Behind me, the door to the porch slammed open. Biscuit streaked into the hallway one step ahead of Teag. Biscuit took one look at Bo’s ghost and rose a foot straight up into the air, coming down—claws out—onto the hob as he finally tore free of the rake. Bo sprang toward the hob, which was coincidentally also toward Biscuit. The cat’s hackles had risen enough to make him look like a puffer fish. Biscuit howled and took off, freeing the hob from its claws just in time for the little monster to be tackled by Bo, which sent him sprawling.
I heard the swish of cloth and a fine silvery metal net settled over the hob. In the next instant, a solid wooden fighting staff came down with a thud on the hob’s head. That stunned the hob, but didn’t completely knock him out. Everyone froze.
“What the hell is going on?” Teag asked. He looked at the hob, and then at Maggie, who looked scary in her own right, hair askew, eyes wide and holding the ruined rake like a weapon. Bo wagged happily to see Teag, then sat down, gave me a doggy grin, and vanished.
“Ask that thing,” Maggie said, giving the captured hob a poke with her rake. “I’m afraid to go see how much damage he’s caused!”
“It’s one of the Hearth Hob figures I told you about, from the Market,” I said.
Teag looked at the wriggling hob and back to me. “You didn’t tell me they were alive.”
“They aren’t supposed to be,” I replied.
Teag pinned the hob with his staff as a precaution and leaned down for a better look. “Ugly little bastard.” The hob had a head that was too big for its body, with a shock of white hair that stood straight up. His naked body was gnarled, with a pot belly and oversized hands and feet that ended in sharp claws. The mouth was filled with pointed teeth, and the hob’s eyes were red as blood. It squealed in anger at being restrained, and Teag thumped it again with his staff.
“I’m guessing that it really is a hobgoblin,” I said. “I’ve heard of them, but never thought I’d end up fighting one.”
“The real question is why was someone pretending to be an artist selling statues that turn into hobgoblins?” Teag asked.
“What are you going to do with him?” Maggie asked. She’s been around us long enough to have figured out our real role as supernatural vigilantes on her own, and she’s cool with it; in fact, she insists on helping out behind the scenes whenever we need her.
“I need salt,” Teag said with a glance toward Maggie, “and the burlap bag that’s in my trunk,” he added with a look toward me. We went to fetch the items, returning in a couple of minutes.
“Give me the salt.” Teag held out his hand, and Maggie handed him a big canister of Morton’s. Teag poured a circle of salt around the hob, which began to squeal and thrash with renewed desperation. Then Teag dumped half the canister right on top the hob. The goblin’s skin began to smoke, and it let out an ear-splitting howl.
“Open the bag!” Teag ordered, and I held the stiff burlap bag wide. Teag scooped up the hob in his metal net and dumped the whole thing into the bag.
“Won’t he get out? Burlap’s not very strong,” I asked, looking askance at the sack.
Teag grinned. “I’ve spelled the cloth and then soaked it in colloidal silver and salt water for good measure. And there’s an iron cage in the trunk that I made to hold a redcap if we caught one. He’s not going anywhere. We’ll let Sorren figure out what to do with him.”
Now that the fighting was over, Maggie sagged against the wall. “That was a lot more excitement than I bargained for,” she said. She took a deep breath and rallied. “How about some sweet tea? I was just about to put cookies into the oven before all hell broke loose. Why don’t you stash that nasty hob in the cage and come into the kitchen?”
I knew Maggie was worried about what the hob might have damaged. “Would you like me to have a look around and see whether anything’s broken?” I asked.
Maggie looked relieved that I had guessed her thoughts. “Thank you, Cassidy. I was thinking I’d have to add a shot of bourbon to my tea before I worked up the nerve to do that myself.”
I had only been to Maggie’s house a couple of times, but the bungalow wasn’t big, so it was easy to find my way around. The hob had been busy. Several decorative plates had been thrown from their place on the wall and lay smashed in the middle of the dining room. Books were scattered across the floor of the guest bedroom, and the bookshelf was lying face down. That was probably the crash we heard. Any knick-knacks on the shelves were likely broken, but the shelves themselves and the books would probably be fine.
