Southern Souls

by Stuart Jaffe

  Max downed the last of his coffee. “Anything’s possible right now. We need to do our research today. Find out what we can. Then we’ll know whether to be worried or not.”

  “That wasn’t very reassuring.”

  “You wanted me to lie?”

  “A little judicious truth-stretching would be appreciated.”

  “Oh, in that case, of course we know he’s fine. After all, we’ve got those symbols. Anybody practicing some form of witchcraft, no matter how strange, would have known how to cast a location spell on PB. Since that’s never been done, I’d say he’s fine.”

  Sandra leaned over and kissed the top of Max’s head. “I love you.”

  “Sheesh. If I knew it was going to be that easy to get you to love me, I’d have lied to you a long time ago.”

  She giggled. “So, where do we begin?”

  While in his morning fog, Max had been thinking about their research strategy. Now that his latest dose of caffeine had kicked in, he tapped on his phone. “I’m sending you the pics of those symbols. I’d like you to look into them, see what you can find out.”

  “Already expected you to give me that job. I’ve got a few ideas of where to find what we need,” Sandra said. “You going to be at the office?”

  “I better. If I stay here, chances are I’ll end up in bed asleep.”

  Sandra grinned. Over her shoulder, she called out, “Boys, time to go.”

  Max sat back with a grin of his own. “You’re starting to sound like a real mother.”

  “See that? Maybe we’re not so bad at this after all.”

  Drummond lowered through the ceiling. “Doll, you could never be bad at anything.”

  Moping as he walked, PB crossed through the kitchen, out the side door, and headed toward the car. Sandra turned to call for J once more, but he bounded in, slinging his backpack across his shoulder, ready to face the day’s academic challenges. His joyous gait stumbled as he looked up at the ceiling. Though he kept walking, he never stopped looking at Drummond.

  “Come on, now,” Sandra said, giving J a gentle push on the shoulder. “In the car.”

  With less bounce in his step, J exited the kitchen. Drummond said, “I thought you two talked to him about me. That he understood and it was all worked out.”

  “It is. A little.” Sandra snatched her keys off a hook by the side of the door. “But now that he’s seeing you, I think he’s starting to see more and more.”

  Max said, “I didn’t know it could work like that. I only ever see Drummond.”

  “Some people are like you. Tuned into just one ghost. But a lot of people — especially the young — once they wake up to being able to see, they start to see everything. We can talk about it later. I’ve got to go.”

  Sandra dashed out. After she left, Drummond floated to the floor.

  “I’m going to be doing research all day,” Max said. “You’re welcome to hang out with me, but I know how much you love watching me read books and stare at computer screens.”

  Drummond snickered. “You don’t have to play me in order to get me to do what you want. I know what you’re going to ask. You want me to go into the Other and see if I can find Wilson Klein.”

  “Am I that predictable? Sandra knew exactly what I was going to ask her to do, too.”

  “I don’t know how predictable you are — wait a second, I do. You’re very predictable. But in this case, we all have our skills and talents. It makes sense that you would ask us to follow up on the things we’re best suited for. But if you want to be a good leader, try to remember that we’re more than just those few things. Trust me. It took me a long time to let that one through my thick skull. Save yourself a lot of grief and start learning it now.”

  Max cocked his head to the side. “You’ve already been to the Other, haven’t you? You’ve already started looking for Klein.”

  Drummond removed his hat and gave a little bow. “I have indeed. He’s definitely in there. Quite a few of my contacts have seen him around. Word can travel fast in the Other — that place loves gossip. Too many bored ghosts with nothing better than to do than flap their jaws. Well, some of them don’t have jaws anymore, but they still manage.”

  “Then Klein probably knows you’re looking for him.”

  “Yeah, but I’ll get to him. Don’t worry.”

  “Me? Worry about you? Never.”

  Resetting his hat, Drummond said, “I’ve got some good ghosts helping me out. I’ll get him and bring him in.”

