“We don’t have to go today,” Teag said. “But Alistair told me that Landrieu had gotten back in touch with him about nine months ago to tell him that they were going after a really interesting old wreck.”
“The Cristobal,” I said. Teag nodded.
“Landrieu emailed Alistair some of his notes and research, trying to interest the museum in giving the expedition a grant, and possibly doing an exhibit on the pieces they brought up.”
“Alistair still has the notes?” I asked, sitting up straighter.
Teag grinned. “He sure does, and he’s willing to show us. We’ve got an appointment for tomorrow, right after the shop closes.”
“Let’s make sure we can defend ourselves this time,” I replied. “Just in case Jeremiah Abernathy or Moran and his demon decide to pay us a repeat visit.”
Chapter Twenty
THE LOWCOUNTRY MUSEUM of Charleston took up most of a block on the edge of the Historic District. It included the original old home where the museum had its start, and had grown into a modern building underwritten by its patrons, who added onto the building every few decades.
It was after six when we parked Teag’s old Volvo in the lot. Alistair had agreed to meet us even though the museum was technically closed. Personally, I was relieved. Going into the museum made me nervous enough without being afraid I’d have an audience for any bad reaction. I hadn’t quite lived down the incident at the Academy Theater, and I didn’t want to give anyone more to talk about.
“Alistair said to meet him by the side door,” Teag said. “That way you don’t have to go through the public exhibit space to get to his office.”
I gave a wan smile. I knew Alistair remembered the last time I’d visited. Whether he suspected that I had a psychic gift and not just a ‘delicate constitution’ I had no way of knowing.
“Cassidy! Teag! So good to see you,” Alistair greeted us, holding the door open so we could enter the locked staff entrance.
“I love the new silver exhibit,” I said. “The photos online are gorgeous.” I swore off visiting the museum in person, but I was a donor so I had online access to all the new programs.
Alistair smiled. “That’s one of my favorites,” he said. “Although really, I don’t think the photos do it justice.”
He led us down a long hallway to his office and gestured for us to sit down. The museum prided itself on putting its budget into acquisitions and traveling exhibits, not administrative overhead, so the office was functional but not fancy.
“Teag told me all about your interest in the Privateer salvage team,” Alistair said, walking around his desk to pick up a small stack of paper and a leather journal.
“Russ Landrieu was very excited about their last expedition,” he added, a note of sadness in his voice.
“He was certain they had found the Cristobal, and he thought this dive might be their big break. I think he was hoping for some good headlines, maybe a TV show, and patrons to fund more diving,” he said, and sighed. “Of course, that isn’t what happened.”
The more we looked into the history of the Cristobal, the more I was certain the Privateer’s crew had been murdered, likely by Moran. But we were still speculating on the motive, and we didn’t have a confirmed link between Moran and Landrieu. I wouldn’t have put it past Moran to let Landrieu’s crew take the risk and do the work, only to steal the cursed treasure once it was retrieved.
Alistair held the papers out toward us, and Teag took them, handing off half of them to me. He began to flip through the journal. “Have you read all of this?” Teag asked.
Alistair shook his head. “I meant to, but we got busy, and then when the Privateer went missing, I filed the papers away, because the exhibit was obviously never going to happen.”
I thumbed through the papers. I saw nautical coordinates, sketches of what the Cristobal looked like in its prime, and some blue-sky notes on what the exhibit might include.
Holding the papers, I could sense Landrieu’s excitement, his optimism, and his passion for diving.
Landrieu had big dreams, and Alistair was correct that the diver had thought the Cristobal could be his team’s claim to fame.
But as I riffled through the notes, I could feel a shift in Landrieu’s mood. The optimism became tempered with worry, and then a tinge of fear. I looked over to Teag. “Find anything?” I asked.
Teag shrugged. “We’ll need to read through all this carefully, but there are a couple of places where Landrieu says he thinks he’s being followed, maybe by a rival salvage crew.” He looked to Alistair. “Did he say anything like that to you?”
