Deadly Curiosities

by Gail Z. Martin

  Teag had an uncanny talent for following information strands, either offline or online, to find and piece together bits of data and weave it into valuable intel. Now we knew it wasn’t all luck.

  “We’ll need the insurance paperwork and receipts, but that’s easily done,” I said. “I’m excited about the play.”

  “You need to get out more, Cassidy,” Teag said, sounding like a big brother.

  I shrugged, afraid to answer because it was true, and switched subjects. “Have you ever heard of Gardenia Landing?” Teag frowned, thinking. “Bed and breakfast?”

  I nodded. “I just got a rather desperate email from the owner begging me to come stay – for free – and help her with a problem with an item she got here.”

  Teag scratched his head. “I don’t remember selling anything to a B&B owner.”

  “She may have gone through a decorator.”

  “Okay. I can go through our list of regulars and see which designers have made purchases lately.”

  “Please. I’d like to have a clue about what I’m walking into before I go out there.”

  Teag raised an eyebrow. “You’re going? Just like that?”

  “Baxter and I need to get out of the house for a couple of days while the hardwoods get done over – remember?”

  “What about the owner’s ‘problem’?”

  I shrugged. “If she bought something here, it couldn’t be more than a sparkler. Maybe the B&B has its own ghosts, and they amped up the new piece so it’s acting out. At best, I find it and figure out how to neutralize it. At worst, I offer her store credit and a replacement and bring it back for Sorren to deal with.”

  Teag fixed me with the kind of stare my grandmother used to use if she caught me in a fib. “You know, and I know, that ‘at worst’ can be a whole lot worse than that. Be careful, Cassidy. Sorren’s not going to like you going out there by yourself when we don’t know what you’re up against.”

  I grimaced. “I’ll figure something out,” I muttered.

  What Teag said was true. Sorren was the mastermind behind Trifles and Folly, from its beginning nearly four hundred years ago. He had been the silent partner with the shop’s owner – always a relative of mine – down through the centuries. Sorren was also one of the early members of the Alliance, the group that got rid of dangerous magical items. “Maybe you should let Sorren know about this before you go,” Teag said, raising an eyebrow.

  “It’s probably nothing,” I said. “I don’t want to bother Sorren until we know for certain.” When I inherited the store from my great-Uncle Evan, I inherited the ‘real’ family business: protecting Charleston against supernatural danger. Sorren was part of that package. The Alliance was the other piece.

  Sorren’s maker had brought him into the Alliance in the 1500s when Sorren was a century old. The Alliance has been busy since then. When we make a mistake, lots of people die. Plagues, floods, earthquakes – fewer of them are natural than people think. Often, there are supernatural or magical fingerprints all over them, because someone very powerful made them happen. I didn’t want that on my conscience. On the other hand, the Alliance included some very powerful magic users and immortals.

  They didn’t get involved in routine hauntings.

  “Speaking of Sorren,” Teag said, “This came for you.” He held out an overnight mail sleeve and I ripped it open to find a letter in Sorren’s distinctive handwriting. “Hasn’t he heard of email?”

  I chuckled. Sorren used email just fine, and we both knew it. But with my gift, a letter carried far more information than what it actually said, information that couldn’t fall into the wrong hands if it were intercepted.

  “Let’s see what he has to say,” I said, and sat down before I touched the envelope. But as soon as my fingers touched the crisp paper, I knew we were in for trouble.

  “He’s worried about something,” I said. In a nod to the old ways, Sorren still used a drop of sealing wax embossed with the imprint of his signet ring to seal the envelope. It wasn’t an artistic flourish: there was magic in the wax that kept the letter eyes-only for the recipient.

  I broke the seal and pulled out the short note. “On my way,” I read aloud. “Be careful. Something’s up – not sure what. Big players involved. Details soon – Sorren.”

  But the paper told me much more. Death and danger had gotten the Alliance’s attention, and Sorren was worried. His warning was clear. Something very bad was heading our way.

