Southern Rites (Max Porter Mysteries Book 7)

by Jaffe,Stuart

  Max winced. “I’m aware of that.”

  “Maybe Mother Hope and I both fail to take over. Then you have anarchy. Witches doing whatever they want to whomever they want. It wouldn’t be long until the rest of the world took notice. They probably still wouldn’t believe in witchcraft, but they would see a troubled city and the state police, maybe even the US military, would be called in to quell the unrest.”

  “You paint a pretty grim picture. I suppose we’ll have unicorns and rainbows under your lead.”

  Edward smiled and the stage brightened. The man had the most charming face. But Max could see the razor teeth beneath the mask.

  “If I gain power, I don’t promise some sort of utopia. I do think that I will keep the world stable. I won’t use the witches for my personal vengeance like the Hulls did nor would I abuse them like Mother Hope would most certainly do. I will do the job of any good leader. I will keep the ship steering clear and true. I will let the witches do as they please so long as they do not jeopardize our stability. That’s it. And it truly is that simple.”

  “Wow. You almost sound reasonable.”

  “What I want,” Edward said, moving two steps closer, “is to offer you a job.”

  Max had been ready to strike, but this threw him. “What?”

  “Help me succeed, and I’ll hire you. Not as a researcher, but as an advisor. I want you to be the one to make sure I do not cross those lines that lead to corruption. I want you to help me avoid becoming another Hull or a Mother Hope.”

  Max had to admit that sounded smart. And reasonable. And well considered. Perhaps his family had spent the last several generations preparing for this moment, weighing the good and the bad of all those that came before, setting and resetting their course until finally they someone like Edward. They taught him how to lead, how to keep balance, how to fight greed and corruption.

  Then again, Edward was a manipulative bastard who attacked Max and Sandra at the bog, showing no interest in balance or peace or anything good.

  “Nice proposal,” Max said. “Too bad you’re full of crap.”

  He swept his left leg in a wide arc and connected with Edward’s calf. The young man yelped in surprise as he tumbled, slamming his side into the stage.

  No time to stand. Max scuttled across the few feet between them and moved right atop the young man’s chest. Pressing his elbow into Edward’s sternum, Max made a tight fist with his free hand and punched. He pulled back and punched again. Both blows landed on the jaw.

  Edward’s head lolled to the side. Max flexed his hand — hitting bone hurt. All of his fingers still moved, though, so he probably had not broken any bones of his own.

  As he pondered the durability of his hand, Edward rocked to the left, tossing Max to the floor. Max tried to roll away, but he had lost sense of his position on the stage. If he made a mistake, he could roll right into the orchestra pit. That hesitation proved to be a mistake as well.

  Edward had managed to stand. Like a furious beast determined to open up its prey, he kicked and punched and tore at Max’s side. The previous bruises could not numb the pain.

  Max screamed. Tears drenched his face. Each strike shivered bolts of fire along his skin. Jagged waves of pain. He curled into a fetal ball, offered no resistance, but still the attack continued. He tried to protect his ribs with his arms, but the blows shifted towards his back.

  “I will run this city,” Edward yelled as he pummeled Max.

  “Yes, yes. You win.” Max would have said anything to stop the beating.

  Edward reached down and grabbed a chunk of Max’s shirt. With a strong grunt, he yanked Max into a seated position. Max stared at this twisted face — both handsome and terrifying.

  Stepping back and breathing hard, Edward pointed at Max like a scolding parent. “You shouldn’t do that sort of thing. I don’t like to see such disrespect from my employees.” Max must have had an incredulous look on his face, but he could hardly feel anything beyond a constant ache. Edward put his hands on his hips. “Okay, one more time. I offer you a job working for me. Last chance to do the right thing here. Any other decision is going to bring you more pain, and I’ve got to say that you don’t look like you can take anymore.”

  Max raised his head and grinned. “You know how you’ve got Abagail working for you from the Other?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You’re not the only one with a friend in the Other.”

