Southern Rites (Max Porter Mysteries Book 7)

by Jaffe,Stuart

  With a guttural cry, Drummond charged across the path and tackled Stanton. “I’ll hold him off. Go!”

  Max flung Sandra around, clasped her hand and tore back up the path. Twice his feet rolled on loose stones, but he managed to stay up and running. Sandra soared along next to him, never once faltering.

  When they broke out of the woods, they did not stop. They dashed by the monument with the statue and went straight for their car. Sandra thrust her arm forward, holding the car keys like a dagger striking an unseen assailant. The car beeped twice and flashed its lights.

  They yanked open the doors, jumped inside, and slammed the car shut. Sandra turned over the engine and screeched the tires. As she pulled onto the road and sped away, Max’s phone rang. They both hit the ceiling and screamed.

  The scream morphed into laughter as Max dug his phone from his pocket. “It’s my mother,” he said, and Sandra laughed harder. Letting his shoulder drop as he squished back into the passenger seat, he slid his finger across the phone. “Hi, Mom. How are —”

  “Max, you’ve got to come back. Quick.”

  Hearing his mother’s quivering voice shot the tension right back into his shoulders. “Why? What’s wrong?”

  “I’m so sorry.” Her voice cracked. “I couldn’t stop them. They barged in and I’m too old. I couldn’t stop them.”

  “Calm down. Is anybody hurt? What happened?”

  “It’s J. They came and took him.”

  Max’s heart stopped. “What do you mean? Who took him? The police?” Both PB and J had boosted cars and done other illegal things in order to survive the streets. It wouldn’t surprise Max if that came back to haunt them at some point.

  “No, not the police.” She cried out the words.

  “Then who? Calm down. You’re not making sense.” But she was making sense, and he knew it. His mind simply didn’t want to admit it. He had to hear the words from her mouth to confirm what the twisting of his stomach already had accepted.

  She complied. “A bunch of men. They burst in here and took him. Do you understand? J’s been kidnapped.”

  Chapter 20

  Max had seen Sandra drive fast before, seen her weave around cars like a professional driver, seen her press the gas pedal to the floor and flex her fingers around the wheel, but he had never seen her push a car with the determination that blazed in her eyes when she heard that J had been abducted. If a police car had flashed its lights behind them, Max thought his wife would surely ignore it. She would let every patrol in the area chase them and let every helicopter spotlight them — nothing would stop her.

  Drummond appeared in the backseat. His suit had been ruffled up as well as his hair. “That was interesting. I never thought old Stanton would have tried to tap your head. Maybe Sandra would’ve liked you better that way. What do you think, doll? A vegetable Max would be a lot easier to deal with in the mornings. Hey, not to tell you how to drive, but you’re going a bit fast.”

  Max ignored the crude comment and instead brought the ghost up-to-date on what happened with J. “I need you to run ahead of us. Get to the house and watch over my mother.”

  “Shouldn’t I go find J?”

  “No. In all likelihood, Edward Wallace took him. If that’s true, he’ll want to use J as a bargaining chip or a way to control us. If that’s not true, then J was taken by strangers. Either way, we should end up getting a ransom call or some other kind of demands put on us.”

  “What if he was taken by some sicko monster, and we only have a short time to save him?”

  “I’ve thought about that plenty already and there’s not much we can do, if that’s the case.”

  “But I can —”

  “You can zoom ahead of us, but then what? He could be anywhere. He might have already left the state, and then later, the country. So, let’s focus on the outcomes we can do something about. That starts with you getting to our house and watching over my mother. We’ll be there soon enough with Sandra behind the wheel.”

  Drummond scowled at the situation, but he did head off for the house. Max called his mother again. His chest tightened hearing her so afraid.

  “There were four of them. They all wore hoods except one — he had an eye patch. He said I should tell you that he could have killed me if he wanted to,” she said, her voice quivering. But then a sharp edge cut into her tone. “These are those cultists you’re dealing with, aren’t they?”

