Trifles and Folly

by Gail Z. Martin

  I concentrated on what I felt from our surroundings. I wasn’t a medium or a clairvoyant, but when a location has this much pent-up mojo, it comes through the walls and the floor, too much to overlook. I could feel the Hoffman house’s age. Blurred images like a movie on fast-forward crossed my mind’s eye. So much life had filled this home over generations, love and loss and hope and pain. I felt the resonance of the Hoffmans’ lives in the walls and floorboards, but while it was bittersweet it was… very normal. No deep secrets or dark tragedies loomed in the house’s memories.

  But something was wrong. I picked up a jarring buzz, and whatever its source, it upset the longstanding equilibrium. The house had adapted to the rhythm of its residents’ lives, and that rhythm had been disturbed. That was not surprising, since the last Hoffman had died, the house was sold to strangers, and a parade of newcomers invaded its hallways. And yet… the more I tuned into the house’s resonance, the more clearly I sensed points of turbulence within its walls. I struggled and failed to hone in on those points, but I came away with the distinct impression that items new to the house had brought the supernatural unrest with them, and that the house itself was as much of victim of the bad mojo as the people who bore the brunt of the negative psychic energy.

  “Let’s keep moving.” Teag’s voice made me look behind us. The shadows had grown dark in the foyer, and they were stretching in our direction. I don’t like to tempt fate. Maybe they would just be shadows if they reached us—but maybe they wouldn’t.

  “Yeah,” Kell said, glancing toward the foyer. “This way.”

  We all picked up the pace, though no one had said to hurry. “Still pegging the meter,” Drew reported.

  “I hope this all records,” Calista said, watching her tablet as she walked.

  “I’m making out words now,” Drew said, and I noticed that he had paled. “They’re not friendly. They keep saying ‘get out’ and ‘go away’.”

  All of a sudden, the lights went out.

  Something cold touched my arm. A cold wind blew from the foyer to the back of the house with enough force to nearly knock me off my feet. Pebbles pelted like hail, larger and thrown with more force. Calista screamed, and Drew gave a yelp of pain and surprise. A crunch sounded as something hit the floor, hard.

  Kell’s people had flashlights at the ready, flooding our little circle with light. Calista’s cracked tablet lay on the floor. Drew cradled his left arm. His sleeve had been shredded, as if a clawed hand had taken a swipe at him. Pete cried out and ripped his earbud away as his instruments screeched.

  “Keep going,” Teag urged. Kell hurried his crew on down the hall, while Teag and I turned to face what was coming from the foyer. Shadows stretched toward us in way that weren’t explained by the light of our flashlights, and a gray female form had stepped out of the mirror and was heading our direction. Neither Teag nor I were looking for a fight; we just wanted to give the SPOOK people enough time to make it to the kitchen exit.

  I shook the dog collar on my left wrist, and the glowing ghostly form of a large, really angry dog manifested by my side. Bo’s ghost gave a low-throated growl and advanced a step in the direction of whatever had grabbed at me. Teag’s staff glowed at the top from a dozen woven rope strands into which he had poured stored power. I let my wooden spoon athame fall drop into my right hand.

  The gray woman swept toward us, arms outstretched, hands formed into claws, mouth unnaturally wide and toothsome. The too-dark shadows were right behind her. Teag and I moved in unison. I leveled my athame at the gray lady and let out a wide fan of cold-white force and Teag muttered words of power, pointed his staff toward the shadows, releasing a wave of energy. The gray lady’s image stopped as if frozen, and then dissipated, while the shadows were forced back. Bo’s ghost snapped and snarled, driving the shadows even further toward the foyer.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Teag murmured. Neither of us were about to turn our backs on where the apparitions had been, but we managed to catch up to where Kell and the others waited in the kitchen, with Bo’s ghost fading as we rejoined the group.

  “We’re almost out,” Kell said, but I could hear in his voice that the supernatural show had rattled him. Teag and Pete turned their flashlights behind us. Drew and Calista sent their beams ahead. “We’ve just got to get through the garden.”

