Southern Rites

by Stuart Jaffe

  Caught up in his own frustration, Max had missed the changes in the house from when he left. He now saw that his mother had gone upstairs while Sandra had dug into three dusty volumes. One, a large tome made of old parchment and small handwritten script, lay open on the ottoman. Drummond flew over and read the text. The other two, heavy and old but smaller and printed, spread across Sandra’s lap as she scoured through page after page.

  “What’s all this?” Max asked.

  Sandra glanced up. “Didn’t you hear a thing she said?”

  “I heard all of it. If we don’t find J tonight, he’s probably going to be hurt bad, maybe even killed. And Mother Hope wants us to sit on our hands while my mother is supposed to put on pantomime of being a witch.”

  “I swear, honey, sometimes you’re thick.”

  “What? What did I miss?”

  “Mother Hope practically begged us to take care of this, and she gave us the key information we needed.”

  Max looked at the front door as he thought over all the old woman had said — including her threats outside. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. What did she say?”

  “She confirmed that the three bones were the core of the spell, that they needed J for his blood, and then she told us that this kind of spell could only be cast under a full moon. Which is tomorrow night. That’s why J is fine until tomorrow. She also told me to check all my books, that the spell I’m looking for should be in one of them.”

  “She said all that?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Why didn’t she just say it plain and simple then?”

  “I think she didn’t want to upset your mother.”

  Drummond said, “I think she just likes being a manipulative hag.”

  “Well, there’s that, too.”

  Max put out his hands. “Okay. How can I help?”

  “Go to your study and grab Spells of the South and that grimoire we took from Drummond’s old girlfriend.” Back when Drummond lived, he had fallen in love with a woman who turned out to be part of a witch coven. The grimoire contained all the private rules and spells of the coven. Beyond that, Max didn’t want to recount that harrowing case. The book would be enough of a reminder.

  When he returned with the texts, Sandra said, “Look through for any spell or mention of a spell dealing with blood, bones, or the full moon. Then we’ll have to read over each one until we find what we’re looking for.”

  From the stairs, Mrs. Porter softly cleared her throat. The team’s frantic energy froze as they all looked up at her. She said, “Full moon’s tomorrow?”

  Max swallowed hard before saying, “That’s right.”

  Mrs. Porter came back into the living room. “Then show me how to help.”

  Too stunned to speak, Sandra handed over a tattered book.

  Chapter 22

  Hours. Too many had slipped by and still nothing. Max would peek at the digital clock on the bookshelf, note the time, and then catch himself checking it again to find that an hour had gone by.

  Mrs. Porter kept coffee brewing like a drug dealer making sure she had a steady supply for her insatiable customers. Max and Sandra downed the hot caffeine boost over and over. They bounced from book to book, double-checking each other’s lack of findings, and all the time knowing that J’s life rested in their hands.

  Whenever possible, they had Drummond read through a text. Turning pages caused him pain, but Max noticed the ghost enduring in order to keep the process moving along as fast as possible.

  “How about this one?” Mrs. Porter asked, bringing a volume of Common Spells and Practices over. Sandra glanced at the spell, shook her head, and returned to her own research.

  In addition to reading through page after page, any translations needed to be done were handed off to Sandra. Max wished he could help more. After all, he had been tagged with the role of brilliant researcher. However, in this case, he could only be the assistant. He knew a lot about witches and witchcraft but not nearly as much as his wife.

  Making the process even more frustrating, they had come across several possible spells that looked promising; however, there always turned out to be something wrong to discount it. Some spells lacked the need for blood. Some could be performed under any moon condition. Some required rare ingredients that would have taken colossal effort and risk to acquire. Max happily researched if any of those ingredients had been brought into the United States but found no declarations or murmurings to suggest so. Of course, they could have been smuggled in, so those spells were set aside for further consideration. But Sandra’s lack of enthusiasm for the possibility suggested they were grasping for any solution rather than the one that would work.