  Edward frowned as he pieced it together. Realization widened his expression as he whirled around. Before he stopped turning, Drummond cracked him across the head and dropped him to the ground. Two more sharp jabs knocked Edward unconscious.

  “Ready to go?” Drummond said, but to Max the words sounded garbled and distant.

  His head swirled. He felt his lips tremble upward as part of him knew that Edward had been stopped, but the rest of him drifted backwards. Only a sliver of his mind noted that he sat near the orchestra pit — man, he hated that pit. The rest of him kept thinking how wonderful it would feel to lay his head on a soft pillow, close his eyes, and sleep for a few days.

  The ice that gripped his wrist shot frozen bullets through his blood. His eyes snapped open. Everything was lopsided shadows and pale ghost light. And a ghost, too — Drummond.

  “Come on, Max! Wake up!”

  In the next second, Max’s brain put the pieces together. He had fallen back into the pit, his ankles caught on the ledge, and Drummond had halted his fall by grabbing his wrist. That’s why he felt such painful cold. And a ghost touching the corporeal felt even worse pain. He registered the grimace on Drummond’s face, and he noticed the agonized scream coming from his mouth.

  He tightened he arms, pulling up against Drummond’s hold, until he managed to scoot his legs up the stage. Once his free hand clasped onto the wood, he yelled, “Let go! Let go!”

  Drummond released him and soared around the room flapping his hands as if he had touched a burning stove. Max rolled away from the pit, cradling his wrist against his chest. At least the icy pain crawling along his arm made it easy to ignore the fiery pain in his side. Edward’s fist had nothing on Drummond’s ghost touch.

  After a full minute, Max sat up. “Thank you.”

  Drummond cinched his tie and tipped his hat. “That’s what partners are for.” He blew on his hands. “Let’s not do that again, though. It’s one thing to touch the world for a few seconds, but I had to hold you for a long time. Felt like hours.”

  Massaging his wrist, Max nodded. “You certainly woke me up, though. I don’t think I’ll be sleeping for days after that.”

  “Considering Wallace here will be waking up, too, we might want to get you out of here.”

  Max stumbled his way back up the theater, into the lobby, and out to the parking lot. Twice, he had to pause to catch his breath from the hot stabs his wounds formed under his skin. As he settled into his car and sent another wave of pain through his body, he worried he wouldn’t be able to drive. At least, the theater was close to his home. Fifteen minutes, at the most.

  No. Not home. Sandra would be at the office and his mother would be at home. Better to go to the office.

  As they headed onto University Parkway, Drummond leaned his head back. “I don’t know what’s worse — Edward getting the better of us or knowing that the moron might try again.”

  “He won’t try to convert me again. But he’ll keep trying to take over.”

  Max watched the road, winced at the bumps, and attempted to clear his mind. Wallace would not be stopped by talk — that much was obvious. Other than killing him, nothing they could do would stop him from claiming what he thought of as his birthright. Plus, he had a powerful witch at his side. Not a good combination to fight against.

  He shook his head. Office, first. Get patched up. Then figure this out. Max’s eyes drifted closed until he felt that terrible cold pass through his body.

  “Stay awake, Max. At least until you’ve made it to the office.”

  Ma
x shivered and focused on the road. Get to the office. That was the important thing. Keep the eyes open and the hands on the wheel. Just like Jim Morrison suggested. Great. Now I’m taking advice from a dead, drugged out singer’s lyrics.

  Max shivered again.

  Chapter 16

  As Sandra finished wrapping Max’s side, Drummond concluded his tale of Porter woe. Max didn’t feel up to recounting the afternoon’s events, plus he held an icepack against his swelling mouth. It only became necessary to speak during the part that Drummond had spent underground.

  “At least your ribs survived,” Sandra said. “I’m wrapping them in case I’m wrong, but I think you’ll be fine.”

  Drummond said, “I doubt any of us will be fine until we stop Edward Wallace.”