Alistair nodded. “I didn’t really think much of it at the time, but later, after the Privateer went missing, I wondered.”
“I know it’s been a while, but do you remember exactly what Landrieu said?” I asked.
Alistair looked at the ceiling, deep in thought for a moment. “He said that people would be surprised by the treasure, that it wasn’t just a bunch of gold doubloons,” he said, remembering. “He’d stumbled on some old log books, and he was certain that there was a one-of-a-kind piece the Cristobal had been carrying in secret.” He frowned. “Landrieu even hinted that it might be cursed.”
He laughed nervously. “Of course, I didn’t take that seriously at the time, but later on, when the ship disappeared, I thought Landrieu had been right about the curse.”
“Was he afraid of competitors?” I asked.
Alistair nodded. “He swore me to secrecy, and I didn’t think he’d told me anything very revealing.
That’s also why he gave me the journal and the papers, for safekeeping.” He shook his head. “Landrieu said he thought someone was shadowing them, trying to get ahead of them. I noticed that he was carrying a gun.” He paused. “He said he was approached by a man with a disfigured face who offered him a million dollars if he and his crew would forget about the Cristobal.”
“And Landrieu refused?” Teag asked.
Alistair nodded. “With these explorers, it’s not about the money. It’s the thrill of finding what’s been lost and getting bragging rights.” He shrugged. “And if the wreck was really as good as Landrieu thought, they might well have made more than a million with a TV show, grants, that sort of thing.”
I wondered if, for all his talk of curses, Landrieu had any idea of the danger of what was down in the Cristobal’s cargo hold. “May we take these with us, to study?” I asked.
“Just sign them out and bring them back,” Alistair said. “I figured you would want to go over them with a fine-tooth comb.” He met my gaze. “I would love it if someone could figure out what happened to those fellows. They seemed like a nice bunch of guys, doing what they loved.”
“If Landrieu and his team dove near Charleston, did they have an office here?” I asked, handing the papers to Teag.
Alistair shook his head. “They were very frugal. Saved all their money for their dives. Although when they were working here in Charleston for several months at a time, they did take a storage unit to stow their gear.”
Storage again! It was like an alarm going off in my head as I tried to focus on the here and now.
“Anything else?” Teag asked, slipping the papers and the journal into his messenger bag.
Before Alistair could answer, I leaned forward. “Do you know anything about a man named Jeremiah Abernathy?”
Alistair leaned back in his chair. “Abernathy? Sure. In his time, he was notorious.” He frowned. “What does ol’ Jeremiah have to do with the crew of the Privateer?”
I smiled in a way I hoped was disarming. “I was over at the Historical Archive and saw their new exhibit, and Mrs. Morrissey said that there were rumors that Abernathy had some kind of cargo aboard the Cristobal when it went down.”
Alistair grinned. “You’re good at your research. I’ve heard that rumor, too.”
“Any truth to the scuttlebutt that Abernathy had an interest in the occult?” I pressed.
Alistair nodded. “
Actually, yes. Jeremiah had a lot of enemies, and he took precautions. He had plenty of bodyguards, lots of guns, and a network of informants, but even that didn’t make him feel safe. He was quite a superstitious man, and toward the end of his life, he was worried about curses. He surrounded himself with all kinds of amulets and good luck charms.” Alistair shrugged. “Obviously, they didn’t work.”
He leaned forward and grinned conspiratorially. “We have some of Abernathy’s things. Want to see? ”
I weighed the frightening thought of going into the museum’s stored collections area against what we might learn, but my anger over the deaths of Landrieu and his crew made up my mind. “Lead on,” I said, even though Teag gave me a skeptical look. I just shrugged, hoping for the best.
