I grimaced. “We made an acquisition at the store that seems like it’s more in line with your area of expertise,” I replied. Lucinda sobered, understanding the potential for problems.
“Okay,” she said, drawing out the word. She strode over to where her helpers were arranging some display cabinets to give them instructions, then walked back toward me.
“They’ll be busy with that for a little while,” she said, and motioned for me to follow her into a small side room that was currently empty except for a large table. “Now, what did you bring me?”
I put my tote bag onto the table and gingerly drew out the bag that held the beaded skull. Lucinda frowned, then walked counter-clockwise around the table, raising a quick, defensive warding around us. When she came back, she reached into the bag and lifted out the silk-lined box with cautious reverence. “Oh, oh, oh. What do we have here?” she said when she opened the box and stared down at the skull.
I told her about the unclaimed baggage sale and the man who had brought the skull in to Trifles and Folly. She listened as she carefully took the skull out of its box and turned it around in her hands to see the full decoration.
“You didn’t touch it, did you?” Lucinda’s dark eyes met my gaze.
“Are you kidding?”
“Good. Because it’s got some bad juju stuck to it, like stink on a skunk.” She lifted a small round magnifying lens that was on a chain around her neck and bent to get a better look at the beading.
“That’s the Baron’s veve, isn’t it?” I asked.
Lucinda nodded. “Yes it is. But not everyone who calls on the Baron has good intentions. Some of them don’t know what they’re messing with. They think he’s some kind of supernatural frat boy, and they find out fast he does not like to be disrespected.” Baron Samedi, one of the Voudon Ghedes, helps to conduct souls to the afterlife. Tradition holds that the Baron’s spirit likes cigars, rum, and dirty jokes. I always figured that his excesses had something to do with standing on the threshold between life and death, since the Baron is also the Loa of resurrection. If someone summoned the Baron without the proper deference, the situation could go bad very quickly.
Lucinda is a scary-powerful mambo, and together, she and Sorren and Teag and I have done battle with some supernatural creatures that definitely deserve the name ‘monster’. So I wasn’t surprised when she bowed her head, chanting softly as she cradled the beaded skull in her hands. I saw a shiver run through her body and knew that one of the Loas had heard her call.
“Not one of mine.” The voice came from Lucinda’s mouth, but it was a man’s voice, smooth in a riverboat gambler sort of way. Something about the way Lucinda stood, the expression on her face, told me that she was not herself, and I held my breath. Being face-to-face with Baron Samedi had not been on my to-do list for the day.
“I will take this soul,” the voice said. “It has been wronged. Best you watch the shadows. Bad things are a’comin’.” I could feel magic in the air, thick as roux. It felt different, and not just because of how strong it was. Magic done by mortals, even powerful mortals, feels one way. Magic done by supernatural creatures is different, in a way that words aren’t designed to express. The power that flickered in the air for an instant was not of this world. I shivered, and tried not to attract its notice.
With that, another tremor ran through Lucinda’s form, and when she raised her head, she was merely human once again.
“What was so special about that skull that it got a visit from… him?” I hesitated to say the Baron’s name. When dealing with insanely powerful otherworldly spirits, it’s best not to invoke them unless you’re prepared for a visit.
Lucinda placed the beaded skull back in its box. “Someone had misused their magic to make this abomination,” she replied, and from the anger in her tone, I knew she wasn’t critiquing the artwork. “It’s a human skull, and a human soul was trapped inside. The beadwork was done in a way that secured the spells. And if that wasn’t bad enough, something was draining that captive soul.”
“That’s the second time in as many days we’ve run into something feeding on souls.”
Lucinda fixed me with a worried look. “Child, that is not good. Does Sorren know?”
I nodded. “And he isn’t sure what’s behind it. Which worries me.”
“Is it all right with you if I keep the skull?”
“Yeah. We bought it for you, to keep it from going astray,” I replied.