  He disappeared, and for a few seconds, all became still and quiet. Max tempted himself with the idea of crawling back to bed. He lost track of several minutes before snapping awake.

  “Better have another cup of coffee,” he muttered and juiced up his system with more caffeine.

  By the time Max arrived on Trade Street, his head had cleared and his body had fully woken. He climbed the stairs to the small office — enough room to house a desk for him, a desk for Sandra, and the bookcase built into the back wall for Drummond. They had a small bathroom and an area with an old couch and a low table for eating. A large circular rug covered the casting circle Max had carved into the floor for Sandra’s practice. Beyond that, the office could have been used for any small business.

  Flopping into his chair, he powered up his laptop and got to work. For the moment, he focused on one easy target — Wilson Klein.

  Klein’s death had already made it onto the local online news sources, and reporters were calling the death a suicide. The articles provided nothing much about Mr. Klein except for the street he lived on — Goldfloss Street. That tidbit of information would make it easier to separate Max’s Wilson Klein from all the others in the state of North Carolina.

  Next, he searched the Winston-Salem Police Department records. But at the moment, the case had not been closed and therefore not made public. That meant that either the paperwork on the suicide had yet to go through the department bureaucracy or the police were not considering the death a suicide and keeping the case open.

  Max turned to spending a little money and used several identity websites meant for employers or landlords to record check potential employees or tenants. Armed with the address from the article, Max waded through the numerous hits until he found the Wilson Klein he wanted. The information proved rather underwhelming.

  Wilson Klein, age 34, lived an unremarkable life — single, renting part of a house, working the same entry-level clerical job for the last seven years. No criminal record. Nothing, in fact, that made him standout as special or threw up red flags as troublesome.

  Max stared at the screen. “What could a guy like you have done to get yourself murdered?”

  He spent the rest of the morning searching through news articles, Facebook feeds, image searches — anything that might clue him in on what aspect of Klein’s life made him a target. In the end, Max had found nothing. The man had few friends, did not belong to any clubs, had no serious hobbies, had nothing that would have brought him into contact with a criminal element or anyone dangerous. Especially witches. Other than finding Klein’s dead body in a car covered in odd symbols, Max had nothing to connect the man with anything strange or supernatural.

  Around noon, Sandra entered the office carrying a cardboard box filled with Chinese take-out. He had no memory of the time passing, but his stomach rumbled at the smell of food. As they ate, he shared the limited and unremarkable information he had discovered. Sandra paid close attention as if what he had to say held great importance.

  When he finished, he said, “I don’t get it. Are you hearing something different than I’m saying?”

  “Not at all.” She set her pork lo mein aside. “Here’s the weird thing — you’re telling me that Wilson Klein has no connection to witchcraft, no connection to anything criminal, no connection to anything. And that is exactly what I found out about those symbols. They’re not connected in any way to witchcraft or the occult or anything. Unless those symbols are from a private coven that never
let any of its members write down a single word that could be found later in history, then the only thing I can say is those symbols are made up. They’re not real.”

  Max set his food down with a thump and paced back and forth in the eating area. At length, he plunked down on the old beaten couch. He felt like an innocent man waiting to hear if a jury would wrongfully convict him. Not that Max faced such a serious kind of trouble — or maybe he did. After all, technically this case belonged to Cecily Hull. For the moment, he worked for her.

  “Well, this is just great,” he said with a huff. “We’ve got a murder made to look like a suicide, we’ve got a victim who has no reason to be murdered, and the whole thing is covered in witchcraft symbols that aren’t even real.”

  “Hey, hey, honey, what’s bothering you?” Sandra said. Before he could answer, she raised her hand. “Don’t tell me it’s this case. Obviously, it’s frustrating, but I know you too well. You don’t get upset over this kind of thing. If anything, I would expect the lack of information to be an exciting challenge. You’d normally be back at your computer doing more research before I could finish eating. You should be fired up. So, what’s the problem?”

