Southern Belle

by Stuart Jaffe

  Leed's formed a fist with one hand. "I'm not proud that this was my motivation for joining Dr. Ernest, but I can't change things. I became his assistant, traveling, never staying the same place for long, helping him track down any witches we learned about. All the time, though, I kept my eyes and ears wide open, hoping to find a clue that would lead me to the coven that killed my parents.

  "And then, one day, without expectations for the day to be different in any way, we found a young lady who wanted to escape her coven — the same coven that I had sought. She needed our help. Dr. Ernest tried to prepare me, tried to see that I would have the proper priorities. Well, you can imagine. It didn't go well. We captured two of the witches, but the rest got away." Leed grew silent, his eyes looking far away, his fingers absently rubbing the nicked part of his earlobe. "Ugly things happened, but I don't believe those details are important to recall for you. Suffice it to say that I had my revenge. Only as in most cases of vengeance, little relief came. I couldn't bring my parents back no matter how much pain I inflicted on those responsible, and I ended up losing part of myself every time I hurt my prisoners."

  Max settled deeper into the couch. "I'm guessing the coven witches that escaped found their way down to Winston-Salem."

  "Patience. I'll get there."

  "Forgive my husband," Sandra said, still patting Leed's knee. "He can get a bit enthusiastic."

  "Good. We'll need that kind of passion. But I'm an old man, so I don't move as fast — even in my storytelling. Seems backwards, doesn't it? Seems that with so little time left to live, I should be doing everything faster. Try to get as much crammed in as I can. But that's the way of it."

  "Mr. Leed? The coven?"

  "Right, right. Now, Dr. Ernest and I spent months tracking the coven. We picked off a few more members during our search but eventually we discovered the majority had slipped into North Carolina. See, we had developed a contact in the warehouse at the Sears & Roebuck Company. He carried a list of supplies that Dr. Ernest devised. It contained the kinds of practical things a coven required but wouldn't want to order in bulk locally in case it aroused suspicions — candles, salt, that kind of thing. If that list was ever ordered together and in large quantities, our man would call and give us the address. I don't think he ever knew why that list was important. And that call eventually happened, leading us to Winston-Salem."

  "How did you end up meeting Drummond?" Max asked.

  Sandra backhanded his chest. "Let the man speak."

  "You have to understand," Leed continued, "Back at that time there weren't many witch hunters around. In fact, most people thought we were nuts. So word spread fast about new people who fought against these evil beasts — at least it spread fast amongst us. It didn't take long to learn of Drummond.

  "That day we walked into his office, I knew we had found a man who could really help. So many times, we met crazies who thought cultists were raising Satan in their backyards or scientists who wanted to capture witches for study or overly prepared but intellectually under-qualified warriors. Drummond, on the other hand, stood out as a capable man of action. The kind of man who thought through an immediate problem without causing the mess to fall back on his men. One who understood the necessity of destroying these abominations without falling prey to sympathies because of the enemy's human appearance."

  Sandra frowned. "You don't think witches are human?"

  "What kind of human would do the things they did to my mother and father? No, I think they gave up that right when they started meddling in magic."

  Max saw the strained tendons in Sandra's neck. She teetered on the edge of letting Leed know how wrong he was, but Max's simple touch on her shoulder brought her back. She glanced at Max with an embarrassed grin and settled into the couch, nestling closer to him as they listened to the rest.

  "Drummond didn't want anything to do with us. He thought we were the very kind of crackpots we had avoided from the start. But we gave him two names and what information we had, and we left. Before dinner that same day, he contacted us. As we knew he would, he checked out our story and now he believed there was something worth looking into. And boy did he ever.

  "I don't know how he pulled it off, but in less than a week, he identified where the witches were staying, what false names they were using, what jobs they held, everything. From there we learned the names of the other coveners, and we were set to curse them, to destroy the whole coven in one night."

  "Curse them?" Sandra said. "Is that part of your vengeance? I mean, wouldn't it be easier to simply kill them?"

  "True witch covens are extremely powerful. They bind and accentuate the energies of all the witches within the coven. Killing one only turns it into a ghost which can continue to feed the coven with its energy. But we knew of a curse that if done properly would break the power of the coven and lock the witches in their dead bodies, preventing them from roaming around as ghosts. It was a difficult spell to cast and required all six key witches in the coven to be killed on the same night.

  "In order to protect ourselves and to insure that the coven did not reform or break the curse, we divide the killings amongst the three of us. Each man took two names from a hat. We agreed on the night that the curse would take place and made sure we each understood what was required. Finally, and most important, none of us would know where the others buried their witches. This way, should something go wrong, we were protected from each other. The planned night arrived, and we did what had to be done. And I truly thought it was all over."

  "I don't think I'm going to like this next part," Max said.

  Leed licked his lips and arched his head back. "It's been quiet all these years, yet something inside me always niggled at the idea that it might not be done. Then yesterday morning I saw this." With his cane, Leed pointed to a newspaper on the coffee table.