“Good call. Even now, I wouldn’t want someone with bad intent to get a hold of it,” she said, and glanced over her shoulder toward where the workers sounded as if they were finishing their assignment. “Look, I need to get the exhibition up and running, so I’ve got to go, but if you need me, call me,” she added. And with that, Lucinda headed back to the other room, picking up where she had left off.
I headed back to Trifles and Folly, glad to be free of the beaded skull. My tote felt lighter without it, and I felt a psychic burden lift as well. Then I remembered that we still had not freed Tad’s spirit from the hair necklace, and I hoped that Father Anne would be able to send him on his way. Although Tad seemed resigned to being adrift in the world of the living, I had no desire to see him become a casualty in what was looking like it would be a nasty fight. And while Tad was already dead, I had seen enough to know that there were fates much worse than lack of a pulse.
I was deep in thought, and stumbled over the Ghost Bike. The mangled bike had been painted white as a memorial to a fallen cyclist and chained to a light post close to the scene of the accident. The newspaper had dubbed such memorials ‘Ghost Bikes’, and they had been popping up all over town in the last several months. They reminded me of the roadside shrines grieving families put up by the side of the highway to commemorate the site of a fatal wreck. And just like with the homemade shrines, I felt a jolt of otherworldly energy as my leg brushed the bike’s painted tire.
“Yikes!” I yelped, less because I had nearly fallen than because I was unprepared for the vision that came with the physical contact.
A bump beneath the front wheel, the blare of a car horn, too close and coming up too fast. Frantically struggling to regain control, then falling and impact… and then, something evil in the darkness, hungry and relentless. In the next instant, I saw the darkness overwhelm the cyclist’s hapless ghost, consuming his flickering light until nothing remained.
“Hey lady, are you all right?” A man in the coveralls of a local lawn service peered at me with concern. I realized I was steadying myself against the lamp post, trying to catch my breath.
“I’m fine,” I said sheepishly. “I stumbled and almost fell – must have caught my toe on something.”
“You might want to sit down. You’re pale as a ghost.”
Not quite, I thought. “Thanks. I just needed to catch my breath.” The man went on his way, and I took another moment to steady myself. I glanced back at the Ghost Bike, and saw a small laminated card with the name of the dead cyclist and the date of the fatal accident, along with a short description of what had happened. And while I knew that the bikes that were painted and used for the memorials weren’t always the actual bikes from the accidents, I wondered if the people creating the shrines realized that at least in some cases, spirits that did not move on attached themselves to the bikes.
When I got back to the shop, I found a sign on the door that said ‘Back in fifteen minutes’ and the door itself was locked. Worried, I unlocked the door and stepped inside, locking it behind me.
“Teag? Maggie? What’s up?”
“We’re back here, Cassidy,” Teag replied, and I could hear the worry in his voice. I headed for the back, and found Maggie seated in one of the chairs at our break room table looking much the worse for wear. She had a bloody gash on one side of her head, and blood marked her face and shirt. Maggie held a plastic bag full of ice against a rapidly-growing bruise that looked likely to become a goose egg. She also had her left leg propped up on a chair with a swelling a
nkle and more ice.
“What happened?” I asked.
“I went next door to take the newest batch of fountain pens over to Craig Murdoch,” she said. Teag and I knew Craig fairly well. He was the owner of Deckle Edge Bookstore, my favorite place in Charleston to look for out-of-print copies of special books. We gave Craig first dibs when we got in boxes of old books from an auction or estate sale, and he had a standing order for whatever beautiful vintage Parker and Waterman pens we acquired.
“Did you fall?” I couldn’t imagine what could have happened to Maggie between here and the next store. “Please don’t tell me that someone mugged you!”
Maggie started to shake her head, then swallowed hard at the discomfort and reconsidered. “Craig loved the pens. But everything was higgledy-piggeldy in the shop because he was bringing out his seasonal books. He and that new assistant of his were also putting up some fall decorations, and I volunteered to help bring a load of garlands and plastic pumpkins up from the basement.”
Uh-oh. “And then what?” I asked, although I was afraid I could guess.
