Deadly Curiosities

by Gail Z. Martin

  Now that I thought about it, Jimmy Redshoes sold odd, and unusual pieces, the kind that might have been looted from someplace. He always spun such fantastic tales about their history to get you to buy, I thought. His stories were too outlandish to be true, but they always made me laugh. Now he was dead, and if I had a chance to make his killer pay, I would.

  I headed for the back room to make a pot of coffee. The latte helped, but I was still feeling the effects of last night. Part of it was the crash after a mortal terror adrenaline rush. But the majority had to do with the cost of using my psychic gift in a major way. Drawing on that supernatural energy was exhausting, another reason I wanted time to recharge before heading back to the warehouse district.

  “Speaking of which...” Teag said, following me to make a cup of tea in the hot pot. “I did a little poking around online. Look what I found out about unlucky Kevin.”

  He spread out several pages he had printed out on the counter. Right away, I recognized the photos of Kevin in two different online newspaper stories.

  “Kevin Harvey – the guy whose button you found at the Dennison house, was a hustler who seemed to dream of going straight. He had a pushcart down in the park for a while, and he had even done a regular table at some of the local flea markets.”

  “What went wrong?”

  Teag stirred some sugar into his coffee. “Kevin got busted for selling stolen goods. He managed to stay out of jail, but from what the article says, it ruined him.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Kevin’s murder was one of the things that helped finally shut down the boarding house for good. But get this,” Teag added. “He’s counted as one of the unsolved Navy yard killings.”

  “They’re doing an impromptu gathering at Nicky’s in lieu of a service for Jimmy. I think I’ll go and see what I can learn. You still meeting Anthony tonight?”

  “Yeah, hopefully it will be a ‘non-eventful’ evening so we can focus on a little romance.” Teag laughed.

  I hoped so, too. It had been a little too eventful around here lately.

  I WASN’T SURPRISED to find Sorren waiting for me when I got home from the service for Jimmy Redshoes.

  My first clue that he was present came when Baxter didn’t yip himself silly when I came in the door. I had left a light on in the kitchen, and it was enough to see Sorren sitting on my couch with Baxter happily perched on his lap. Baxter looked bemused and glazed, and I knew Sorren had glamored the pup again.

  “You know, that can’t be good for Baxter, scrambling his little circuits like that,” I chided. “You’re going to give him brain damage.”

  Sorren chuckled, and stroked Baxter’s silky fur. “I assure you, all I’ve done is given him the equivalent of a mild sedative. It causes no ill effects.”

  It certainly beat having Baxter bark until he was hoarse. “Cassidy, I hope you know by now that I would not harm you,” Sorren said. “I’m well aware of how fond you are of the dog. And if it makes you feel better, one of my patrons in Belgium had a very similar little dog, and we got on together quite well.”

  No surprise, if you glamored him every time you saw the pup, I thought, but said nothing. Baxter certainly didn’t look any worse for the wear.

  “Have you been waiting long?” I asked. Maybe I should be freaked out about finding an immortal vampire waiting in my house, but it didn’t seem any stranger than meeting him elsewhere, and Sorren didn’t like to be seen places he was likely to be remembered.

  “Just a few minutes,” Sorren said. “Do you have any news?”

  I caught him up on Teag’s research about the man I had seen in my vision at the Dennison house, and the confirmation about Jimmy Redshoes. Sorren listened intently.

  “There was something else,” I added. “When I was leaving Nicky’s Bar, I spotted a photo on the wall.

  Five young men in front of their ship, the Privateer, anchored down at the Battery.”

  I met his eyes. “The Privateer was a salvage ship. Teag showed me a picture of the ship and its crew.

  And I saw those same men among the ghosts that protected us at the Dennison house.”

  Sorren nodded as thought over what I had just said. “Very good. I think there’s a link between all the deaths, the haunted objects, and that salvage team. We just haven’t found all the connecting pieces,” he said.

  “Did your source turn up anything?” I asked.

  Sorren set Baxter gently on the ground. Baxter ambled over to me and scratched at my leg to be picked up. He licked me once, then settled down and went to sleep.