The hob seemed to have been bent on destruction just to cause havoc. Small items had been thrown from tabletops and shelves. The bathroom mirror was broken, and the carpet runner in the hallway had deep gouges in it that weren’t caused by Biscuit’s claws. I hoped Maggie wouldn’t be too upset. I found a broom and dustpan and cleaned up the broken pieces.
“Could have been worse,” she said when I told her the news. “I’m okay and Biscuit’s all right. Neither you nor Teag got hurt. I needed to clean out some clutter anyhow.”
“Now what?” Teag asked. “Maggie wasn’t the only person who bought a hob at the Market. What happens when other people’s goblin statues come to life and wreck the house?”
Good question. Maggie knew to call us because of the store. Most people thought we just ran an antique store, so they wouldn’t be calling for goblin extermination. “It would help if we knew who the artist was, but Maggie didn’t get his name,” I replied.
“Someone at the Market must have a name on the vendor booth rental,” Teag said. “I bet Mrs. Teller could find out for me.”
“Do you think the hobs are connected to the redcaps?” I asked.
Teag shrugged. “I hope not, but it seems like too much of a coincidence to dismiss. We’ll have to assume they’re connected until we find out otherwise. Maybe Sorren will know something.”
Maggie put out some tuna in Biscuit’s bowl. The yellow cat slunk into the kitchen with her ears flattened against her head, hyper-alert for an attack. “You know, Biscuit didn’t like that statue from the moment I brought it in the house,” Maggie said. “Hissed at it before I even took it out of the bag.”
“Big surprise—our Hearth Hob vendor was a squatter,” Teag announced when I arrived at the store the next day. “Turns out the merchant who has a lease on that stall was suddenly taken ill, and the hob guy showed up and took over.”
“Mighty convenient, wouldn’t you say?” Working with Sorren and the Alliance has taught me that there aren’t many true coincidences when magic and the supernatural are concerned.
“Yeah,” Teag replied, sarcasm heavy in his tone. “But the security cameras did get these shots,” he added and turned his laptop around for me to see a photo of a license plate and another picture of a man’s face. “I got a match on the plates. They’re registered to a guy named Brian Kessler.”
I didn’t ask exactly how Teag had gotten the security camera pictures or managed to trace a license plate. His hacking skills—enhanced by magic—are world-class. “The name doesn’t ring a bell,” I replied.
“I’d never heard of him either,” Teag said. “But I did a little digging. He’s an artist. He’s been in a few regional shows, gotten some installations at small, local galleries, done some street sales. No arrest record. But get this—his soon-to-be-ex wife has a restraining order out on him.” Obviously, some of his information came from hacking into the police system.
“So he’s got a bad temper,” I said, and the comment triggered a memory. “You know, Alistair said that there was an artist whose work wasn’t accepted for the Christmas exhibit who pitched a fit about being rejected. I wonder if it’s Kessler?”
“Even if it was, I’m not sure how it connects to our redcap and hob problem,” Teag replied. “That’s the other thing I found out. There have been two more people reported missing, and about a dozen complaints of wild animals loose in people’s homes.”
“Wild animals?” I mused. “You thin
k that’s how people are explaining the hobs?”
Teag nodded. “It makes sense—if you don’t believe in the supernatural. Squirrels, raccoons, feral cats—they could all make a mess, knock things over and move really fast.”
“Go back to Kessler,” I said. “If he’s the one who gave Alistair problems, then he might have been in the Christmas exhibit before it opened. Alistair showed me the Dark Side of Christmas display—it’s all about monsters from old legends who punish bad children and cause havoc.”
“You think it gave Kessler ideas?” Teag asked. “That might explain the ugly hob statues—but not their ability to come alive. To do that—and summon the redcaps—Kessler would need some kind of magic.”