  Tired and wired, Max used the bathroom off of the kitchen. When he finished, he found Drummond waiting for him by the sink. Out of habit, he glanced at the stove clock — 4:07 am.

  “You find something?” he asked.

  Shushing Max, Drummond moved in close and spoke low. “I’m worried about Sandra.”

  “Shouldn’t you be worried about J?”

  “Really? You’re going to be word picky and sarcastic now?”

  Max rubbed his sore eyes. “Sorry. Been a long night. What are you worried about?”

  “She’s acting obsessed. That can be bad at any time, but in a situation like this, it can be dangerous — to her, to you, to all of us.”

  “Of course, she’s obsessed. We all are. The clock is ticking and we’ve still got nothing to stop J from being killed. How do expect her to act?”

  “She hasn’t taken a break other than to use the bathroom, and that’s only been once. All night. Whatever we’re going to face is less that twenty-four hours away. We can’t afford for her to breakdown from pushing too hard.”

  “If we don’t push hard, then what? We fail and J dies.”

  “I know what’s at stake. I’m only saying —”

  “What? What is it you want me to do?”

  Drummond removed his hat and floated back to the counter. “Back when I was starting out as a private detective, I had this one case — Gene Holston. He came to me because he had experienced something he could not explain. A lot of my business started that way. Became pretty obvious that his house was haunted, and I was surprised that he accepted the truth about ghosts quite quickly. I tried all the basic things but couldn’t clear the house. That’s when Gene started reading up on the subject.”

  Max glanced toward the living room. “I take it your friend got a tad obsessed.”

  “He wouldn’t stop. Night after night, he would read until bleary eyed and dazed. He quit his job so he could spend his days at the library. He wrote letters to psychics and visited gypsies at traveling carnivals. I tried to talk sense into him, tried to force him to slow down, even brought in an exorcist despite the fact that nobody was possessed. Nothing got through to Gene. Nothing. Until he found a book on witchcraft. He decided to fight fire with fire. One night, he went into his basement and attempted to cast a spell for calling upon dark powers.”

  “I take it he didn’t succeed.”

  “Oh, he did. He brought up a terrible, evil spirit that destroyed the ghosts haunting his home. But he failed to first cast a spell to contain and control that evil. It killed him.” Drummond turned away. “Gruesome sight.”

  “I’m sorry about that, but Sandra is not Gene. She has plenty of knowledge about this stuff.”

  “No.” Drummond spun back. “She’s only starting to learn. And the point wasn’t that Gene didn’t know better. The point is that he was so obsessed with his goal that he overlooked what should have been obvious to anybody reading that book. Sandra knows more, but that extra bit of knowledge coupled with obsessive behavior could mean disaster. She’ll assume she knows what she’s doing and can easily miss something crucial.”

  “But she’s not alone. We’re here.”

  “All the more reason to worry about her. If this all fails and J dies, she’ll be devastated. The kind you don’t bounc
e back from. You understand?”

  “You think she’ll snap? She’ll need to be hospitalized?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t have an answer. I’m just trying to get you to see what’s happening, to be aware of it, and help me keep an eye on things. If you got a better idea, I’d love to hear it.”

  Max locked on Drummond’s cold eyes. Neither spoke. The problem floated between them, and Max had no answer. Pushing hard, pushing through a problem — they had survived and then defeated the Hulls that way. It took a certain amount of obsession to be focused enough to succeed against a coven of dead witches or a house built with traps and spells or a ghost witch. And now, Drummond expected them to back off?

  Sandra’s excited cry cut through the silence. “Everybody come here!”

  Max and Drummond thumped into the living room to find Sandra and Mrs. Porter sitting in the middle of the book piles. Sandra, disheveled and red-eyed, beamed at Max with such pleasure that he smiled back. He knew that look well. He had worn it many times doing his own research. The joy of discovery.

  “What do you got?” Drummond said as he settled above the group.