  “Yes, but in the negative,” Sorren replied. “No one’s seen Corban Moran in decades. That’s why I thought I had killed him. But apparently, he survived, and he’s been in hiding. If we can find out what he’s been doing, we should be able to figure out why he’s surfaced here in Charleston, with a demon to do his bidding.”

  “Do you think the salvage team that disappeared has something to do with Moran?” I asked. “And with the sunken pirate ship?’ Sorren nodded. “Almost certainly there’s a connection, and we need to find it soon.”

  “Did you find out anything else?”

  “Moran’s not the first to raise a demon in Charleston. There have been several, including Jeremiah Abernathy.”

  “Who?” I asked, searching my memory. The name sounded familiar, in a very bad sort of way.

  “It was one of the cases the Alliance handled many years ago. Abernathy was a corrupt judge who profited from the pirates he hanged, whose loot he seized for his own,” Sorren replied. “Abernathy was rumored to have made a deal with the Devil, though I doubt it was with more than a minor demon. He had gone to the rum islands, and made a pact with the dark magic there for wealth and power. But something went wrong.”

  “Like what?” I asked.

  “No one knows for certain, but Abernathy’s luck had a sudden turn for the worse,” Sorren replied.

  “Can’t say I minded. He was a foul creature, and deserved the end he got. We had to do some serious clean up after his dealings soured.” He paused. “But now, after Mrs. Morrissey’s comment about Abernathy doing business with the unlucky Captain Harrison, I’m beginning to wonder if he has something to do with what’s going on now.”

  “Harrison’s return from Barbados and the loss of the Lady Jane coincide rather neatly with Abernathy’s run of bad luck,” Sorren added. “We thought we had removed any tainted objects… perhaps there was something we didn’t know about.”

  I frowned. “You think Harrison’s pirate loot ended up with Abernathy, and that it was intended for him all along?”

  Sorren nodded. “That’s exactly what I think. And now, all these years later, a salvage team has disappeared diving for an old wreck. Right before Corban Moran shows up and men start dying.”

  “Abernathy’s demon,” I murmured. I looked up and met Sorren’s gaze. “If something aboard the pirate ship would have given Abernathy control of a demon, and that item was lost in the shipwreck, then why didn’t the demon get loose and destroy the city?”

  Sorren gave me a look. “Check your dates. You’ll find that right after Abernathy died, Charleston was struck with one of its worst Yellow Fever outbreaks. At least, that’s what they called it at the time.”

  His answer chilled me. “Why didn’t the demon keep on killing?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “Different demons function under different rules,” Sorren said. “Abernathy’s demon could not remain here unbound, and he withdrew to the place between worlds where spirits dwell, waiting.”

  “Waiting for someone to find the item that was lost in pirates’ shipwreck,” I replied. “Something the salvage team found.”

  “Or was about to find,” Sorren said. “We don’t know – yet – how the item came to Moran. If the demon has been called back and is under Moran’s control, for now, then somehow, Abernathy’s artifact has been recovered. That makes it our business.”

  We were silent for a moment, then I found the
courage to ask the question that had bothered me since the previous night.

  “Why did you choose Alard’s walking stick to give to me?” I asked.

  Sorren was quiet long enough I didn’t think he would answer. Finally, he looked down and shifted in his chair. “I gambled that the stick would work for you, as it worked for Carel,” he said. “Carel had your touch magic. Alard received his walking stick from a powerful wizard, a good man who died in the service of the Alliance.”

  “But I’m not a wizard. I shouldn’t have been able to call fire.”

  Soren gave a sad smile. “You didn’t have to. The walking stick worked as an athame, a focusing tool.

  All you had to do was open yourself to the memories of those who used it before you. Their power, their magic, has become part of the cane. When you touched it, and let the memories flow through you, the walking stick did the rest.”

  I was going to need to spend some time thinking about that. “What now?” I asked.

  “We’ll need to find more weapons if we’re going to keep investigating the hot spots you found in the Navy yard. The key we need to connect the pieces is out there; we just haven’t found it yet.” He gave me a resolute smile, and I saw the tips of his long eye teeth. “But we will.”

