I felt the shock of the magical impact in my body. It jarred every bone, sending an immediate, blinding headache from the base of my skull to the crown of my head. I felt the spirits rip away Lawry’s magical protections, strip them from him like shears through silk, felt them leech the heat from his body and the breath from his lungs and finally the twisted magic from his fingers.
Their vengeance flowed through my veins, rose and fell with my breath as the pipes played their cursed tune. My rage had fueled theirs, and their hunger for justice had enraged me even further. They, and we, were avenged. I felt the spirits pull back, and then dissipate. They had what they came for.
As suddenly as it came, the storm ended. The Vengeance rocked on quiet waters. It was then I realized two things. The first was that Coltt was staring at me in wide-eyed horror, very much alive. The second was that we had not exploded.
My arms were shaking as I carefully laid aside the Dow pipes. The marks of the chanter’s holes were imprinted—no, burned—into my fingertips, and my lungs ached. I freed Coltt, and together we ran to the hold. We found the partially burned fuse, but it was cold, extinguished by the mighty gust of wind the spirits had sent around and through the ship. We returned to the deck, and I looked skyward. The Vengeance’s sails hung in tatters, and one of its masts had snapped.
“Look there!” Coltt pointed. Lawry’s ship was listing badly to port. Its sails were in even worse shape than ours, and two of its masts had fallen, bringing the rigging with them. Bodies lay scattered across the deck and bobbed in the water. Later, we would go aboard, but our visit only confirmed what through my magic, I already knew. Lawry and his crew were dead, and his soul cache was shattered and useless.
“If we manage to get back to port, I don’t know how we’re going to explain this to Sorren,” I said. We had reclaimed the Dow pipes and destroyed the soul cache, and Lawry along with it. I wasn’t sure whether that made our mission half successful or a half failure.
Coltt still looked ashen from the shock of it all. “I opened my eyes to hear you playing those damned pipes, and I saw spirits weaving all around you. How did you do it?”
I thought about the rage and grief I had felt over my murdered crew, the anger that surged through me to be held captive on my own ship, threatened with my own munitions. It had been sheer, blinding rage, not courage, that had driven me. I was glad to be alive, but I wasn’t particularly proud of myself.
“Easy,” I said with a wan smile. “I just had to put the ‘irate’ back in ‘pirate.’”
Among the Shoals Forever
“Even for Charleston, it’s too many damn ghosts to ignore.” Sorren, my patron and mentor, leaned back in his chair.
“We’re in one of the most haunted cities in the New World,” Uncle Evann replied. “What’s a few more ‘haints’ when we’ve got so many?” He shrugged. “I never reckoned ghosts were really any of our business.”
Sorren gave Uncle Evann a look that managed to convey both exasperation and affection. “They become our business when they’re bound here by dark magic,” Sorren said. He swirled the red liquid in his goblet, liquid I knew for certain was blood. The glow from the fireplace added color to Sorren’s pale complexion, but could never warm his skin. He might have let out a long sigh if he still needed to breathe. Instead, he looked from Uncle Evann to me.
“And it becomes Dante’s business when pirates are involved,” he said with a hint of a smile that just slightly exposed the tips of his elongated eye teeth.
He had me at “pirates.” “Yeah,” I said with a glance at Coltt, my partner in crime. “Whatever it is, count us in.”
Sorren was the silent partner behind the curio shop in Charleston run by my Uncle Evann. Four years ago, when Coltt and I had been the only survivors of a pirate raid on our small fishing village, we’d taken our stolen ship and fled to Charleston, hoping Uncle Evann could give us sanctuary. We’d killed the pirates who had murdered our families and had a haunted necklace to show for it, one that I knew for a fact was evil. I thought Uncle Evann would know what to do with it.
As it turned out, Uncle Evann’s shop, Trifles and Folly, was more than it appeared. Sorren was one of a small, secret group of mortals and immortals pledged to keeping dangerous magical objects out of the hands of those who might misuse them. Sorren and Evann kept an ear open whenever objects with unusual pasts came up at auction, or were part of an estate being distributed. One way or another, Sorren made it his business to take those objects out of circulation. Evann handled the legal acquisitions. Coltt and I now took care of the rest.