  Max picked it up and saw a circled article headlined: PROFESSOR OF CULTS MURDERED. "This is Dr. Ernest?"

  "Oh, yes. You can take that with you. Read it in detail. For now, believe me when I say that all the signs are there — this murder was an act of rage and revenge and the first step into freeing the full power of the coven. If you look close, read between the lines, you'll see that Dr. Ernest was murdered by a ghost, and the only ghosts in Winston-Salem that would want to harm him belong to the coven."

  "But you said the curse prevented —"

  "Obviously, somebody found a way to break our curse, didn't they?"

  "And with Dr. Ernest's coven ghosts released, you think they murdered him."

  "They'll be coming for me soon enough."

  "To kill you for revenge?"

  "Eventually. But first they'll torture me to find out where I buried their sisters. And if a ghost can kill another ghost, they'll go after Drummond, too."

  "Then why all the secrecy from Drummond? If he was the one who helped you down here to begin with, shouldn't we warn him, maybe even elicit his help?"

  Leed turned an incredulous eye toward Sandra. "Have you not taught him anything about ghosts?"

  "What now?"

  Sandra faced her husband. "I think he's referring to the idea that some ghosts can turn."

  "Turn?"

  With a frustrated huff, Leed said, "Just because Drummond resembles a human being, he's not. He's a ghost. And ghosts have their own set of rules. Supposedly, if you put them in highly stressful situations, ones that make them face their ghostly existence, and keep that pressure on long enough, they can turn into nasty, evil spirits."

  "And this could happen to Drummond?"

  "It can happen to any ghost. So, we can't trust him."

  Max nodded — not because he agreed with Leed but rather because he could tell they had reached the crux of the whole story. "What exactly is it you want us to do?"

  Wagging his index finger as if Max were an astute scholar, Leed said, "The witches are in an unusual state at the moment. They are not resting in their graves like most dead people nor are they wandering like most ghosts
. They've neither moved on nor stayed behind. They are no longer cursed yet they are not free of the curse either. Since at least one of Dr. Ernest's graves has been disturbed, the only thing left for us to do is release the other corpses with a spell that should move them on to the next world while preventing them from rejoining their coven."

  "Why didn't you use that spell to begin with?"

  "I didn't know it back then. And by the time I learned, I had no way of using it. Dr. Ernest might have been able to be convinced to divulge his burial locations, but Marshall Drummond had been killed. Where he buried his witches is something I still don't know."

  "Ah," Max said, getting to his feet. "You want us to find out Drummond's burial locations."

  "Exactly. Find the burial locations and perform the spell. Otherwise, we'll have unleashed a powerful coven that will haunt Winston-Salem for centuries to come."

  "Mr. Leed, I've done as you've asked. I've heard you out."

  "And you'll take this case?"

  "I'll look into it. See what I can find to back up your story."

  Deflated, Leed put out his hand. "Of course. I shouldn't have expected more." As Max shook his hand, Leed gripped tight and yanked him close. "Just remember — under no circumstances can Drummond know what we're doing. I've dealt with evil spirits before. A ghost like Drummond becoming such a thing, losing all sense of right and wrong, would be catastrophic."

  "Don't worry. We won't tell him." Max freed his hand from the old man, grabbed the newspaper, and headed to the door.

  Chapter 3

  The following morning, when Max thumped downstairs and shambled into the kitchen, a fragrant pot of coffee greeted him. He had slept little that night, his mind replaying the odd meeting with Leed hour after hour, which resulted in becoming intimately familiar with the textural variations along his ceiling. Sandra sat at their table eating over-easy eggs as she read over the newspaper article they had acquired from Leed.

  With a piece of toast in her hand, she gestured to the coffee pot. "Not even a half-hour old."

  "It could be ice cold, and I'd drink it."

  "I didn't think you slept well. Leed get to you?"

  Max nodded and poured the coffee into a mug that declared him to be a #1 Husband! "The thing that bothers me the most is that I don't doubt him at all. I'll check up on his story, but I have a feeling that Drummond was involved with him and this whole witch coven thing. And it all got me thinking how little we really know about Drummond."

  "Don't do that. I know that look."

  "What?"

  "You're thinking about researching Drummond."

  "So?"

  "Honey, you do not want to go researching friends. It'll only lead to trouble. You know better. Real friendship is built on trust, and Drummond is a man —"

  "Ghost."

  "Fine, Drummond is a ghost that you need to trust. Think about the things we've faced with him already. We would never have survived half of it if we couldn't have trusted him."

  Max sipped his coffee, wincing as he burned his tongue. "Okay, okay. I'll stick to Joshua Leed. But if I look into him, I'm going to find out things about Drummond by default. He's part of this."

  "That's different. That's pursuing a case. Just don't go checking up on a friend."

  Bending over the kitchen table, Max kissed his wife's forehead. "My guiding light to what is right. I'll stick to the case."

  "Good." She turned her head up and puckered until Max kissed her lips. "How do you want to go about this?"

  "I think I'll start with a shower."

  "Good idea. You stink."

  Max grinned. "Thank you."