  Sandra lifted a well-kept copy of Oddities. Max raised an eyebrow. The book had little to do with witchcraft and everything to do with deformities, mutations, and strange talents of people throughout history. To clear up Max’s confusion, she thumbed the book open to a page about a third of the way in and held it out for all to see.

  “Right here,” she said. “Handwritten notes in the margins.”

  Max leaned closer. He couldn’t read the words, he didn’t know the language. “What’s it say?”

  “Aufruf an die Stromversorgung. It means Call to Power.”

  “That’s the actual spell?”

  “No. It’s notes on the spell. Ingredients, which we already know — bones, blood, full moon — but it also says here that the spell needs a ceremonial casting.”

  “Is that what it sounds like?”

  “Pretty much. You can’t just cast a ceremonial spell. It needs the energy created from a group performing a specific ritual. From what I can make out here, the group needs to be at least five people around the edges of a natural circle.”

  Mrs. Porter said, “How is a natural circle different from a regular circle?”

  “It’s formed by nature, so it may end up being more of an oval or a raggedly-shaped circle. More circular than anything else. An eddy might form into a natural circle. A bird’s nest is usually a natural circle, though that would be too small for this spell.”

  “This cult, then, needs a large open area. A clearing that happens to be shaped like a circle.”

  “And according to these notes, the space has to be a land der toten — a land of the dead.”

  “Maybe a cemetery?”

  “Oh, crap,” Max said.

  Mrs. Porter slapped the back of Max’s hand. “Watch your language.”

  “Sorry. But I know where this ceremony is going to take place.” Even as he spoke, Max saw Sandra’s eyes widen as she understood. He glanced up at Drummond and saw the realization hit the ghost, too. “That’s what Chester Stanton was trying to show us. The Call to Power is going to happen at the circular clearing near the Alamance Battlefield. It’s a swatch of land where many died.”

  Drummond clapped his hands together. “We’ve got the advantage now. They don’t know that we’ve found them. Let’s go.”

  “Hold on. We can’t go running in there half-cocked while they still have J.” Max caught his mother trying to ignore when he spoke to a ghost she could not see. He appreciated her silence for the moment, but at some point, he expected she would want more of an explanation. “We need a plan.”

  Sandra tapped a book on the pile to her right. “I’ve got one. Now that we know the Call to Power is a ceremonial spell and a few of its key details — at least, I hope they’re the key details — I know what spell we need.”

  “You found a way to stop the spell?”

  “Not exactly.” She flipped through the pages of the book. “It’s called the Rite of Dark Passage, and we can use it to help us with what I have in mind.”

  Drummond soared over to the door. “Fine, then. We’ve got a plan. Can we go?”

  “It’s not even dawn yet,” Max said. “Wallace can’t do his spell until tonight under the full moon. We should get some rest and prepare.”

  “No,” Sandra said. “Drummond’s right. We need to get going now. Our spell will take time to cast. I’ll explain the whole plan on the way.”

  Drummond winked. “Doll, you’re the greatest.”

  “You’re only saying that because I agreed with you.”

  Max went to grab his car keys only to find his mother standing with them jingling in her hands. “What are you doing?”

  Clutching the keys into a tight fist, she said, “There is no way I’ll be left behind in this. I may not believe half of what you’re saying, but I know that sweet boy needs our help. All of us. So, you can waste time arguing with me and losing that argument or we can get moving.”

  Max never got a chance to answer. Sandra walked right up to his mother and put out her hand. “I expected you to come along,” she said. “But Max is driving.”

  Mrs. Porter looked Sandra in the eyes, and Max worried the two might come to blows. But then, his mother dropped the keys into Sandra’s hand. The two women shared a quick nod before heading out to the car.

