by Stuart Jaffe
“But I’m worried —”
“So am I. Following her like a criminal is not the answer. If she’s doing something she shouldn’t, you probably don’t really want to know. And if it’s all innocent, then you’ll feel guilty for doubting her. Regardless of the answer, if she catches on, you’re screwed. In all the times I’ve done work of this kind, I promise you, not once did it end well — no matter what the truth was.”
Max shook his head like a teacher losing his patience. “I’ve heard you. Now, please, go find out what she’s doing. Don’t get seen. As long as it’s nothing that threatens my marriage or her life, as long as you think it’s best I don’t know, then come back and tell me it’s all fine. I promise I won’t push it any further. I won’t have to know anything more. Is that okay? Does that jive with your marriage counseling?”
“Jive?”
“You know what I mean.”
Drummond mulled over the idea before tipping his hat. “You got it. I’ll report in as soon as I can.”
Once the ghost had left, Max released a long sigh. Not even two o’clock on the first day of the case, and the whole world had flipped on him. He should never have left his bed that morning.
At least, for the rest of the day, he could submerge in the depths of research. Life always felt better between the pages of books. Certainly safer than chasing ghosts. Though, research often meant the same thing — but the ghosts in history didn’t attack him from the books. Not yet, anyway.
Max opened his laptop but did not turn it on. He had no desire to stare at a computer screen for the next few hours. He needed to clear his head, to get lost in tactile research, to put aside all these things he could not control.
Snatching his keys, he donned his coat and stopped at Sandra’s desk. He jotted a quick note: Gone to the library. As he left the office, he discovered a lightness in his step. The library awaited him, and that would be the best way to turn his day around.
He hoped.
Chapter 6
The Z. Smith Reynolds Library at Wake Forest University consisted of two old buildings with the wide alley between converted into a study area complete with desks, chairs, computers, and an atrium ceiling that washed the students in sunlight. Max loved it. Even more than the beautiful repurposing of the buildings, Max enjoyed the numerous hidden nooks.
He found one such hideaway on the third floor. Not so much hidden as simply seldom used. He settled in with his laptop and a few volumes by local authors.
But he came up empty.
At least, empty of anything big. He did learn that the house dated back to the early 1920s, and for a short time, he thought he had a significant lead. The ghost music Jack had recorded had sounded like something from that era. Maybe a band had been slaughtered in the attic.
Except it ended there. Max searched the newspapers and databases, but nothing came up for that address. The house had endured an uneventful existence.
His researching instincts took over, and he turned his focus on North Carolina as a whole in the 1920s. This turned up a few interesting dates — particularly around the subject of Prohibition. In 1919, the United States passed the 18th Amendment outlawing alcohol and the law went into use at the start of 1920. By that time, however, North Carolina had been a dry state for almost twenty years.
In the early 1900s, North Carolina had been consumed by the problems of alcoholism, much of it blamed on the Civil War. Those that had fought were in their sixties, and many suffered from PTSD without any mental professionals in existence to help. The majority of those men self-medicated and did so quite hard. Incidents of public drunkenness and spousal abuse related to alcohol rose sharply.
In response, the temperance movement gained steam. They protested the behavior and saw alcohol as the evil that caused it all. It took several years, but with the help of Governor Thomas Jarvis in 1906, North Carolina became an official dry state. Unofficially, of course, the booze continued to flow, and if the country had been paying attention, they would have seen that going dry would only lead to organized crime.
While Max found all of this fascinating, he had to admit that none of it helped in regards to the case. No murders, no tragedies, no kind of unexplained horrors could be linked to the Darians’ house. He rubbed his eyes and closed the book on Prohibition he had been reading.
“Getting anywhere?” a voice asked.
Max clenched his teeth. He knew the voice — Leon Moore. “What do you want?”
The old, black librarian offered a placating smile as he approached. Tall and bald, he walked with a limp and a slight bend to his back, but that didn’t fool Max. Old Leon worked with Mother Hope — leader of the Magi group — and that gave him access to serious magic.
Leon put out his hand. “I wanted to thank you for helping my friends.”
“Don’t. I’m only doing this because Sandra said we would. The second I found out it was all connected to your little Magi group, I wanted nothing to do with it.”
“The Magi group isn’t connected. I know Wayne Darian through librarian circles. I happened to overhear him discussing his problems, and I offered to assist. That’s all. Honestly.”
“Your track record with honesty isn’t too good.”
Leon’s face wrinkled as his brow tightened. “Here’s a little honesty for you. You are one of the most difficult people I’ve ever met.”
“Coming from you, that’s a compliment.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way. I only wanted to thank you and offer whatever help I can give, but you clearly don’t want it. I’ll leave you be.” He turned away, paused, and whirled back. “I don’t understand you. The Magi group exists to fight the Hulls, the very people who have spun your life in a tornado ever since you stepped foot in North Carolina. Why would you think we’re the enemy?”
Max leaned his chair back. “Maybe it has something to do with the fact that you watched the Hulls do all that to me and my wife and never helped us until you had no choice. Yeah, you think that might be it?”
“You stupid fool. Do you really believe we did nothing all that time? Just because you don’t know about something, doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. You’re worse than a fool. You think you fought the Hulls and won all on your own — not once, but over and over.”
“So now you’re claiming to have saved my ass all along? Yet your sweet leader has gone out of her way to threaten me to stay away.”
“For your own safety. You know the history of that family better than anyone. And you tell me — in all their centuries of existence, has there ever been anybody who has a record like yours against them?”
Max paused. Leon had a point. If anybody managed to best the Hulls more than once, they usually ended up disappearing. “Perhaps you’ve been an aid once or twice. But we never asked for your help, and I feel no obligation towards you.”
