be that unusual. Caliel stood in front of me, but I knew that Mama Nadege had returned.
“Renya is back,” Sorren said. Mama Nadege, speaking through Caliel, spat out a string of curses in a patois I didn’t understand. I didn’t need to speak the language. I got the gist.
“I thought we killed that bloodsucker good,” Mama Nadege replied. Her accent was thick as cane syrup, heavy with the tones and pacing of the islands, tenor to Caliel’s normal baritone.
“We did,” Sorren said. “It’s his ghost this time.”
Mama Nadege gave a laugh that made me shiver. “Then you got your work cut out for you, uh huh. But there is a way to do it.” She paused. “Who you got with you now, Sorren?”
Sorren introduced Teag and me and told Mama about my touch magic and Teag’s Weaver gift.
“Then we got what we need to face down Renya,” Mama replied. “But it sure would help if we had that priest with us.”
“Father Conroy died a long time ago,” Sorren said. “But I have a resource with those skills.”
“You bring him with you,” Mama said in a tone that was used to being obeyed. “Caliel and I will make preparations. My spirit can travel with him for a while. We’ll handle Renya’s magic. Your people c
an help,” she said with a nod of Caliel’s head. “You attack, and let the priest use that knife.”
“Tomorrow night,” Sorren said. “We’ll meet you behind the old plantation house at sundown, near the well. We’ll fight Renya where we fought him before.”
“We’ll be there,” Mama said, chuckling. “And we’ll call the spirits to finish this thing.” Caliel’s lips spread in an unpleasant smile. “This time, we make sure he’s dead all the way.”
The next night, Teag and I were waiting at my house for Sorren to arrive. If we wanted to get to the Wellright place and trek back to the old well before dark, we needed to leave soon.
The bell rang, but it was the door to the sidewalk piazza entrance, not the front door. That meant someone who wasn’t authorized to get through Lucinda’s wardings. I looked out the window, expecting to see Sorren, so I was surprised when a woman with short auburn hair in a pompadour, dressed all in black. She toggled the intercom.
“Cassidy?” She said. “Sorren told me to meet him here. I’m Father Anne.”
It took me a moment before I noticed the clerical collar. “Come in,” I said, failing miserably to mask my surprise. “I’m sorry,” I said. “We were expecting a priest.” I opened the wardings for her, and welcomed her into the house.
She laughed. In the light, I guessed her age to be mid-thirties. Her simple hairstyle was stylish and classy, with a bit of an edge, especially for Charleston. Understated makeup gave her a sense of quiet authority, but a colorful tattoo on her left upper arm, just below her short sleeve, suggested independence. The black Doc Martens under her dark jeans gave me the feeling she was ready for tonight’s action.
“And a priest is what you got,” she replied. “I’m the Reverend Anne Burgett, assistant rector of St. Hildegard’s Episcopal Church. But most folks call me Father Anne.”
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