  Sorren took his commitment to my family – and to me – very seriously. And if I thought Teag was overprotective, he couldn’t compete with a six hundred year-old vampire.

  Chapter Two

  I FELT RUSHED and flustered as I bustled to answer the front door. It was Saturday evening, and I’d spent the day rushing around. Baxter scampered back and forth underfoot, and barked up a storm when he knew we had a visitor.

  “Ready to go?” Teag asked, stepping inside. He looked good in a sport coat and slacks. His dark eyes held a hint of mischief, and he was wearing his trendy glasses instead of contacts, which added to the dashing young professor look. For once, his hair was tamed enough to stay out of his eyes. Since Teag tended to favor jeans and t-shirts, I suspected Anthony might have had a hand in selecting his wardrobe for the evening. He was more dressed up than I’d ever seen him, and I grinned. He bent down to scoop Baxter into his arms and tousled Bax’s ears.

  “Anthony’s going to wish he’d joined us,” I said. “You clean up well.”

  Teag laughed. “So do you.”

  I was wearing a sundress and heels, a tribute to the spring weather. A light wrap was slung across my shoulders, in case the theater was cold. Given Charleston’s hot and humid weather, odds were good that the difference between the outside air and the A/C on the inside would be enough to fog my sunglasses.

  “Here’s hoping that the opera glasses don’t pack much of a psychic wallop, so we can both enjoy the show,” Teag said.

  The small binoculars were tucked in my purse. I had handled them several times, and even tried using them to view a television show, thinking that might activate whatever our client had seen. Nothing happened. That meant that either the opera glasses only did their thing for live theater, or perhaps our client had an overly active imagination.

  Although technically our outing was work-related, I was excited. Maybe that said something about my social life, but the truth was, when I wasn’t working late at the store, I socialized with a small group of friends, or savored a quiet evening with a good book, a cup of tea or a glass of wine, and my little Maltese. Charleston offered one soiree after another, many for charitable causes, but the constant social swirl seemed more obligation than recreation. So I had to admit my excitement included looking forward to the play itself, not just figuring out what was going on with the opera glasses.

  “Did you know this play was originally produced in 1939?” Teag asked as we headed to the theater. He became a theater-geek fountain of information, keeping me entertained until we reached our destination.

  “I’ve got to admit, I’m as interested in the theater itself as the play,” I said, pausing on the other side of the street to take in the grand marquis that jutted out, retro-style, over the sidewalk and rose like a tower along the front of the building. We had to walk a few blocks since parking tonight was at a premium. “The theater’s a drama queen in its own way.”

  Teag chuckled. “The Academy has been a Southern belle, a movie star, a spurned lover, a bag lady, and a dowager queen. This was the biggest vaudeville theater in the South back in the day. Even after movies came out and many of the old theaters were converted to show motion pictures, the Academy remained the place to see a live performance in Charleston.”

  I felt a rush of excitement as we walked into the Academy. The theater lobby had been painstakingly refurbished to its glory days. From the big, retro lit-up marquis outside to the old-style concession stand, plush red carpets, and velvet-upholstered seats, the Academy Theater was qu
ite a showplace. It had taken a major effort from the community and the city’s theater lovers to pull off the fundraising and renovation, but the results were stunning. Everything screamed Victorian abundance, from the lush burgundy velvet curtains and the plush carpet to the crystal chandeliers, gilded decorations, and huge mirrors.

  “But the movies won out, didn’t they,” I said.

  “For a while,” Teag replied. “It closed in the 1970s, and it was empty for a long time. The local arts community managed to keep it from being torn down. Some well-heeled investors finally put the Academy back in business.”

  Those investors must have had pretty high heels and deep pockets, I thought, looking around at the opulent decor. Every detail had been lovingly restored, a nod to an era that believed too much was never enough.

  “We’re in the Grand Tier,” Teag reminded me as we climbed the sweeping marble steps. Even the railing was an ornate masterpiece, and each step seemed to bring us closer to the huge, sparkling crystal chandelier that was the centerpiece of the lobby. “So we should have a great view of the stage as well as the theater itself.”