  I shut and locked the door after Sorren. Just then, my cell phone began to ring.

  “Hello, Sweetheart!” My mom seems to have a sixth sense about when I could use a call. That was probably true, given the magic that runs in her side of the family.

  “Hi, Mom. What’s up?” Baxter was hopping around my feet. He always seems to get extra affectionate whenever I’m on the phone.

  “Just got back from speaking in Denver and thought I’d give you a buzz,” she said.

  “Home for awhile?” I asked.

  “Two weeks, then we’re heading to Manitoba, then on to Toronto,” she said. “It should be a nice break from the heat.” My parents moved from Charleston up to Charlotte when I was in college. At the time, my father worked for one of the mega-banks, and the move was part of a corporate relocation.

  Then my mom got her big break and launched her speaking career based on 30 years as a psychologist, and once the money started rolling in from her seminars and events, dad was more than happy to retire from the corporate world and become her agent and event manager.

  “How’s the store?”

  “Busy,” I said. “You know – every day is a new adventure.” Boy, and how.

  “How about you? Are you okay? I’ve had the strangest feeling and I just had to call.” Mom’s voice had gone into her ‘you can trust me, I’m a therapist’ tone.

  “I’m fine,” I said, ignoring a flash of guilt. “Just a little tired.” True enough.

  “I had the oddest dream,” Mom said. “I dreamed about Grandma Sarah baking in the kitchen at her house. Do you remember?”

  I smiled. Grandma Sarah had her own type of powerful magic, an ability to heal people with her cooking.

  “I dreamed that Grandma Sarah was baking a cake, and she was stirring the batter with her favorite wooden spoon. Then she stopped and looked right at me and said, ‘Elizabeth, you need to remind Cassidy to use my spoon. I’m done with it and she needs it’.” Mom laughed. “Isn’t that odd?”

  I swallowed hard, taking a meaning from Mom’s dream that she couldn’t have known. Sorren and I had just talked about helping me collect items that would help me channel white magic like Alard’s walking stick – things that could serve as an athame or wand and connect me with the power of the previous owner. I went to my kitchen drawer and pulled out the worn, stained spoon and felt the essence of my grandmother’s very strong, very pure white magic.

  “I’ve got to go. But honey,” Mom said, pausing. “Please be careful. I worry about you.”

  “I will be,” I said, wishing I could figure out how to keep that promise. “Love you.”

  “Love you, too.” The call ended, and I let out a sigh and reached down to pick up Baxter and cuddle him for a moment.

  I looked around my house and smiled. It’s not one of the biggest or most historic homes in Charleston, but it’s perfect for me. In a relatively short period of time, I had made this place my own. On all the shelves and walls, there were photos, recent pictures, and snapshots from family vacations as I was growing up. Photos of my brother, aunts and uncles, cousins, and grandparents were tucked everywhere. And there were pictures of every dog I had ever loved, from the cocker spaniel I had as a kid right up to Baxter.

  I paused for a moment and picked up one of my favorite photos. It was a picture of a beautiful blond golden retriever, and in the photo, it would forever be summer, with the sun shining on his fur and his tongue hanging out in a goofy smile. Bo had been my constant companion for nearly a decade. I still missed him. I smiled as I thought about how much he loved to fetch a ball, and how he loved almost everyone he met.

  ‘Almost’ because one night, when I had been walking him a little later than usual, a thief went for my wallet. I’d always figured Bo would hand over the family silver for a dog biscuit, but I had a surprise coming. Bo sensed the threat, and all of a sudden, my furry goofball turned into ninety pounds of snarling, no-nonsense protection backed up by a big dog bark and teeth that looked menacing. The mugger decided it wasn’t worth it, and Bo got a steak dinner for his efforts. Even now, thinking about that time made me feel very loved and protected.

  Remembering Bo and Grandma Sarah’s spoon gave me an idea. I went into my bedroom and walked to my closet. Stretching up on tiptoe, I got a box off the top shelf. It was covered with pretty fabric, and it held some of my dearest treasures. Baxter danced around my feet as I carried it carefully over to my bed and sat down to open it.