  Chapter 23

  As Max drove toward the Alamance Battlefield, Sandra explained her plan — at least, as much of it as she had worked out. They were going to check over the battlefield in the daylight and locate a suitable area to perform the Rite of Dark Passage. By the time they set up their part, Edward Wallace and his cult should arrive, and all would be ready to go. Drummond’s first job would be to observe and report what went on with Wallace, J, and the Call to Power while he waited for Max, Sandra, and Mrs. Porter to cast the spell. Then it would all be up to him.

  “Drummond shouldn’t go in there alone,” Max said. “Wallace isn’t some feeble fool. Even without the Call to Power, he has some ability. Don’t forget, he used magic to pull those coffins from the ground.”

  Sandra did not look up from the open book in her lap. “Not much choice. We need three people for the spell, and in this case, Drummond doesn’t count.”

  “Hey, I count plenty.” Drummond crossed his arms in the backseat next to Mrs. Porter.

  Max appreciated that the ghost took care not to accidentally pass through his mother, but she looked discomforted anyway.

  She poked the back of Max’s shoulder. “I know you believe in this ghost stuff, and I understand that this cult really believes it, but I still don’t think this is the best way to save J. Fighting pretending with pretending is not going to stop them from truly harming him.”

  “Mom, I can’t argue this anymore. You are going to have to trust us.”

  “I’m trying. But —”

  Sandra turned around and leveled her stern eyes on Mrs. Porter. “J means more to us than you’ll ever know. Do you honestly believe that we would jeopardize his life on a hunch of pretending? Do you think that low of your son?”

  “I don’t think low of Max at all. But sometimes he makes rash decisions, and I simply —”

  “You’re scared, right now. We understand. We’ve had to deal with this kind of thing before and it is scary. But we need you to tap into the Porter strength that keeps you going because we need you. Without your help, there is no doubt in my mind that J will die. The police won’t believe any of this, and even if they did, there’s nothing they can do.”

  Mrs. Porter crossed her arms causing Drummond to shift his posture. With half-hearted effort, she muttered, “They could arrest Wallace before he has a chance to hurt J.”

  “That’s true,” Max chimed in. “But that wouldn’t stop anything. Wallace has been planning this for years and his family has planned for centuries. They have certainly factored in the police. Mother Hope
, too. They definitely factored in her. In fact, they’ve got to have contingencies for their contingencies. There’s only one thing that they might not have planned for.”

  With a defeated sigh, Mrs. Porter nodded. “Us.”

  Except for the turning of pages in Sandra’s book, the car remained quiet for the rest of the drive. When they pulled into the parking lot at Alamance Battlefield, a minivan parked next to them. A haggard father with two children got out and walked towards the visitor’s center.

  “Good,” Sandra said. “We won’t look suspicious with them around. We’ll be nothing more than another family checking out the battlefield.”

  Max opened his door. “Sure. As long as you leave the book on witch spells in the car.”

  The area appeared quite different in the daylight. Sun filtered through the trees and a lovely breeze fluttered the grass. Max found it difficult to imagine the torrent of noise, the blood-soaked cries, and the vicious mayhem that occurred during battle.

  Before Max could get around the car to join his mother and Sandra, Drummond said, “Well, we’re here. What do we need to do first?”

  Sandra pointed to a small log cabin with a sharply inclined roof off to the right. “Let’s start there.”

  “But the trail to the circle is on the opposite side of the road,” Max said.

  Mrs. Porter headed toward the house. Without looking back, she said, “Sandra’s in charge, so let her be in charge.”

  Sandra put her hand to her face as if struck. “I think that’s the first time I’ve ever liked your mother.”

  Gesturing to the house, Max said, “You sure you still want to go there? I’ve no doubt she’ll find a way to ruin your new-found feeling toward her.”

  Taking Max’s arm, they followed Mrs. Porter. Drummond drifted nearby.

  “We need a good location on the battlefield to cast our spell,” Sandra said. “As long as we can see the opening to the trail, we should be fine.”

  Max glanced over his shoulder. “I don’t think that house is going to help, then.”