  “Including yourself in that statement?”

  “If Edward is telling the truth, then Abagail Wallace is somewhere in the Other. I think it’s clear that she is — who else would have sent those lackeys after me? I know I have my fair share of enemies in the Other, but those guys were hired goons and that smells more like Wallace than any of the ghosts I would expect to come after me. The fact that she hasn’t followed up on it is the troubling part.”

  “She’s been busy plotting her family’s rise.”

  “Maybe. If we’re lucky, it means that she doesn’t have as much control or as much of a following in the Other. If we’re unlucky, well, we all know witches like this aren’t going to let something as pesky as death get in their way.”

  Max dropped the icepack into his lap. In a flash, Sandra had swiped up the icepack and pressed it against Max’s face until he took over. She put away their first aid kit and said, “I think the first thing we need to do is —”

  The office door opened. Jammer J and Mrs. Porter walked in. She barely glanced at the office, her focus resting directly on Max.

  “Mother? What are you doing here?”

  “You didn’t expect me to come when I heard my son was injured? What kind of mother do you think I am?”

  As Sandra stood, she whispered in Max’s ear, “Sorry. I called J so he wouldn’t worry if we ran late. He must’ve told your mother.”

  Mrs. Porter dropped her coat across Sandra’s desk as she walked up to Max. Looking over him, she made a tutting sound with her tongue. “I hope the other guy looks worse.”

  Max grinned, then grimaced. “Ow. I did okay.”

  “Okay?” Drummond said. “How about a little credit over here?”

  She sat next to her son and started unwrapping his bandage. “Whoever did this doesn’t know anything about first aid. Don’t you worry. I’ll do it right so it doesn’t unwrap while you sleep.”

  Max averted Sandra’s eyes. No need. He could feel the fire roaring from her gaze as she burned a hole through her mother-in-law.

  With the confidence of an old hand, J strolled across the office and reached over one arm of the couch. They had a mini-fridge there acting as an end table. J pulled out a can of soda, popped the top, and guzzled half of it. He then plopped onto the couch and belched.

  As she reworked Sandra’s efforts, Mrs. Porter looked around the office. “This is nice here. Cozy. You should be doing all your work here, instead of bumbling about and getting in fights.”

  “I didn’t intend for it to happen.”

  “I didn’t say you did. But you have to face the truth, and I’m sure your wife will agree, that you are not a born fighter.”

  Drummond laughed. “You got that right.”

  “I pay attention,” she went on. “I’ve listened to J talk about your work. I’ve seen what kind of research you do. You’re getting involved with dangerous people when you should be keeping your head in your books.”

  Max said, “I get paid to put my head in those books. But often the people paying me are looking for dangerous information. That’s why they come to me instead of looking it up themselves.”

  She finished with his bandage and handed him a shirt. “Well, I don’t like it.”

  “Neither do we, but it pays the bills.”

  “That’s not true — not the bill part, the liking it part. You do like it.”

  Max pointed at his ribs. “You think I like getting beaten up?”

  “Don’t be childish. You know exactly what I mean. You like the danger, the excitement, the thrill. I see it on your face. And I understand. I do.” She looked at Sandra. “This explains a lot. The two of you getting your kicks this way — of course you don’t want children. That would put a sharp end to this fun you’re having.”

  Sandra’s jaw stiffened like a wolf ready to snap. “You call this fun? This is our lives. We’ve been harassed by these kinds of people since we first got here.”

  “Then you shouldn’t be here. Clearly, you’re not wanted.”

  Drummond flew next to Sandra. “Doll, let it go. I’ve known many people like her, and I’m telling you, she doesn’t even know she’s being offensive.”

  At Sandra’s desk, Mrs. Porter shifted her coat aside to read the title of one book: Witchcraft in Winston. “What is this all about? Are you two dealing with cults?”

  As Max buttoned up his shirt, his brain flashed red warning signs. He stepped forward, blocking off Sandra before she could react. “That’s for the case we’re working on. There’s a group that’s into witchcraft, so we’ve been learning about it to better understand what they might be thinking. You can’t think of them like a cult.”