  If there’s ever a support group for psychometrics, we’ll probably all confess to being packrats of a particular type. We horde trinkets that are charged with powerful memories. I opened the box and smiled as I looked inside. There was a frayed friendship bracelet from my high school best friend, a shell from my favorite vacation, and tickets from some of the most awesome concerts I had ever attended, things that made me feel loved and happy whenever I touched them. But I was looking for something specific, and when I saw it, I had to swallow hard at the memories it evoked.

  I reached in and pulled out a stained and dirty dog collar. Bo was my best friend and I wasn’t entirely beyond suspecting that he might have also been an angel in a fur coat. As much as I loved Baxter, I would always miss Bo.

  The metal tags jingled as I closed my fist around the collar, and I felt Bo’s unconditional love and protection as clearly as I could see his wagging image in my mind. And I knew what I had to do.

  I wound the collar around my left wrist until it was tight enough to stay on and still possible to buckle.

  Just being in contact with its vibrations made me feel protected and strong. With a sigh, I closed the box and put it back on the shelf, then I headed downstairs for a hot cup of tea.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “I REALLY WISH we’d brought Lucinda with us,” Teag muttered as we eyed the old Covington warehouse.

  “Lucinda has a day job, remember? And while she’s a friend and she’s helping us, I’m not sure that she’s an official part of the Alliance,” I replied.

  “Personally, I’d be okay with a private army,” Teag replied. His right hand jiggled nervously in the pocket of his hoodie.

  “What do you have in your pocket?” I asked Teag sighed. “I filled both pockets with salt, just in case. And I stopped by the Rock Hound booth at the Charleston City Market and bought a chunk of agate and an onyx disk.”

  Now that I was paying attention, the pockets of his hoodie actually looked a bit heavy. How much salt did he pour in there? I wondered.

  Then again, I had a dog collar wrapped around my left wrist, my agate necklace, Alard’s walking stick shoved through my belt, and a flashlight in my pocket. On a whim, I had grabbed my grandmother’s mixing spoon and pushed it up the jacket sleeve on
my right arm so it was snug against my forearm. If Grandma Sarah thought it was important enough to send a message to me from the Great Beyond, I figured there was more to the spoon that met the eye. Teag had his heavy cop flashlight plus the lantern with a new blue-black candle. I didn’t know what Sorren had with him, but I was hoping it packed a big paranormal punch.

  “Can you feel it?” I asked. I stared up at the dark hulk that was the Covington-Simchak warehouse. The sense of dread and foreboding was overwhelming. Most people have a gut-feel aversion to supernatural bad places where power is strong. Sane people listen to those warnings and run in the opposite direction. Not us. We were going inside.

  “No one’s here.” Sorren’s voice made me jump despite the fact that it was barely above a whisper.

  “And yes, I feel it. The energy here is very unstable. We need to be careful.”

  I could think of dozens of things I would rather be doing. Then I remembered the body of Jimmy Redshoes on the pavement. He deserved justice.

  “You’re sure it’s abandoned?” I asked Teag. The cornerstone of the red brick Covington building said 1860, and it looked hard used. It sat glowering, almost sulking in the darkness.

  A couple of security lights on other, newer buildings cast a glow that nearly reached the Covington warehouse, but the building itself was surrounded by shadows. The sense of dread intensified. It felt as if the building were daring us to enter.

  “Officially at least,” Teag replied. “Simchak Enterprises went bankrupt a year ago. They had problems for a while. It was bad enough to make you wonder if they were cursed or something.”

  Or something, I thought. “And before that?”

  “The property has changed hands a suspicious number of times, often as part of a bankruptcy.”

  “What about the Covingtons?” I asked.

  “They managed to keep the place in one piece during the Civil War by hiring a private army of goons to patrol it,” Teag replied. “They had a reputation for dirty deals, which from what I could find, they earned fair and square. Do you know how they ultimately lost the building? A duel!”