  He unlocked the back door and sent the rest of us through, then paused long enough to lock up behind us. Tiny walkway lights illuminated the small garden, which had been groomed and landscaped to make the most of the small walled area. Boxwood hedges, crepe myrtles and a riot of perennial blooms would make for a beautiful setting in daylight. Now, they looked gray and ominous.

  “Something bad is out here,” I murmured. “Can you feel it?”

  Kell and Teag nodded. Calista was still swearing at her broken tablet, trying to coax it to turn on, while Pete and Drew were dealing with equipment that continued to register readings in the red zone. “Yeah,” Kell said. “Maybe we need to come back during the daytime.”

  We moved together in a close knot toward the gate. I kept my athame in hand, hidden by my sleeve, and Teag made sure his staff was ready if we were attacked. Although I was careful not to touch anything in the garden, the bad vibes were unmistakable. I felt as if we were moving through enemy territory, or maybe a jungle full of hungry, dangerous predators staying the shadows and ready to pounce.

  As we headed through the center of the garden, the feeling of being watched grew stronger. I focused my gift, trying to get some sense of where the danger was located. Two areas of the garden seemed to light up in my mind, and I got the image of a large cat and a winged fairy.

  “Hey!” Pete yelled, and began beating at the air around him. “Something just bit me!”

  From my left, I heard the growl of a cat.

  “Get out now!” Teag shouted, and while the others were focused on opening the gate, Teag leveled his staff again and sent out a warning blast of energy. The cat yowled in protest. Something buzzed past me, and Bo’s ghost leaped into the air, snapping its ghostly teeth at the apparition, which moved in a blur.

  A moment later we were all outside the gate, breathing hard and shaken by what we had seen. Kell locked the entrance, and in the glow of the streetlight, I could see that he was pale. “Now do you see why the Preservation Society is worried about doing tours?”

  “Oh my god. I’m bleeding,” Pete said. He withdrew his hand from his neck, and I could see a bloody wound that looked a lot like the scrape of small, sharp teeth.

  “I’ve got a first aid kit,” Teag said, and pulled a few items from his messenger bag. “I never leave home without it,” he said, forcing a smile. I knew that the ointment he put on the wound was a poultice from a friendly root worker, and that the bit of cloth gauze he placed on the wound beneath the Band-Aid was enhanced by his magic.

  “This is going to sound really strange, but are there sculptures in the garden?” I asked as we all tried to get our breath back.

  Kell gave me a sidelong look. “Yes, several. Brought in from various sources, and one or two original to the site.”

  “What are the new ones?” I asked.

  “There’s a fountain, which was part of the Hoffmans’ garden but needed to be repaired. Then there is a stone bench purchased new by the family trust in honor of the family. And then there’s a stalking leopard and a pixie, which were old pieces from elsewhere. Why?”

  I didn’t have the heart to tell Pete he had been bitten by a pixie, and I was glad we hadn’t had to tangle with the leopard. “I don’t know what your meters show, but my… sensitivity… cued in on the pixie and the leopard,” I said. “Can you ask your contacts at the Society where they got those?”

  Kell nodded. “Sure. They’re pretty desperate to get things to settle down. Do you think those pieces are what’s haunting the place?”

  I had a theory, but no proof. “I think it’s more than just those items,” I said slowly, “but I do believe they’re invo
lved. It might not be a bad idea to see if any of the materials used to remodel the house were also purchased from whatever source supplied the two statues,” I added. “It might be that the salvage store got a bad batch from a place that’s got a malicious haunting, and the pieces carried the taint with them.”

  “I’ve heard about that kind of thing,” Calista said. “But more with furniture and knick-knacks.”

  “I’ll let you know what I find out as soon as I can,” Kell promised. “If you two can help un-haunt the Hoffman house, the Society would be really grateful.”

  “We’ll do everything we can,” I said. Just then, Teag’s phone rang. He stepped away to answer, and returned looking grim.

  “That was from Alistair McKinnon,” Teag said. That got my attention right away. Alistair runs the Lowcountry Museum. It was very unusual to get a personal call from him, especially this late in the evening. “Mrs. Morrissey is in the hospital. She was attacked out at the Bethany Plantation.”