  “Don’t worry. We’re going to handle this.”

  “It is those cultists. You don’t want to admit it. That sweet boy has been kidnapped because of your stupid case.”

  Sandra cut across two lanes for the exit, garnering a long, angry honk from a silver BMW. She swung around the ramp and onto Silas Creek Parkway. Nighttime traffic remained light, but they still had to contend with several possible red lights up ahead.

  “Hold tight, Mom. We’ll be there shortly.”

  “I should call the police. I can’t believe I didn’t do that, yet. You get here soon, but I’ll call —”

  “No, Mom. Don’t. The kidnappers might kill J if we get the cops involved.” He hoped that was more a lie than anything, but he also believed that Wallace would be angry if the police were called, and that would only exacerbate the situation.

  “Then what should I do? I can’t sit here and do nothing. Oh, that sweet, sweet boy.”

  “Ten minutes. We’ll be home that fast, and then we’ll figure it out. Please, sit tight, don’t call the police. Just wait for us.”

  Without a response, Mrs. Porter cut the call. Max made a fist and punched the car door. “Can’t we go any faster?”

  They reached their home is less than eight minutes.

  Max had the passenger door open before the car had stopped. He raced up the walk and only stopped at the sight of the front door. The framing had been split by a large force — the same force that knocked the door off one hinge and blasted the deadbolt clear through the wood.

  As Sandra hurried up the walk, Max headed through the door with caution. It had only been eight minutes, but that much time could be more than enough to do serious damage. Eye-patch might have returned, attacked Max’s mother, and hauled her off to some dark location which would make a work camp seem like a day at the beach.

  But when he entered the house, Max heard his mother busy in the kitchen. The furniture in the living room had been tossed around, but the hallway, stairs, and dining room all looked untouched. He approached the kitchen like a nervous spelunker in a volatile cavern, each step taken with the expectation of disaster.

  “Oh, good, you’re here,” his mother said as she caught sight of him entering. She had on a flowery apron that Max had seen in the pantry many times but neither he nor Sandra ever wore. With her hands in constant motion, Mrs. Porter bustled about the kitchen — baking cookies while brewing coffee.

  “Mom?” Max said in a gentle tone reserved for keeping unstable people stable. “Why don’t you have a seat?”

  She flashed a smile at him that looked more terrified than joyous. “That’s sweet, dear, but I don’t have the time. I have to get things ready.”

  Drummond dropped through the ceiling and swished across the room. “I was beginning to think you two had met with an accident — or worse.”

  Sandra pushed by Max and glanced in his office. “Everything’s okay in there.”

  Forcing another smile, Mrs. Porter said, “Everything is okay everywhere. We just have to get things ready and it’ll all be okay.”

  Drummond crossed his arms. “Sorry, Max. She’s been like this since I got here.”

  Sandra returned to Max’s side. “This was Wallace. They came in specifically for J. No other rooms are touched. They didn’t comb through the office or anywhere else to steal anything. They wanted J and nothing more.”

  Mrs. Porter opened the oven enough to peek in, then slammed it shut. “Why steal a little boy? It doesn’t make sense.” She covered her mouth, and tears dropped over her fingers.


  “Probably leverage,” Max said. “We’ll have to wait until they contact us and make demands.”

  Sandra ushered Max aside. Whispering, she said, “There’s another possibility.”

  Swooping in, Drummond said, “Oh, I don’t like what you’re suggesting.”

  Keeping her voice low, she said, “Why else would they take J and not bother with her?”

  “Damn. You’re probably right.”

  Max smacked Drummond’s shoulder, but his hand passed through. “One of you, tell me what you’re talking about.”

  Sandra tapped the inside of her forearm like a heroin addict. “Blood. I’ve been searching everything I could to find something about that spell. But I didn’t look into the worst, darkest magic — blood magic.”

  “You think they took J for his blood?”