Sorren stretched out his long legs and watched the fire burn as he spoke. “Felicity Reynolds Barre disappeared on a voyage from Bermuda to Boston almost a year ago.”
I frowned. “Sloan Barre’s daughter?” Sloan Hampton Barre was the scion of an old Boston family with numerous business ties in every port city of the seaboard, including Charleston.
Sorren nodded. “The same. It appears her ship was overtaken by pirates. There were no survivors found, nor bodies recovered. That would suggest that the passengers were either killed and thrown overboard—”
“Or taken to sell in the brothels and sugar cane plantations of the Indies,” I finished, distaste clear in my tone.
“Precisely,” Sorren replied. “Normally, I’d say there was nothing we could do except offer a prayer for the young woman’s soul. But it appears that Miss Barre was exceptional beyond just her family connections. She was given an antique cameo brooch by a young man named Islwyn Lawry, a brooch that her family believed had occult power. Lawry, it seems, convinced her that it had the power to protect the wearer, and Miss Barre never took it off.”
My expression darkened. “Was Islwyn Lawry any relation to Galoshin Lawry, the gent with the fondness for black magic we went after a while back?”
Sorren chuckled. “Islwyn is Galoshin’s son, but he had a big row with his father several years ago, and by all accounts, didn’t approve of his father’s schemes or the way he used his power. Islwyn gave the cameo to Felicity when she set sail to return to Charleston, as a token of his love. It appears they had made plans to marry when she returned to Bermuda.”
“But she never did,” I murmured. “So the cameo wasn’t as powerful as Islwyn hoped.”
Sorren frowned. “Or perhaps it didn’t work in quite the way he expected. Barre made a special trip to Charleston, and he came to Evann several nights ago, referred by a trusted mutual friend. Need I say that Trifles and Folly is not among his usually frequented establishments? The good man believes he is being haunted by his daughter’s ghost. She comes to him in his dreams, wearing the cameo around her neck, begging for something, but she doesn’t speak.”
“Grief makes people see strange things, even in a city as haunted as Charleston,” I replied.
“If Barre were the only one to see the girl’s apparition, I might agree,” Sorren replied. “But there have been reports up and down the Battery of the same ghost, a young woman in a blue gown with upswept hair and a fine cameo at her throat.”
I crossed my arms. “I’m not sure what Barre expects us to do about it. If the cameo were cursed, it’s probably at the bottom of the ocean by now. Unless it’s shown up in Uncle Evann’s shop.”
Uncle Evann shook his head. “I’ve had no cameos brought in for quite some time,” he replied. No matter how vast the store’s inventory, Uncle Evann knew every piece. The storefront was crowded with antiques and curios from around the world, while in the back rooms, Evann and Sorren dealt with the dark magic items that found their way—legally or not—into Evann’s possession. Some of those dark items were destroyed, while Sorren passed others along to his network of secret operatives for safekeeping. Although the parlor was warm from the fire, I shivered. I’d handled several of those dark items myself, and I knew their power. One damned necklace had already tried to kill me; I had to admit I was skeptical of searching for another.
“If she’s showing up as a ghost, tha
t makes it pretty clear what happened to her,” Coltt said. “But the cameo is probably off the coast of Bermuda. What can we do?”
Sorren took another sip of blood. “I believe the cameo is here, in Charleston. And I believe both the appearance of Felicity’s ghost and the unusual ghostly activity are linked.” He leaned forward and met my gaze. “I have a strong feeling that we’ve got a necromancer here in the city, and I fear what we’ve seen is just the beginning.”
The only thing I like less than pirates are necromancers. Then again, maybe I should qualify that statement, since in the eyes of the navy, Coltt and I are technically pirates. I prefer to think of us as paranormal privateers, chartered by Sorren and his murky band of relic-snatchers, helping the good guys by plundering the bad guys. I avoid the navy because I don’t think they’d understand the distinction.
“So who’s our necromancer?” I asked.