“See what you can come up with,” I said, “and I’ll call Alistair and get the name of his problem artist. It’s the only connection we’ve got, and I have the feeling that the closer we get to Christmas, the worse this is going to get unless we do something about it.”
Teag stayed up front with his computer while I went back to the office to call Alistair. A few minutes later, I rejoined Teag. So far, the morning had been slow for customers, and Maggie was off, so we still had the shop to ourselves.
“Alistair confirmed it; Kessler’s the guy who caused problems at the museum. And he also confirmed that Kessler had access to the exhibit before it opened, which would have included the Dark Side of Christmas display,” I reported. “And one more thing—someone broke into the museum last night. The only thing missing was the Krampus costume.”
“Since we’re not busy, why don’t I go see what I can research about this guy while you cover the front?” Teag suggested. “We might want to pay a call on his studio.”
I nodded. “That works for me.”
Not long after Teag went into the back, the first wave of tourists hit. Charleston draws a big vacation crowd, and clearly, some people had arrived without bringing Christmas presents with them because they were in the mood to shop. I helped them look at estate jewelry and old silver picture frames, delicate antique teacups, and pretty cut glass vases. It looked like a good day for the bottom line.
The last of the tourists was leaving when Alicia Peters walked in. “Hi, Cassidy! Do you still have that lapis lazuli jewelry I asked you to hold for me?”
“Sure thing. Let me get it out of the safe.” I brought out a beautiful gemstone and silver necklace, ring, and bracelet. “I really love this set,” I said, setting it on the counter. “The blue is so intense.”
Alicia nodded. “Pretty, and practical too. Especially with Rauhnachte coming up.”
“Rauhnachte?” That was a word I hadn’t heard before.
“It goes by a lot of different names,” Alicia replied. “Smoke Nights, Twelfth Night, Glockelnacht—all pretty much the same thing. Twelve days around the Winter Solstice where the veil between our world and the next is especially thin. It’s especially good for divination, but it’s also when ghosts get lively. And it’s prime for demons to cross over.”
Alicia has worked with Teag, Sorren, and me before on Alliance cases. She’s a very talented spirit medium, so when she talks about ghosts, I listen.
“So you want the necklace for protection, or to amplify your abilities?” I asked. I’m still new at using my touch magic, so I have a lot to learn from other people with supernatural talents.
“A little of both,” Alicia replied. “Rauhnachte is a very old custom. Maybe even from before the Middle Ages. Back in the day, in parts of Germany, people dressed up like monsters and waved cow bells around to scare away the demons.”
“You mean like Krampus?”
Alicia nodded. “You’ve heard of him? He was just one of the monsters. There are others.”
“What’s so special about the Solstice?” I asked. “And isn’t that tomorrow?”
She shrugged. “Yes, the Solstice is tomorrow. As for why it’s special, it’s the shortest day of the year—people have always sensed stronger supernatural power then. And it’s also when the ‘dead days’ fall.”
“I thought Day of the Dead was in October?”
“Completely different thing,” Alicia said with a laugh. “A long time ago, they changed the calendar to be based on the sun, not the moon. There’s an eleven day—twelve night—difference between the two. Some people say that those days exist ‘outside of time’ now and that they’re prime season for things from the other side to come through.”
“You didn’t just pick out this jewelry because you like blue,” I said.
“Nope. Shelly says we’re in for a worse than usual Rauhnachte, and you know she’s rarely wrong.” Our mutual friend Shelly was a wicked-good clairvoyant.
“Do you think the Rauhnachte could have started early?” I asked as I rang up Alicia’s purchase. “We’re sure that something—or someone—brought redcaps through, and people are going missing.”
“I heard. And I don’t know,” She admitted. “But in the old days, people were afraid to walk around after dark because the demons would carry them away during the Smoke Nights. Maybe someone’s been reading up on old myths.”
Alicia paid me for the necklace and left, after we agreed to get together for lunch the next week. Half a dozen more tourists came in, and I was so busy helping them with their purchases that the next hour flew. By the time I looked up, it was almost five and nearly dark outside.