  “He’s young, and despite his bragging, I’m pretty sure he’s still a virgin. My guess is they took J to hurt us a little, but mostly because he’s full of young, virgin blood. That’s powerful stuff.”

  “You’re saying he’s going to sacrifice J?”

  Drummond said, “He’s got all three bones, and now he’s got this blood. What else does Wallace need?”

  “How should I know?” Sandra whispered loud enough for Mrs. Porter to look up from her bowl of cookie dough. “I haven’t found the full spell, have I?”

  “But you know what spells need, in general.”

  “So do you. So does Max. Candles, a circle drawn with the right symbols, sometimes fire, sometimes earth. But the specifics — you got any idea what else this spell needs?”

  They didn’t have time to escalate into a full argument. The doorbell rang.

  “Finally,” Mrs. Porter said, untying her apron. She set it over the back of a chair and primped her hair as she walked to the front door.

  “Wait,” Max said. “What do you mean finally? Are you expecting somebody?”

  “You said not to call the police, but you didn’t think I’d just sit here and do nothing.”

  “Oh, no. Who did you call over here?”

  She trembled. “The only friend I have.”

  Mother Hope stood on the porch with a warm smile.

  Chapter 21

  Max had sat in uncomfortable situations before — he once dated a girl who had a crush on the bartender at the bar she insisted they go to, he once sat through a church service with terrible gas that kept bursting out no matter how he tried to hide it, he once watched his wife drink too much and start juggling oranges at a party of uptight managers — but he could not recall nor imagine anything that could touch the gut-churning discomfort he now faced. In the living room of his home, he watched as his mother served coffee and cookies to Mother Hope. Both women perched on his couch — both short enough that their feet barely brushed the floor. Sandra chose a chair on the other side of the coffee table. She could not hide her glowering stare. Max sat on the ottoman in front of her chair while Drummond hovered by the window.

  Max’s knee bounced up and down. “Shouldn’t we be out there searching for J?”

  “Hey,” Drummond said, “that’s what I said.”

  “Don’t be rude,” Mrs. Porter said in a strong but polite snap that most parents master early on. “I have complete faith in Mother Hope. If she thinks we should take this slower, then that’s what we’ll do.”

  “Thank you.” Mother Hope sipped her coffee. “First, I promise that J is fine. Scared, surely —”

  “Of course.”

  “— but fine.”

  “Oh, that’s a big relief.” Mrs. Porter used the corner of her napkin to dab at her eyes.

  “Don’t start celebrating. He’s fine for now, but he won’t be by tomorrow. The men that took him are dangerous, but I give you my word, I will do all I can to find your boy and bring him safely home.”

  Mrs. Porter patted Mother Hope’s knee. “You are a true friend. There are people I’ve known my whole life that offer a fraction of what you are doing, and we’ve only known each other a couple of days.”

  “I feel a kinship with you. Perhaps it’s because I’ve had some dealings with your son.”

  Max wanted to storm across the room and give a few more dealings, but instead, he looked out the window and waited for the ridiculousness to end.

  Setting her coffee cup on the table, Mrs. Porter gave a strong nod for everyone. “Well, then. It looks like we have an ally. What should be our next step?”

  Again, Max had to force his emotions down. Whatever his mother thought she faced, she had no clue what the real situation was nor how to deal with it. He might have been impressed with her gumption if not for the gnawing truth that she had shown more affection for Mother Hope and J — two people she had known for only a handful of days — than she ever had for him or his wife.

  Mother Hope bit into her cookie and quickly washed it down with coffee — Max’s mother had never been a good baker. “For now, you’ll have to wait. I know that’s difficult, but I need you to stay here and trust me. I will have my people scour the city. Even if we have to go all night and strain to see into dark alleys under the light of the full moon, I promise we will succeed. That boy is not weak nor is he a coward. He will cause a lot of trouble for his captors and that will help us.”

  “Of course, you’re right, but I wish I could do something. It’s hard to sit here. This isn’t even my home.”