  Max closed his eyes. He wanted to say that Cecily Hull’s involvement had knocked him off balance, but the words tasted wrong in his mouth. When he did speak, his expression came out slow and thoughtful. “Everything feels disjointed. Not here — but at home.”

  Sandra chuckled. “Of course it feels disjointed. We moved to a smaller house with a bigger family, less money, and less assurance that were going to be okay. Everything is up in the air. But we’ve lived in worse situations, or did you forget the year we spent in a trailer?”

  “And it was Cecily Hull who got us out of that situation.”

  “Are you worried that you took this case because you wanted to get out of the situation we’re in?”

  Max rubbed his chin. “We’ve always wanted to build a sturdy foundation for our family, for the boys. When it was just the two of us, all the craziness in our life was fine. We held hands and pushed on through it together. But now — now these boys really do belong to us. They really are our responsibility. It’s not just a dream or some paperwork that needed to be filed. They live under our roof. Before, they spent time with us, but it was always temporary. It felt more like playing at being parents. Now, it’s real. I want us to all come together as a family, yet I don’t know if this is what it’s supposed to feel like. How do we know when we’ve actually achieved it?”

  Sandra sat on the couch and put her arms around him. “Honey, the fact that you’re even asking that question tells me that you’re doing just fine.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe my mother was right.”

  “Don’t ever say that again.” With a stern look that held an amused twinkle behind the eyes, she went on, “Your mother has been a big help in many ways and a big pain in the ass in many more. I think her self-imposed distance has been good for us. When she’s ready — and when I’m ready — we can melt some of that ice. But for now, under our roof, she is never right.”

  “Okay, okay. She’s never right.”

  Sandra pecked his cheek. “As for our family — you’ve got to understand that all families are different, and ours has to be very different because of all that we deal with. But it’s still family. It’s still important.” Her eyes widened. “That’s what this is about.”

  Max frowned. “I thought I’ve been pretty clear.”

  “We’re doing this case for PB’s sake, and you are worried we’re going to fail him. You didn’t find anything about Klein and neither did I, and that’s got you freaked out — not because Cecily Hull is paying the bills on this one, but for PB’s sake.”

  He had to admit that her words felt right. “I suppose. That’s a good thing, isn’t it? I should be worried about how this all plays out regarding PB.”

  “Of course. But that’s your answer right there. You’re worried about our family becoming a family and how it’s all going to fit together, yet you are acting like a father who cares for his sons and wants the best for them. You are trying to protect one of your boys, and that defines us as a family already.”

  Max got up and grabbed Sandra’s lo mein. Taking a few bites, he said, “I wish I could simply take your words and make them solid in my heart. But until we find out something about Klein that we can use, it’s hard to believe that I’m going to protect anybody.”

  With all the bravado of a conquering warrior, Drummond entered through the wall. “Did I hear you say you needed something on Klein? Your great and ghostly partner has delivered.”

  Max noticed Drummond’s arms were held in a funny way — as if locking somebody in a tight grip. Max looked to Sandra. She nodded. He said, “You did it? You got Klein?”

  Drummond tilted his head up. “You had doubts? Max, Sandra, I give you Wilson Klein.”

  Chapter 6

  MAX LEANED AGAINST THE EDGE OF HIS DESK as he watched Drummond struggle with the air in front of him, forcefully guiding the ghost of Klein into Sandra’s casting circle. They had all been through this routine before. Max had seen it enough that he could approximate the writing in a pinch. It wasn’t too difficult to lockdown a ghost for a short period of time. But Sandra grabbed chalk from her desk, got on her hands and knees, and scrawled several new symbols on the edge of the circle. Ones that Max had never seen.

  “I got this idea during the witch war.” She explained that during that tumultuous time, Madame Ti had locked a ghost within a casting circle and somehow made the ghost visible.