“Craig sent Jonathan ahead and asked him to show me where the pumpkins were stored. You know what their basement stairs look like – the shop is very similar to Trifles and Folly. Ten steps down at the most, into a big room with a few support beams.”
Except that ours also had a locked safe-room where a vampire could spend the day in an emergency. That was a feature only Teag, Sorren, and I knew about.
“Jonathan was three steps ahead of me,” Maggie continued. “The lights were on. Craig was right behind me. But then – and you’re not going to believe me – Jonathan started to disappear. He kept on walking, but I couldn’t see his legs. And before I could say anything, he was gone completely. And I was falling – it felt as if someone had pushed me square in the chest.”
“Just gone?”
Maggie met my gaze. “I know it sounds crazy. Craig saw – or rather, didn’t see – the same thing. One instant, Jonathan was in front of me, and the next he was gone.”
“You searched the cellar?” I couldn’t imagine how someone could have pulled off such a prank, but it was worth exhausting the mundane explanations before assuming a supernatural attack.
“Craig did. I was nearly knocked cold,” Maggie replied. “Whatever took Jonathan pushed me so hard I fell. There are a few moments I don’t completely remember, except that something really scary and strange was happening and I didn’t dare fall forward.”
“I’m glad you didn’t,” I said with heartfelt relief. I had met Craig’s new assistant, and Maggie’s account made my skin prickle with fear for his safety. “What then?”
“Craig helped me back up the steps, and then he went back to the basement. I wouldn’t have gone back down those steps for a million dollars, but this time, Craig went down just fine. Said the basement was just how it always was. But there was no trace of Jonathan.”
“Wow,” I replied, exchanging a meaningful glance with Teag.
“Craig tried calling and texting Jonathan’s cell phone, but he didn’t get an answer.” She paused. “Funny thing – we thought we heard the phone ring a couple of times, then nothing. But there was no one around, and we didn’t find the phone.”
“What’s Craig going to do?” Teag asked.
“He was beside himself. You can imagine. But how can you call the police about it? Can you imagine what they’d say if he tried to tell them someone disappeared on his way down the basement stairs?”
A few weeks ago, her skepticism would have been dead on. Now, I was betting Craig would be surprised to find out the police might take his report more seriously than he imagined.
“Was there any reason Jonathan might have had to run away?” I asked. Not all employees are trustworthy. I wondered if Craig might find the till short a few hundred – or thousand – dollars, or some items missing from stock.
“Jonathan hadn’t mentioned any personal problems, and Craig said there weren’t any issues with his performance, but he told me he would double check to make sure nothing was gone.” Maggie sighed. “I really liked Jonathan. He was good with customers, and he was just getting his life back together.”
A warning prickled down my spine. “What do you mean?”
Maggie’s face grew pink. “I shouldn’t have said anything. But I guess it will come out, if Jonathan really is missing. He hadn’t been in Charleston long. Moved here from Upstate, near Columbia, after he’d had a bit of trouble. Got accused of vehicular manslaughter because a drunk wandered out in front of his car, but he was acquitted. Poor fellow.”
“Why don’t you take the rest of the afternoon off?” I suggested. “Teag can drive you home.”
Teag looked at me. “Are you sure you’ll be all right while I’m gone?”
I nodded. “Sure thing. But I promise you – I won’t go near the basement.”
Teag hesitated. “Check your voice mail. Sorren left a message that he had to go out of town unexpectedly – said we were to be careful.”
I wondered if that meant more problems in Boston. With the wards Lucinda had set around the shop, I was pretty sure we would be safe in the store, but I wasn’t about to push my luck. I was worried about Maggie. I was worried about Sorren. And right now, there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about any of it. So I poured myself a cup of coffee and flipped the sign in the window, figuring that chatting with some tourists with money to spend might take my mind off things.
It wasn’t long before a big man in a leather jacket and more scars than a cage fighter walked into Trifles and Folly. He just didn’t seem to be the type to be shopping for antiques.