That’s when the knight walked in.
“You are the demon fighters, are you not?” The man had a heavy German accent. He was a few inches over six feet tall and broad-shouldered, with black hair and a trimmed black beard. I could tell from the way he held himself that he had a military background. The long brown coat he wore seemed out of place in Charleston, but then again, so did the chain maille I saw beneath a tunic that looked like a knight’s tabard.
“This is an antique shop,” I replied.
He gave me a look. “This is Sorren’s place. We are acquainted. I am Knight Ruprecht. I have come here because this is where the demons will be. Krampus is coming. So I am here.”
Some nights, the best you can do is just order pizza and roll with whatever comes.
An hour later, there was an empty pizza box from Jocko’s on the counter, and a war council of mortals and immortals seated around the break room table. Sorren and Teag were there, as well as Alicia. Knight Ruprecht sat stiffly at one end of the table. Father Anne sat next to him. She’s a member of the secret St. Expeditus Society, a group of priests who kick demon ass, and she’s good in a fight.
Chuck Pettis was next to her. I could hear him ticking from across the room. Chuck’s superstitious and he wears dozens of wind-up watches sewn to the inside of his jacket. He’s a retired special ops guy whose unit went after supernatural threats, so he’s cool with our whole Alliance connection. The last member of the team was Rowan, a witch who had helped us out against some bad nasties not long ago.
“I think we’ve found where Brian Kessler may be holed up,” Teag said. “I pieced together his movements based on his license plate, and everything triangulates right around the old Saint Adalgar’s church.”
“That burned down ten years ago,” Father Anne said. “It wasn’t rebuilt because the neighborhood had become mostly industrial.”
Teag nodded. “The section where the old church is has a lot of vacant buildings. It’s not the best part of town. Perfect place for someone to set up a studio if they didn’t want to be bothered. I’ve hacked into a security camera on a business across the street that shows the parking lot. His car comes and goes.”
“Teag asked my coven to sense the energy of the area near the old church,” Rowan said. “There’s a lot of electromagnetic noise in that area from overhead wires and some factories nearby. Handy for covering up magic, unless you have a reason to look and know what to look for. Someone’s been meddling with some very dark energy, and what they lack in skill, they make up for in brute force.”
“Do you think Kessler is working alone, or does he have a witch h
elping him?” I asked.
“The kind of magic we picked up on felt more like untrained, raw talent,” Rowan replied. “The kind that’s fueled more by rage than training.”
“That sounds like Kessler,” I said. “We already know he’s got anger management issues.”
“Saint Adalgar’s is an old church,” Teag put in. “It dates back to the early eighteen hundreds, but it wasn’t considered architecturally important enough to restore after the fire. Here’s the thing—it was built on land that was a potter’s field a century earlier, the place they buried pirates.”
“That would help an untrained witch with bad intentions,” Rowan replied. “Those damned souls would gravitate toward the anger and malice in the magic, boosting his power. With enough raw talent, he might even be able to control them.”
“Could he bind those spirits to statues?” I asked. “Like the Hearth Hobs? Because they were just statues in the marketplace, but they came alive once people got them home.”
“Maybe,” Rowan said. “It would be difficult. But it’s possible.”
“How is a guy like Kessler managing that kind of magic?” Father Anne leaned forward. “Did he show any signs of power before this?”
“Actually yes, in hindsight,” Teag replied. “One of those cases where no one sees what they’re not looking for. He’s been fascinated with occult themes in his art for a while, but in the last six months, it’s become more of an obsession. Some of the information I found suggested that it cost him gallery showings and lost him commissions—like the one for the Museum. Take a look.” He turned his laptop around so the rest of us could see the screen.
The slideshow of images was a descent into madness. Monsters haunted a shadow city that looked like Charleston distorted by nightmares. Twisted faces stared back at us, barely human. I felt a chill run down my spine as I realized that the shadow creatures in some of the paintings resembled redcaps and hobs.
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