  Teag and I went straight to the hospital. Alistair met us in the lobby. “Thank you for coming,” he said. He looked haggard. “Betsy—Mrs. Morrison—was adamant about needing to talk to you, even though I assured her I would handle the Committee and any fundraiser issues while she recovers.”

  “What happened?” Teag asked as we walked with Alistair to the elevator.

  “The Bethany restoration is a pet project of Betsy’s. She’s been talking about it for years. So she’s been more hands-on than usual,” Alistair said. “She stopped in this afternoon to meet with one of the contractors, and he left her walking the garden while he went to get something from his truck. When he came back, she was on the ground.” He frowned, and I could see the worry in his eyes. Alistair and Mrs. Morrissey had been friends as well as colleagues for a long time, and moved in the same circles.

  “The contractor called me, and I notified the Archive and came here to meet the ambulance,” he continued as the elevator arrived and we stepped out. “She’s conscious, seems to be doing well, and is increasingly impatient with all the tests the doctors want to run.” He sighed. “I’ll let her tell you the rest.”

  “It’s after visiting hours,” I said. “Will the staff let us in?”

  Alistair gave a snort. “Who is going to say ‘no’ to Mrs. Benjamin Morrissey—at the hospital that is home to the Morrissey Outpatient Center?

  “Cassidy! Teag! Thank you for coming.” Mrs. Morrissey was sitting up in bed. She looked drawn, and there was an angry red bump on her forehead, but her hair was perfect and she was as dignified as if we were holding the meeting at her office.

  “How are you feeling?” I asked, genuinely worried.

  Mrs. Morrissey reached out a thin, veined hand to take mine and gave a squeeze. “I’m tougher than I look,” she whispered. “As the Board of Directors well knows!” She gestured for us to sit down.

  “Now before that pesky doctor comes back, I need you to do something for me,” she said, directing Alistair to watch the door with a nod of her head. “I need the two of you to figure out what’s going on at the Bethany Plantation. Because what attacked me out on the grounds wasn’t natural,” she added. She leaned closer and dropped her voice. “It was supernatural.”

  I started to protest, and she fixed me with a gimlet glare. “Don’t even try to deny it, Cassidy. You have a gift. And a responsibility,” she added with a knowing look. “I was a very good friend of your Uncle Evan. He trusted me with his secrets.”

  “What happened?” Teag asked.

  Mrs. Morrissey clasped her hands together in her lap. “The landscape architect went to get the plans for the lawn layout from his truck,” she said. “The house and grounds have been neglected for so long, that the beautiful formal gardens and lawns have all gotten badly overgrown, and the house is a wreck.”

  She sighed. “I’ve loved that old ruin for a long time. Always thought it was so romantic, hidden behind trees and vines, like something out of a novel. The reality is less glamorous. The project has had unexpected problems and hold-ups from the beginning, and higher expenses. That’s why a few months ago, when we did the initial clean-up, we tried to sell off anything that wasn’t historically important to raise some extra money.”

  “Let me guess—that’s when the spooky problems started,” Teag said.

  Mrs. Morrissey nodded. “Yes. Just little things at first, and to be honest, there isn’t a renovation project in Charleston that doesn’t chalk up some strange things to ghosts. But the more the work progressed, the bigger the problems, to the point where the crew chief today told me some of the equipment was sabotaged. And then, this happened,” she said, spreading her hands to indicate her situation.

  “The Bethany place had some scandals associated with it, didn’t it?” I asked, searching my memories. Scandals were nearly as common as ghosts when it came to old homes.

  “Plenty,” Mrs. Morrissey said. “That added to the glamour.” She reached up to rub her forehead with a rueful expression. “Now I’m beginning to think the scandals were more than rumor.”

  “Out of curiosity,” Teag said, “Did the Archive keep a list of who purchased the items that were sold off?”

  “I can tell you that without a list,” Mrs. Morrissey said. “Henderson Architectural Salvage.”

  Teag and I exchanged a glance. I was pretty sure we were on the same wavelength. Mrs. Morrissey didn’t seem to notice. “I think all the construction stirred something up that was resting uneasily,” she continued. “And if there’s a way to set it right, I’d like to see that happen so that no one else gets hurt.”

  I managed a smile. “I’ll see what we can do,” I said, unsure of what that would be. “Now we need to let you rest so you can get better.”