  "What's a wife for, if not to save you from embarrassing yourself in public?"

  "My fragile ego and I are grateful. So, I'm going to clean up and go to the library at Wake. Find out what I can on this witch coven, see if it supports Leed's story. I think it will, but I've got to be sure."

  "What can I do?"

  Max rubbed Sandra's shoulders and cringed inwardly at what he planned to say. "I need you to spend the day watching Drummond."

  "You want me to babysit the ghost?"

  "I haven't been in the office since yesterday morning. That in itself shouldn't be too strange, but you know he still gets gut feelings, even if doesn't have a gut anymore. He might grow suspicious. If he breaks habit and risks going to a library to check up on me, I need you to call me, warn me."

  "Is that why I'm getting a shoulder massage this morning?"

  "I never said I was above bribery."

  Sandra stood and faced Max with a devilish twinkle in her eye. "If you want me to spend my whole day with a ghost who loves hitting on me while reminiscing about his glory days, you'll have to do a lot better than that."

  "What did you have in mind?"

  She kissed Max hard. "Meet me upstairs. And remember, this one's all for me."

  "All for you, my dear. All for you."

  * * * *

  Not surprisingly, Max had no trouble finding information about witches. Between the Internet and the library, he had more sources than he could possibly consume in a lifetime. But as he narrowed his search, first to North American witches, then to North Carolina witches, then to North Carolina witch covens, he found what he needed.

  Like vampires, some form of witch existed in nearly every culture going back well before written history. In the modern world though, witches appeared to break down into two major groups.

  The first focused on witchcraft as a religion of nature. Wicca was the major label, and they bore little resemblance to the witches of yore. These were kind, peaceful groups that aligned more with the Native American sensibility of the natural world as a living, breathing godly spirit than they did with spellcasters attempting to manipulate the world around them in some pact with evil.

  The second group consisted of those who relished in the tales of old. Those that believed they could control others and tap into mystical powers. They were attracted to the darker elements of the lore and put on a pedestal people like Isobel Gowdie, a Scottish woman who, in 1662, confessed to being a witch and detailed out the practices of witches, first coining the term coven. Gowdie claimed to be able to metamorphose into various animals and gave specific instructions on how she accomplished this. Most modern non-believers considered her confession little more than the ravings of an extreme psychosis, but many practicing witches praised Gowdie as a bold martyr.

  While the details of Max's research found much in conflict (one group thought their power derived from the moon, another focused on the healing properties within the Earth, and some groups took a modern bent on the whole thing — such as a motorcycle gang in England replacing witches' brooms with 500cc bikes), there were a few consistent aspects to all witch covens. They held the number thirteen sacred, and many covens limited membership to thirteen people. Members commonly called themselves Coveners and the leader usually took the title High Priestess or High Priest. Most interestingly, all covens produced a book called the Grimoire which detailed that group's specific rules, members, and rituals.

  "You're all forgetting one group," Max said to the books he read. This group of witches he knew too well — the real witches. The people who controlled true magical power. They could curse a ghost or raise a spirit. Relieve a pain or cause a heartache. They had tapped into the true powers of the universe and knew how to wield them. He had met one amateur, Melinda Corkille, and one bona-fide witch, Dr. Connor, but that had been enough.

  He had no doubt that Dr. Ernest, Joshua Leed, and Drummond believed the six women they killed and cursed were the remaining members of a powerful witch coven. The question Max had — what kind of witchcraft did they belong to? If they were a true coven, they would have had a Grimoire. And if they were amongst that third, unspoken category, then that Grimoire would be a dangerous book to get hold of. But Dr. Ernest and Leed must have done just that — how else would they have managed to identify and track the six down to North Carolina? Max found the
story of knowing a guy at Sears & Roebuck on the lookout for bulk candle orders a bit too much to swallow.

  He pulled up the browser on his laptop and stared at the keyboard. He wanted to type in the names — Ernest, Leed, and Drummond — but he kept hearing Sandra in the back of his head. He closed the laptop and rubbed his face.

  He would find another way. He jotted down a few reminders of things he wanted to ask Leed, particularly about the Grimoire and the names of the witches they had killed. If he could locate an article about a missing girl with the same name from the week after they cursed the coven, that alone would make him feel better about Leed. Yet even as he wrote his notes, he had to shake his head. Whether he had intended to or not, his mind already acted as if he had taken on the case.

  "Of course I'm taking this on. Drummond's involved."

  As he looked up from his notebook, he caught sight of man sitting at a cubicle in the back corner — his old friend, Black Suit. Too tired to play the cloak and dagger game any longer, Max got up and strode right to the corner. To Black Suit's credit, he didn't attempt to escape. He waited as Max approached, set his jaw and crossed his arms.

  "What is it you want?" Max asked in a low, bored tone. He had learned this technique from Drummond — under the right circumstance, affecting a nonchalant manner threatened far more than a dangerous tone. He hoped this was the right circumstance.

  "You're a very interesting man, Mr. Porter." Black Suit had a smooth, easy voice — nonchalant even. Max felt a chill across his skin.