  We found our seats. The view was amazing. Once we were settled, I pulled the opera glasses from my purse. The mother-of-pearl inlay glistened in the lights. The opera glasses consisted of a petite set of adjustable magnifying lenses on a single inlaid vertical handle. I could hold the lenses up to my eyes with the handle like a carnival mask, without having to take a two-handed grip like a crazed bird-watcher. It all felt very glamorous in an old-fashioned movie-star kind of way.

  Yet as I touched the opera glasses, I felt something that had not been present in the store; I felt uneasy, as if something were about to happen.

  “Are you getting any vibes from this place?” I asked.

  Teag was trying to eavesdrop on the couple sitting in the row ahead of us. My comment startled him.

  “Vibes? Just awe in the presence of this much bling,” he replied.

  I had to agree, the Academy reminded me of a wealthy woman who had decided to wear her entire diamond collection – and perhaps all of Tiffany’s – at the same time. But I didn’t think the feeling I was getting from the opera glasses was a fashion statement.

  I lifted the glasses to my eyes, and looked around the theater. No one was on stage yet, but with the lenses, I felt as if I were right in the footlights. Something moved off to the side, but when I turned my head, I saw no one. I continued to pan the theater, spying on the people in the box seats, admiring the outfits and jewelry of other theater-goers. From somewhere, I heard a child crying. I froze. It wasn’t the sound of a baby fussing or a testy toddler. The sound was faint, but it was a howl of fear and anguish that made my blood run cold.

  “Cassidy, are you okay?” Teag looked at me anxiously.

  “Did you hear that?” I struggled to keep my voice down.

  “Hear what?” Teag’s expression was sincerely confused.

  “I swear I just heard a child screaming for his life, and before that, I thought I saw a black shadow to the side of the stage.”

  Teag shook his head. “I’ve been staring at the stage for the last several minutes, and I didn’t see anything. I didn’t hear anyone screaming, either.” I must have looked unconvinced. “Look around, Cassidy. If a child were screaming bloody murder, don’t you think people would be restless, trying to figure out what was going on?”

  The other patrons were engrossed in conversation or studying their programs. I eyed the opera glasses with suspicion and a little trepidation. “I’m beginning to get an idea of what Trinket saw,” I murmured.

  The orchestra was just warming up. I closed my eyes and let my thoughts float free. Now, as I sat in my comfortable velvet seat, I began to get snippets of images that seemed utterly out of place.

  A pirate. Dancing girls. The old woman who lived in a shoe. I shook my head, wondering where the images were coming from, but more flickered in my mind. I saw a building that looked like a Greek temple on the outside, and a lavish Victorian palace on the inside. On a busy street, snow lay banked along the sidewalk, and I shivered as if a gust of winter wind had suddenly swept past me.

  “It’s starting,” Teag murmured, jostling me out of my vision. Shaken by what I had seen, I was glad to be brought back to the present. I opened my eyes, and for an instant, the Academy Theater I had entered was gone. I saw a stage set with scenery like a castle, and heard the faint strains of a waltz played by an orchestra. In front of me were a row of women in fancy velvet and silk shawls and men in dark coats with stiff white collars. I glanced down at my lap and saw the opera glasses as well as the long satin sleeves and full skirt of my dress, my high-button shoes just peaking their toes from beneath the hem.

  I blinked my eyes and everything was as it should be. Gone were the castle sets, the old-fashioned clothing and winter wraps, and the waltz. My pastel cotton sundress was as cheery as ever, my arms were bare and my hem ended above my knees. I resisted the urge to bolt from my seat, and tried to stop shaking by taking several deep breaths.

  “Cassidy?” Teag’s voice was a low stage whisper. “What’s going on?”

  I swallowed hard. “I don’t know yet, but I have the feeling I’m going to find out.”

  I tried to regain my composure. The opera glasses remained on top of my evening purse, not touching my skin. On stage, the classic play unfolded just as I remembered from high school. The audience loved it, but I couldn’t shake a growing sense of doom.