  “But I was under a curse then,” Max said. “I thought that’s why I could see and hear the ghost.”

  “It was. But you were only a half-ghost. You shouldn’t have been able to see him so clearly. Plus, Madame Ti could interact with the ghost just fine. Which meant that something about her spell made the ghost within the circle visible and audible. More than any spell I’ve ever encountered.”

  Wriggling his arms in one direction, then another, Drummond said, “Whatever you’re going to do, get on with it. Klein is not too happy about being here, and I can’t hold him forever.”

  As she wrote more symbols, Sandra said, “I can’t guarantee this will work in making Klein visible, but it will hold him down. Don’t worry about that.”

  She stood, closed her eyes, and mumbled several words to herself. Then she stepped back. With a nod, Drummond let Klein go and slipped out of the circle. Apparently, Sandra already knew how to select between more than one ghost for capture. Max didn’t want to know how difficult that trick was, but he suspected she had been working harder at it than she let on. Since she was determined to become one of the first good witches in existence, Max figured this was probably the right place to start.

  A tinny sound rose in volume. As the sound grew louder, a hazy shape formed in the circle. By the time Max could make words out of that sound, he could see Wilson Klein standing in front of him — no more than a fuzzy silhouette but a shape nonetheless.

  “That’s amazing,” he said, peering over at Sandra. “How long have you been working on that?”

  “Ever since I saw it. It’s not very good, but I think given some more practice I might be able to bring up the full image of a ghost.”

  Drummond said, “Doll, if Max is seeing anything, what you’ve done is incredible.”

  “Then it’s incredible,” Max said.

  Pounding his fists against the air in front of him, Wilson Klein said, “What kind of people are you? You’ve locked me in a circle and all you do is sit around congratulating each other?”

  “Watch it, pal.” Drummond drifted to the edge of the circle. “You do not want me to come in there.”

  Sandra stepped over to Max. “That spell won’t last very long. You better get on with it.”

  Max took a cleansing breath. He needed to be myopic for the next few minutes. Ghosts, witchcraft, PB, family — all of it had to be shut out. Only one thing could remain. Wilson Klein
.

  “Mr. Klein,” Max said, lowering his voice. “I’m sorry we had to bring you in against your will, but we need the answer to some questions. After that, you’ll be free to go.”

  Klein’s shadowy form shook his head. “You all are morons. Absolute idiots.”

  “Why were you at Odd Fellows Cemetery?”

  “Seemed like a good place to die. Made it easy to get my body in the grave.”

  “You didn’t kill yourself. We know you were murdered.”

  “I’ll murder you, if you don’t let me out of here.”

  Max tapped his chin as he thought. Clearly, Klein would continue to be belligerent until they grew tired of asking questions. But nobody could be happy about having been murdered. Perhaps some brutal honesty would do the trick.

  To Sandra and Drummond, Max said, “You know, I think Klein is right. We’re being fools. There is no way this man was killed for some special reason.”

  “Oh, gee, no,” Klein said in a mocking sing-song. “Now you’re going to try some kind of pathetic attempt to get in my mind.” He raised a closed hand, and the distinct silhouette of his middle finger lifted from his fist.

  “Not at all,” Max said. “I’m just realizing that we’re wasting our time talking here. I’ve already looked into your life. There’s not much there.”

  Drummond said, “Hold on. I went through a lot to get him here.”

  “Sorry about that, partner. But while you were off trying to find him, I spent the day looking into his life. Fact is that Wilson Klein had no life. Nothing really significant. He was basically a bland, boring loser.”

  With his shadowy hands clasped to his shadowy head, Klein said, “Loser? You are terrible at your job if that is what you think. I was selected by the greatest man to ever live. He chose me.”

  “Who chose you? Chose you for what?”

  “If we are all to prosper, then we must all be willing to do our part. The great Soro Brown knows this. He has true gifts, true power, and through him we will all become great.”