Sorren shook his head. “Don’t know yet. But I’m certain whoever it is has focused his power in the Battery. That seems to be the nexus of the disturbances.”
I let out a low whistle. “That’s one wealthy necromancer.” The Battery included some of the finest houses in Charleston, so named because it fronted along the harbor just behind the city’s port defenses. The rainbow-hued homes, reminiscent of mansions in the Caribbean islands, had long been the preserve of the wealthiest and most prominent citizens in the city. Sorren knew how to navigate in that company, but it didn’t come naturally to country boys like Coltt and me.
“As luck would have it,” Sorren said, with a hint of a smile indicating that luck had little to do with it, “there’s going to be a grand ball at the home of a dear friend of your Uncle Evann’s. Everyone from the Battery will be there, as well as the folks who live south of Broad Street. And so will you,” he said, looking straight at me.
“Are you coming, too?” I asked, not sure whether Sorren could hear the uncertainty in my voice. Pirates I could handle. Old-money aristocrats I found much more frightening, on a whole different level.
Sorren chuckled. “I’m a bit too well known in certain circles,” he said. “There will be more than one esteemed reverend of the church in attendance who might find my presence… unsettling.”
“They’ll balk at a vampire and not a bloody necromancer?” Coltt broke in. “How’s that?”
Sorren gave an eloquent shrug. “Necromancers have a pulse. I don’t. Unlike the undead, necromancers and their sort have survived for centuries hiding in plain sight, usually among the most privileged and pious.”
“I guess I’d better dust off the company manners,” I said resignedly. Give me a good sword fight any day over a social event. Both are battles, but one is at least honest about it.
“I’ve trained you better than that,” Sorren chided. And it was true. Under his tutelage, I had mingled among the wealthiest and most powerful men in the former colonies, with them none the wiser to the charade. And usually, while I mingled, Coltt was busy thieving in the darkened rooms upstairs.
“The ball will keep the Battery’s residents occupied, and it’s very likely they’ll give their servants the night off, so it should be easy for Coltt to slip into the houses and look for clues to the whereabouts of our necromancer,” Sorren added.
“And what kind of clue is that?’ Coltt demanded. “Perhaps a sign that says, ‘ring bell for the necromancer’ or some such?”
“You’re the best thief in the New World,” Sorren replied smoothly and added “trained by the best thief in the Old World,” with a hint of pride, tugging at his collar to indicate himself. “I have full confidence in your abilities to find our man.”
“Just make sure this necromancer likes fancy dress balls,” Coltt said darkly. “I don’t have your strength or Dante’s magic. I’m not the man for a fight.”
I personally knew that, when his back was against the wall, Coltt could be utterly ruthless in a battle, but I also knew that the memories of those few awful times weighed more heavily on Coltt than they did on me. Maybe it meant Coltt was a nicer person than I am. Or maybe I’d just lost so many of the people I cared about that I no longer worried about God keeping score.
“The ball is tomorrow night,” Sorren replied. “I’ve had an associate get me the plans to as many of the great homes as he could; Coltt will no doubt find them useful. Evann’s probably already gotten his hands on the guest list and been to his sources for news. And as for you,” he said, with a glance in my direction, “A haircut and a shave might be in order. I’ve taken the liberty of having a new outfit delivered to your rooms. I believe you’ll look quite acceptable.”
I sighed. Sorren had taught me long ago that the best spies looked good enough to fit in and unremarkable enough to not be remembered. I feared it was my lot in life.
The next night, Evann and I headed out. We were dressed like aristocrats, with a carriage and driver (thanks to Sorren) that rivaled the best in the city. Coltt had caught a rental coach as far as Meeting Street, where he would walk the rest of the way to attract the least notice. Evann and I intended to have our driver let us out by the main door, but someone’s coach horse had bolted, and the street in front of the mansion was a tangle of people, policemen, and panicked horses, so we had our man let us out on Church Street just a block or so from the Battery, with instructions to pick us up in the same place afterward.