“I’m looking for Sorren,” the man said abruptly. His voice was rough, and I bet he liked his whiskey straight.
“Excuse me?”
This guy was easily over six feet tall, with broad shoulders and muscles that didn’t come from the gym. He had scars on his hands from fights and a scar on his neck that looked like someone had tried and failed to slit his throat. A particularly ugly scar marred his face.
“I believed the hippie when she said she didn’t know, but I don’t believe you,” he replied. His voice wasn’t implying a threat – so far – but his light blue eyes had a killer’s coldness to them.
“You need to leave.” If the best defense is a good offense, I intended to start offending. Charleston prides itself on manners, but it also has a reputation for starting fights (big ones, like the Civil War) and finishing what gets started. And right now, he’d gotten my back up.
“Tell Sorren that Daniel’s in town. Tell him I’m watching the Watcher.”
“Daniel who?”
His smile revealed a mouthful of teeth that looked like they had been rearranged a few times, and not by a dentist. “Daniel Hunter. He’ll remember me.” His smile froze into something more like a grimace. “Sorry about your uncle. He should have gotten out of the game sooner. I hope you know what you’re doing, taking over for him.”
That did it. “Get out,” I said. “Get the hell out, and stay out.” I felt a tingle as the dog collar on my left wrist jangled, and then a low, angry growl filled the air. The big man looked surprised, then annoyed when he saw the glowing shape of a large dog with its spectral teeth bared, but he backed up mighty quickly when that ghost-dog took a step toward him, head lowered, ready to leap.
“I said, get the hell out of my shop.”
Daniel Hunter gave me a baleful look, glanced back at the angry dog, and headed for the door. “Just tell Sorren. He’d better watch out. And you’d best watch out, too.” With that, he walked out of the door, but I noticed that he never turned his back on Bo’s ghost. When the door slammed shut, the ghost dog looked over at me, wagged his tail, and vanished.
I sat down on the stool behind the counter and took a long, shaky breath. Sure, I had faced down some pretty nasty supernatural threats with Sorren and Teag. I trained in martial arts with Teag, and while he was good enough to have won several championships in b
oth Filipino and Brazilian styles of combat, I could hold my own. That didn’t mean I relished a fight, not with a bad nasty from beyond, or from a big bruiser who seemed to think he could push me around.
I replayed what Daniel had said. His delivery had been flat, and his manner was menacing. But had he meant it as a threat, or a warning? And was ‘Hunter’ really his last name, or his job? No way to tell. I pulled out my phone and texted Sorren, giving him a quick recap. He definitely needed to bring me up to speed on this whole situation – and Teag, too. I don’t mind putting my life on the line to keep Charleston, and the world, safe. But I do need to understand what I’m fighting. So the next time I saw Sorren, he was going to get a tart piece of my mind.
FOR ONCE, I was happy that we didn’t get any more customers that afternoon at Trifles and Folly. By the time Teag got back from settling Maggie safely at her house, it was time to close up.
“I’m meeting Anthony for dinner,” Teag said with a smile. “He’s working on that big case, so we have to grab time together when we can. Otherwise, we don’t cross paths even though we’re in the same house.” I wished them well. My last boyfriend had kept a similarly crazy schedule as an emergency room doctor, and coupled with my odd hours with the Alliance, which I couldn’t talk about, things didn’t go smoothly. Maybe someday.
“Anyhow,” Teag continued, “Text me if Sorren shows up. I want to know more about what’s going on. And in the meantime, I’m going to see what I can find on the Darke Web.” Teag’s Weaver magic works for more than textiles. He’s fantastic at weaving data strands together; his magic can hack into just about any system and never leave a trace. He’s also good at navigating the darker corners of the internet. Criminals and low-lifes haunt the Dark Web, pages regular people aren’t meant to find. But the supernatural community has the Darke Web, spelled and protected with ensorcelled encryption to keep out prying eyes. Teag takes it as a challenge to break through, and I’ve never known him to fail.
Vendetta (Deadly Curiosities Book 2) Page 7