  “A bunch of crazy people into witchcraft pretty much defines the word cult.”

  “They’re not crazy people,” Sandra said, barely opening her mouth.

  J did not move from the couch. He knew trouble when he saw it, and Max appreciated that he was smart enough to stay quiet.

  Max’s mother picked up the book with two fingers as if it might foul her hands otherwise. “My dear, this is a book about people who believe in magic spells and supernatural powers, Satanists who dance naked under the moonlight and perform deviant acts, all in the name of a superstition. That is crazy. And before you say another word, you need to start listening. I’ve been quiet out of respect for your position as my son’s wife, but I can see now that I’ve been quiet too long.”

  “Oh, crap,” Drummond said as he backed away from Sandra. “Max, I’m going to go do some research in the Other. If she doesn’t kill your mother, consider yourself lucky.” Max had no way to stop Drummond, and a second later, the ghost disappeared.

  Mrs. Porter’s stern posture brought to life all the years of old-school parenting she held within. She wielded it like a broadsword, ready to cut down all obstacles in her path. “It’s one thing for Max to have these foolish notions, but it’s an entirely different matter for you to indulge them. Perhaps your mother didn’t teach you, but it’s your job to hold a family together. Is that why you resist children? So you don’t have to take the responsibility? Doesn’t really matter. This nonsense has to stop. I mean, look at your husband. His got more bruises than a prize fighter, and yet you’ve shown no concern for him.”

  “Enough!” Sandra held her tight fists straight at her sides. “You were not invited here — not just this office but to our home. You simply showed up, and then you think it’s okay to criticize every aspect of our lives. But as usual, you’ve got it all wrong. My husband is tougher than you know. He’s great at his job, and he doesn’t need you or me or anybody else to indulge him. He knows what he wants to do, and he’s doing it. As for family — we are a family. The two of us and PB and J and others. We don’t have to have our own kids to be whole. That’s another thing — get it through your head that we are not going to have a child. I’m sorry if that disappoints you, but it’s the way it’s going to be. Now, if you want to remain our guest here, then you are going to start showing us some respect. We have a life that we’ve worked unimaginably hard to build here. You don’t get to come here and piss all over it.”

  “How dare you talk to me like that.”

  “I should’ve said something days ago,
but I care about Max enough to put up with you. I won’t have it anymore. All the years you’ve looked down your nose at me. No more. This is my office, too. And you are staying in my home. You want to be here? You want to see your son? Then learn your place.”

  Both women breathed heavily, seething at each other. Max cleared his throat. “J, do us all a favor, and take my mother for a walk. Maybe you two can have dinner, too. There’s a bunch of places around here she’d like.”

  J didn’t respond, his eyes locked on the confrontation.

  “J, please.”

  With a jolt, J got to his feet. “Okay, yeah. C’mon Mrs. Porter. Let’s get out of here. Take a few hours to let things chill.”

  Though Mrs. Porter did not reply, she did pick up her coat. Keeping her eyes on Sandra, she let J lead the way out of the office. Once the door closed, Sandra dropped to her knees, lowered her head, and cried.

  “I’m sorry, honey,” she said. “I’m so sorry I did that.”

  “It’s okay.” Max slid his sore body down until he sat next to her. He put his arm around her and listened to her sniffles as she shivered against him.

  For ten minutes, he held her without another word until at length, Sandra lifted her head. She dabbed at her eyes with the sleeve of her shirt. “No matter what she and I said, one thing is true. You can’t keep getting beaten up. We need to focus on this case and find some way to stop Edward.”

  Her wet eyes pleaded with him to help her ignore the fight and pour their energy into the work. She had already said all that needed to be said. Rehashing it now would be pointless. And she was right — they had to stop Edward Wallace because Max’s body wouldn’t handle another assault.

  “Then let’s work,” he said.