  Mother Hope perked up and regarded Max, but he refused to be baited. “There is one thing you can do,” she said. “It’s a strange thing, though.”

  “Anything. Tell me.”

  “These men belong to a cult, so they think and act accordingly.”

  To Max, Mrs. Porter said, “I told you these cult-types were no good.”

  Mother Hope went on, “There are certain ceremonies that go back centuries. I believe these men will sneak back here later tonight to watch over you, to make sure you don’t do anything they don’t like. If they were to see you performing one of these ceremonies, it might frighten them into thinking you are a powerful witch.”

  “A witch?”

  “Or a priestess, maybe. I don’t know exactly how their disturbed minds work. But I do believe you can fake them into thinking they have dug a deep well of trouble and that it would be better off to return the boy than harm him.”

  Mrs. Porter straightened her blouse and fidgeted with the edge of the couch. “I wouldn’t know how to do anything like that.”

  “I’m sure one of Sandra’s books could help.”

  Max braced for a tidal wave of rage to explode from his wife. He expected she would rise to her feet, jab a finger into Mother Hope’s chest, and yell about how she knew Mother Hope would not help them at all, that the entire Magi group had caused this untenable situation, and how she would do all she could to see them pay for any harm that comes to J. But the fiery assault did not occur. Instead, Sandra’s focus on Mother Hope intensified as if she had discovered a unique mammal in the jungle and wanted to observe its behavior.

  “Well,” Mother Hope said, pushing at the back cushions to stand, “I should be going, if I am to find that boy. Please, don’t worry. I’ll see that it all works out.”

  As she walked to the door with Mrs. Porter close behind, Max scooted ahead of them. “Allow me to escort you back to your car,” he said. “My mother raised me well, and I’m happy to ensure your safety.”

  “That’s kind of you.”

  Max held back a smirk at the wariness in Mother Hope’s voice. He liked the idea that she felt unsure — might even be a new emotion for her. It also meant that she did have vulnerabilities. A truly invincible person would never pale at any threat.

  They walked out to the drive and toward her silver Mercedes. One of her thugs — the one that went by Trevor, the one whose fists Max had become too familiar with — leaned against the side of the car.

  “Why are you lying to her?” Max asked Mother Hope, stopping halfway to the car. Her bodyguard took notice, but she waved him off. “Why are you
pretending?”

  “I’m not lying to her. I want to see J survive.”

  “You don’t care about him.”

  “That is true. But I care about what happens if Edward Wallace gets his way.”

  “Then why not tell us what we need to know? How does it serve you to keep us in the dark?”

  Mother Hope lifted her head so that the moonlight glinted in her eyes. “You seem to have the mistaken impression that you are vital to me. Let me make things clear. You are nothing but a tool for my use. I gave you a task — to get those bones — and you failed. And you wonder why I keep you in the dark. I have more trusted souls dealing with Wallace. The best thing for you to do is exactly what I told your mother. Sit down, shut up, and wait.”

  She turned to go, but he wrenched the old woman back. Trevor stepped closer, preparing to pound Max into the ground. Mother Hope held out her hand to stop him.

  “You listen to me,” Max said. “If you ever talk to my mother again, if you ever pretend to be her friend, I will destroy you.”

  Mother Hope made a small noise of indifference. “You are so forgetful.” She poked his chest with a sharp finger. “That curse on you means I am the one to tell you what will and will not be done. Now, stand back. There is serious evil hatching tonight, and this city needs competent people to fight it.”

  She pushed him aside and shuffled to her car. As Trevor held the door open for her, he thrust his chest out, attempting to look dignified but coming off as a fool. Clearly, Mother Hope thought so. “I can take care of my own door. Get this car going already.”

  Before Trevor started the car and drove off, Max had spun around and stormed back to the house. Inside, he growled his exasperation. “I swear, every damn day I’m thinking we would have been better off with the Hulls.”