We followed Alistair down the long hallway toward the stairs to the collections level below. The lighting was dimmed, since the museum was closed and most of the staff had gone home. My senses were on full alert, and I felt jumpy. That might be from being in a museum surrounded by hundreds of artifacts with strong emotional resonance. I was certain that many of them also had supernatural mojo. I was hoping that was all there was to it, but just in case, my hand went to the agate disk necklace I’d faithfully recharged in the moonlight.
Alistair unlocked a keypad and let us into a large room. It reminded me of the stacks at the Archive, except that where those were filled with books, this area had long metal shelves in rows as far as the eye could see, all filled with historical ‘stuff’. Boxes with cryptic markings. Jars filled with discolored formaldehyde and pallid, preserved things best left unexamined. Glass-lidded cases filled with butterflies, taxidermied birds and small mammals, and other oddities.
It was cooler down here, and I folded my arms around myself. In part, it kept me warm, but it also brought Bo’s collar closer to me, a reassuring presence. I had debated about whether or not to bring the walking stick and the spoon. I couldn’t figure out how to explain the elaborate, antique walking stick to Alistair, nor did I want to be responsible for setting the museum on fire. The wooden spoon was up the right sleeve of my light jacket. I glanced at Teag, and saw a bulge in his jacket where he carried Sorren’s lantern.
We walked along the wall rather than among the tall rows of shelves. Hanging from the wall were dozens of large mirrors of every size, style, and era. Some sported elaborate gold frames, while others were set in carved wood or precious stones. The convex and concave mirrors gave an eerie, funhouse appearance. The mirrors ranged from small enough to fit over a vanity to the size of a door, and as we passed by, they reflected our images in a way that made me keep thinking I saw something out of the corner of my eye.
“Here we are,” Alistair said, turning sharply. The long rows had breaks every so often that worked like cross-streets, and Alistair headed down one of these sections, while Teag and I tried to keep our bearings and make sure we knew how to get out.
Several of the rows we passed had large glass cases full of elaborately dressed dolls. Down another row, I saw the same cases filled with ventriloquist dummies. I remembered the museum’s recent exhibition of antique children’s toys, and saw more cases filled with wind-up cars and trucks.
Everywhere I looked, the rows were filled with interesting items. I wished we could stop to look, but at the same time, I didn’t want to find out by mistake which ones would trigger my gift. I hoped we could make it out without causing a scene.
Alistair stopped between two rows, got his bearings by looking at the row numbers, and headed confidently toward a large wooden box. He lifted it down from the shelf and carried it a short distance to a large table.
“These were some of Jeremiah Abernathy’s personal items, donated after his death by the local authorities,” Alistair said. “Apparently, he was in enough trouble that no one ever came forward to claim his effects.”
I moved closer to see, and Teag looked over my shoulder. I saw a gold pair of cufflinks, a silver flask, gold-rimmed spectacles, and a knife with an antler handle. Even without touching them, I felt the same resonance as I had at the Archive’s exhibit: cold, violent, remorseless… and frightened.
“You said Abernathy was in trouble. Did his luck wane at the end?” I asked.
Alistair nodded. “Oh yes. Not long after the sinking of the Cristobal, in fact. Deals gone bad, associates who turned on him or turned him in, problems with the police, and with the federal government.” He shook his head. “For all the power he once had, Abernathy died violently in fire and a gun battle. Toward the end, he was hounded by his fellow criminals, the authorities, and some say the supernatural.”
Losing control of your demon will do that to you, I thought. Something toward the bottom of the box caught my eye.
“See something, Cassidy?” Teag asked.
I noticed that there were several photographs in the bottom of the box – old tintypes with faded images. Teag reached in and pulled the pictures out, holding them for me to see.
One of the old pictures showed Jeremiah Abernathy standing next to a tall man in a hat. Corban Moran. Moran’s face and skin hadn’t withered in this photograph, and he appeared to be a man in his early forties. But I knew from Sorren that looks could be deceiving. Still, we had the link we needed.