The ball was just beginning to get lively when we arrived. “Welcome, gentlemen,” said the servant who met us at the door to take our cloaks. “You’ve arrived just in time.” He dropped his voice conspiratorially. “The musicians have warmed up and the crowd is lively, but the sideboard is still full if you hurry,” he said with a wink.
He turned away just as I saw a button fall from my cloak. I bent to retrieve it, and saw a small, intricate design at the outside corner of the stone step. It was a symbol of some sort, drawn in a yellow, chalky powder, very small, as if not to attract notice. My button fell next to it, so I couldn’t avoid seeing it, although otherwise, I would never have looked down. I stood, and for an instant, saw a look of stark fear cross the servant’s face until his mask of genial welcome slammed back into place. Odd, I thought, vowing to ask Sorren about it later.
“Evann! How good of you to come!” I looked up to see Eudora Hallingsworth, the doyenne of the Battery, holding out her arms to greet Evann with a prim kiss on each cheek. Mrs. Hallingsworth was descended from the families whose names matched the streets and plantations of Charleston, as close as we got in these post-colonial days to local royalty.
“Honored to be your guest,” Evann said, making a low bow and kissing her hand with a rakish raise of his eyebrows.
Eudora Hallingsworth chuckled. “Really, Evann! Such a show you make,” she protested, clearly thrilled at the attention. “And who is this with you?”
Evann turned to me with a flourish. “My nephew, Dante Morris, of the Virginia Morrises.”
Mrs. Hallingsworth smiled indulgently at me. “Pleased to make your acquaintance. Your family has an illustrious reputation.”
I smiled along with the ruse. “You’re too kind, m’lady,” I replied. Yes, my family name was Morris, and yes, I was from Virginia, but otherwise, Evann had led the dear lady woefully astray. My father was a fisherman in a poor coastal village, not a planter aristocrat. But if privateering hadn’t already damned my soul, I doubted another lie or two would tip the balance.
“You simply must try the roast duck,” Mrs. Hallingsworth said, leading us into the ballroom where musicians had already struck up a lively reel. “One of the servants will get you a cup of punch, and you can’t overlook Cook’s benne seed wafers.” Her attention turned to me with the eye of a mother.
“And you, Dante, shouldn’t waste another minute when the band is playing. Come with me. I’ll introduce you to the prettiest young ladies in South Carolina!”
Evann and I were swept into the high spirits of the ball. It seemed to me that for a curio shop owner, Evann seemed to know everyone who was anyone
in Charleston’s notoriously cliquish upper society, and they treated him with the fondness usually reserved for an elderly, quirky relative. After Mrs. Hallingsworth had made my introduction, I was accepted as an approved and eligible bachelor and managed to dance with the daughters of some of the most powerful men in the city. I was certain those same men would be horrified to know that their coddled darlings were waltzing with a pirate.
All the while, I kept my senses keen to magic. While more than one of the blue-blooded young ladies made me tingle, it had nothing to do with the supernatural. To my surprise, I picked up its traces on several of Charleston’s movers and shakers. Not water magic, but other forms of power. Land magic, not surprising given Charleston’s planter heritage. Charisma beyond the norm, good for swaying others to see things your way. Attraction magic, which led to the gathering of friends, power, and money.
I chanced a look at the black-frocked Anglican priest who was engaged in a lively discussion in the corner. What might the good Father have to say if he knew just how many of his parishioners had more than a hint of magic to them?
Waltzing was a good excuse to circle the room without being obvious. I could keep my eyes on my attractive partner, while my magic swept over the bystanders as we circled past. Most of the people didn’t register at all with me, meaning that they were what they appeared to be and no more. But twice, as my partners and I passed the back corner of the room, my powers gave me an uncomfortable jolt, a wave of alarm.
“Thank you for this dance,” I said, favoring Sarah, my latest dancing partner, with a deep bow.
“The pleasure was all mine,” she drawled. She was so good at innocent flirtation that I knew it was a skill honed of long practice.
I murmured an excuse about needing more punch and found a reason to go the long way back to the sideboard. I passed within a few feet of the place where my magic had jolted me, slowing as much as I dared to get a look at its source.
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