  Mrs. Morrissey waved her hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine with a good night’s sleep.”

  My phone went off as we walked to the car. “That’s Sorren,” I said, after a glance. “He’s waiting for us at the store—and he brought in some back-up on the gnome problem.”

  * * *

  SORREN WAS WAITING for us when we drove back to Trifles and Folly. He looks like he’s in his mid-twenties, though he’s really centuries older than that. Before he was turned, he was the best jewel thief in Belgium. For the last several hundred years, he’s been part of the Alliance, a coalition of mortals and immortals that get dangerous magical items off the market and out of the wrong hands. Trifles and Folly is just one of his locations around the world, which is why he’s often out of town.

  “I’m glad you messaged me about the gnome. This kind of magic is nothing to fool with,” Sorren said. I realized he wasn’t alone. Father Anne—Reverend Anne Burgett—was with him. She was wearing her usual black shirt with clerical collar, black jeans, and Doc Martens boots. The short-sleeved shirt revealed the elaborate color tattoo on her left arm of the patron saints of the St. Expeditius Society, a group of Anglican and Episcopalian priests dedicated to fighting malicious magic and supernatural threats.

  The vicious garden gnome was still in its cage, which sat on the break room table. There were several new dents and bulges in the steel wire, as if the gnome had lunged against its restraints. Some of the wires were dark with what looked like blood. But when I looked more closely, the statue’s appearance had changed. Its gray stone had lost its internal luster, and the expression was petulant, no longer scheming.

  “We found an old rite that warded off Fey,” Father Anne said, and the liquid in the glass she held looked more like bourbon than sweet tea. “The gnome statue imprisoned a Redcap, and whatever magic is afoot let the Redcap bring the gnome to life.” She shook her head. “That’s over now.”

  “I just got an email back from Kell,” Teag said. “The two problem garden pieces were purchased from Henderson Architectural Salvage, and so were a lot of other pieces in the Hoffman House.”

  I grimaced. “Want to bet at least some of those pieces were purchased from the Bethany Plantation sale?” We caught
Sorren and Father Anne up on what had happened on our tour with of the Hoffman House with Kell, and our visit to Mrs. Morrissey. Sorren’s expression darkened as we spoke.

  “The Bethany Plantation has had a history of trouble since the early days of Charleston,” he said. He would know, since he was present shortly after the city was founded, and started Trifles and Folly with my ancestor. “Rumor had it that either Charles Bethany or his wife, Matilda, were witches but they were wealthy and powerful enough no one dared move against them, even back then,” Sorren added.

  “If the gnome statue came from the plantation’s garden, then someone had considerable magic to do what was done,” Father Anne observed. “Redcaps are notoriously tough to beat.”

  “If the Bethanys were so bad, how did they avoid the Alliance all these years?” I asked.

  Sorren sat forward and clasped his hands in front of him on the table. “The Alliance doesn’t go looking for fights,” he said. “There’s too much evil in the world for us to take it all on. We go after the big threats, the most imminent danger, the situations likely to hurt the greatest number of people.” He looked down at his hands. “We can’t save them all, and we can’t stop all the dark magic,” he added softly, and I could hear in his voice the admission came at a price.

  “Charles Bethany and his descendants were smarter than most dark witches,” Sorren continued after a moment. “They didn’t get greedy. They never had grandiose dreams of taking over the city or destroying the world. They used their power to enrich and protect themselves, and kept the death and destruction to a minimum. We had bigger fish and more dire situations to deal with.”

  “What now?” Teag asked.

  Sorren raised his head and looked up at us. I could see the steel come into his sea-blue eyes. “Now, we go lay to rest whatever evil Charles Bethany raised.”

  Teag and I added a few more magical weapons to the large duffle bag we carried for times like these. Father Anne had a black motorcycle jacket reinforced with Kevlar and blessed with prayer and Holy Water. Sorren had his supernatural speed and strength. He made a call to Lucinda, a Voudon mambo, and she agreed to go with us. We headed out, just after midnight, and I could have sworn the caged gnome watched us leave with a malicious look in his eyes, as if he knew something we didn’t.