Moran knew Abernathy, and almost certainly knew about the demon. Both Abernathy and Moran came to ruin when the Cristobal sank. Moran, a damaged immortal, showed back up just when Landrieu’s dive team was about to recover the Cristobal treasure. Moran had approached Landrieu, who turned him down. Now Landrieu and his men were missing, probably dead, along with at least half a dozen more unfortunates sacrificed to feed Abernathy’s demon. And now, I thought I had the piece that linked all the rest together.
“We should probably let you get home and have dinner,” I said, conscious of the time and the fact that Teag and I still had to get back without running afoul of a pissed off demon, the demon’s minions or Moran. Just another night in paradise.
Alistair had just replaced the box on the shelf when we heard the ‘clunk’ of an electrical breaker. Half of the lights in the collections room went out. A second later, we heard another ‘clunk’ and the other half flicked off.
Emergency lights cast a dim glow, but shadows stretched between the long corridors and their tall shelves. Alistair looked more annoyed than alarmed. “Well now, that’s unusual,” he said. “I’ll have to have a word with building maintenance. Come on, I can still see well enough to get us out of here.”
We took a few steps and halted as strange sounds carried over the gloom. From one direction, I heard the scuffing of feet, but the footsteps were light, like a small child. From the other direction, we heard the unmistakable sound of a metal key winding up a spring. And from right in front of us, hidden by shadows, came the sound of hundreds of wings flapping.
“Run,” Teag said, grabbing my arm. Alistair hesitated for just a second, and then led the way at a faster-than-dignified pace.
The emergency lights gave off just enough of a bluish glow that we weren’t completely blind, but like driving at twilight, our eyes weren’t functioning at their best, either. I glimpsed movement in the shadows to my right. Whatever was out there wasn’t much taller than our knees, but moving quickly.
“Get us back to the main hallway!” I hissed to Alistair.
From the left came the sound of dozens of music boxes, each playing a different tune, all at the same time. The buzz-click of mechanical joints moving and the shuffle of metal feet on the tile floor echoed in the huge room. I could hear the halting din of metal drums played by tin marchers, the wheeze of old springs wound too tightly, and the grinding hum of wind-up cars and tanks. Something had brought the old toys to life, and set them after us.
“Those are dummies down there,” Teag yelped, pointing to the right. “Ventriloquist dummies, and they’re moving by themselves!”
An impossible flock of birds began to dive bomb us. They flew fast enough to get up a good speed, flocking down the long aisle,
intent on closing the gap with us. Passenger pigeons and Carolina parakeets, birds I’d seen in the glass cases, but that no one had seen in flight for over a century because each and every one was dead, taxidermied, and extinct.
Whatever propelled them kept them flying until they reached us, then the dead birds fell from the air, pelting us with their stiff, lifeless bodies.
“The dummies are gaining on us!” Teag warned. I was too busy swatting long-dead birds away from me, getting scratched by their sharp beaks and talons.
Tinny old-time music and wind-up buzzing grew louder as the army of old toys marched and rolled toward us. Paint peeling, dented and bent, their advance was incredibly creepy, and they were moving much faster than they should have been able to go.
The dummies and the toys rounded the corner, pouring into the main cross-hallway. If there had been any doubt that some sentience was controlling them, their single-minded pursuit removed it. The hallway where we had entered was just ahead, and in the huge mirror at the end of our corridor, I could see the toys were gaining.
Something hit me from behind, scrabbling at my back, pulling my hair, kicking against my spine. Solid and hard, it rammed against my skull with enough force that I saw stars. I wheeled, slamming the ventriloquist’s dummy against one of the metal shelves, trying to scrape it off as is clamored for a hold on my clothing.
Bo’s ghostly form appeared, barking at the dummies and metal toys, running at them to draw them off or force them back. Unfortunately, his spirit mojo wasn’t a match for the very solid, scary-real attackers coming our way.
Deadly Curiosities Page 24