  The brightly lit exit signs caught my attention. They suddenly seemed far away. Panic tightened in my chest. How long would it take to reach the doors? I wondered. Could I climb over the seats if I had to?

  What about all the children in the aisles?

  Children in the aisles? I thought, shaking myself out of my reverie. The aisles were empty.

  Teag was watching me with a worried expression. The woman on the other side of me glanced away quickly when I looked in her direction. She was probably wondering if I had forgotten to take my medication.

  I let out a long sigh and got up the courage to lift the opera glasses once more. At first, the binoculars gave me a bird’s eye view of the play we’d come to see. But the longer I watched, the more often I caught glimpses of shadows crossing the stage. I was about to put the opera glasses down when a spark of light near the catwalk caught my eye.

  I peered through the glasses, scanning the rigging that moved the scenery. A light flared, then disappeared. A few seconds later, I saw it again. Was that a flame? Before I could grab for Teag’s arm, a new onslaught of images overwhelmed me.

  Fire billowed above the stage. Voices began to shout and the people around me pointed toward the curtain, which had now burst into flames. A man on stage shouted for us to remain calm and begged the orchestra to keep on playing, but people were already climbing out of their seats, running toward the doors. Doors? Where were the doors? I grabbed my son’s hand, dragging him over the seat in front of us, as he cried and whimpered, knowing we had just a few moments before the smoke made escape impossible.

  Smoke filled the theater. The lights went out. Nothing but darkness and flame. I held tight to my son’s hand, and pushed toward where I had seen a door. I’d never felt a press of bodies like this, and I gathered my son into my arms, knowing that if we fell we would be trampled. An elbow caught me in the ribs, but I kept on, maneuvering into the places between people where there was a little space. I could hear shrieks behind us, and it felt as if an ocean wave was building, set to carry us out or roll us under.

  The doors gave way and cold winter air hit us. We stumbled out into the snow, pushed from behind. I was gulping in great lungfuls of cold winter air but everything still smelled like smoke…

  “Cassidy? Cassidy!” I could hear Teag’s voice from a distance, but I couldn’t stop shaking long enough to answer. I was shaking from remembered cold, from a long-dead woman’s mortal terror, and from grief, because I knew in my heart that so many of those in the vision had not ma
de it out alive. “Does she have seizures like this often?” A stranger’s voice was matter-of-fact.

  “Sometimes she forgets her pills,” Teag replied in a confidential tone. “It’s not as bad as it looks. I’m sorry for the disruption.”

  “Maybe we’d better take her to the hospital, check her over,” the stranger, a security guard, said. I was coming back to myself, and embarrassment replaced terror. I had a vague idea of what must have happened, and if I was right, I’d probably never be able to show my face in this theater again.

  “Really, she’ll be fine,” Teag protested. “Just let me get her home, let her get some rest, and she’ll be better by morning.”

  “I’m fine,” I managed groggily. “Really.”

  Teag and the guard helped me to my feet, one man under each arm. The patrons next to me had already vacated their seats, giving me one more reason to want to sink into the earth and disappear.

  “Keep your head down and lean on us,” Teag whispered. “That way fewer people can see your face and people will feel sorry for you because you’re sick.”

  I groaned, but kept my face averted and let my rescuers half-carry me to the lobby.

  “If you change your mind about the ambulance –” the guard said.

  “She’s going to be fine,” Teag said, with his friendliest puppy-dog grin. “Her color is coming back already. I can get her out to the car from here. Thank you so much.”

  The guard grunted something I didn’t quite catch, then retreated. Teag scooped an arm under my shoulders and helped me stand, then steered me toward the ladies room.

  There was a lounge area in the rest room, and I sat for a few minutes to catch my breath, then went to the sink and splashed cold water on my face. I stood up straight and squared my shoulders as I walked out to the lobby. Teag was waiting by the door.

  “Let’s get out of here,” he said, leading me toward the side entrance, into the alley. “I’ll tell you all about it in the car.” By the time we reached the outside, I had my wits about me once more. We walked the few blocks to his car in silence.