“Nor would I ever expect such a thing from you. Which is why I came over here to thank you for helping the Darians instead of demanding your help.”
“Fine. You’re welcome. Please leave.”
Disgusted, Leon shuffled off. A moment later, however, he returned. “I’m trying to understand something about you. Why do you do this? Whether you like us or not, the Magi group exists to help protect the world from people like the Hulls. That’s the good side of magic — helping people. But you act like it’s a burden to help others. Why do you do it then, if not to help?”
Max pushed the book on Prohibition towards Leon. “Those people were just trying to help. That didn’t turn out so good. As for me and Sandra — we’ve been trying to survive. That’s all. Fighting the Hulls, helping those we’ve helped — none of that was for any other reason than survival. But now we have enough money that we don’t worry if there’ll be food on the table. So, we don’t have to take every case that comes to us. We don’t have to fight every battle that falls before us. Understand? We’ve fought it out already. We won. Can’t you people let us breathe in peace for a little?”
; “I see,” Leon said, and Max swore the man had aged since his arrival. “Let me say this before I leave you to your peace. Please do not bring any of this case to the Magi group. They truly do not know about it, and I do not wish to burden Mother Hope with more than she already must deal with. It would only aid our mutual enemies.”
“Why would I ever bring anything to her? The only hope I have concerning her is that I hope never to see her again.”
“Then I guess that’s it. Goodbye.”
The old man limped away, leaving this final plea hanging in the air. Max doubted Leon cared about Mother Hope’s burden. Rather it seemed more likely that Leon was working outside the confines of the Magi group. But the idea that Leon had gone rogue didn’t ring true. Maybe, quite simply, he really did want to help this family.
And what does it say about me that I keep trying to get out of it? That thought sent uncomfortable chills through Max.
His entire argument about not really wanting to help people but merely survive rang more false than anything Leon had said. Sandra would have called him out on it right away. Helping people had been the whole point — maybe not with their first case, but certainly ever since facing the Hulls. They didn’t want anybody to suffer because of such powerful families or because of ghosts or curses or any of the things they had come into personal contact with. That was the truth, but Max tried to shake it off. Protecting Sandra had to come first.
Drummond appeared through the ceiling. Max barely moved — I’ve gotten far too comfortable with that. However, he wasn’t comfortable with Drummond’s expression.
“What’s wrong?”
“Hurry,” Drummond said, circling his hand to get Max packing up. “Your wife’s in trouble.”
Chapter 7
As they drove, Max peppered Drummond with questions, but the ghost refused to answer. He kept his eyes forward and his jaw held tight. When Max launched another barrage of questions, Drummond pushed back his hat with an exasperated huff.
“Look,” Drummond said, “I’m not trying to be mysterious or coy or anything. You’ll see when we get there. I don’t know what it all means, and if I tell you what I saw, you’ll just ask me more things I don’t know the answer to. But I do know enough to say that it ain’t good and that if we don’t do something about it, she’ll be in serious trouble sooner or later.”
“Was that supposed to ease my mind?”
“That was supposed to get you to shut up.”
Max snapped his mouth closed. He pulled onto Knollwood Street and turned into a large strip mall. On the near end, the ground dropped low enough to create a bottom floor for a few stores. A Hanes outlet provided a cheap dumping ground for Hanes products that couldn’t sell elsewhere. Next door was where they would find Sandra. The restaurant was now called Ham’s — a sports bar with bright red, yellow, and black trim. The place had televisions mounted everywhere, including one mounted on the wall to entertain those dining outside. But Max knew it under its former name — the Fox & Hound.
“See?” Drummond said as they got out of the car. “Things have changed here. I followed Sandra straight from the office, and she took one look at the new ownership and her whole demeanor changed.”
No. Max knew it had nothing to do with the ownership. Drummond knew it too, but the old ghost hadn’t been there that night. He knew what had happened, but he didn’t go through it.
Drummond nodded toward the back of the building. “After a while, she kind of stumbled that way toward the alley. That’s where she should be now, not in the restaurant but in the alley.”
Max nodded. That’s where it had all happened — a year ago, the ghost of Patricia Welling, a witch who once loved Drummond, had possessed Sandra and attempted to seduce Max. When he saw through the ruse, she cried out for help and a bunch of young college boys, thinking they were saving the lady, beat Max to a pulp.
Drummond pulled up his coat collar as if it were a cold, rainy night instead of a warm dusk. “I don’t like to admit this, but sometimes the fairer sex is a bit of a mystery to me. I suspect that’s true of all men. I mean, do you really understand all things your wife does?”
Max stopped under a red awning with HAM’S written across the top. “No. I don’t think I do.”
“That’s my point.”
“But I keep trying.” A sly grin lifted on his lips. “That’s one of those things that separate the men from the boys.”
Max turned the corner to find Sandra standing in the alley near the dumpsters. She stared at the brick wall where her possessed-self had moved on him not so long ago. She rubbed her arms as if fighting off a chill while her focus never wavered.
Perhaps she relived the incident. Max didn’t know all the symptoms of PTSD, but it made sense that she might be suffering. Except she never seemed to have a problem with all the things they had been through before, and they had endured a few more traumatic cases since Patricia Welling and the witch coven. Could PTSD delay in a person until something triggered it off? She certainly had been behaving strangely in the last few weeks.
“I couldn’t do anything,” she said, her voice breaking the quiet like shattering glass. “I was inside my head and I saw what was happening out here, but I couldn’t do anything to stop it.”
Max approached her and gently laid a hand on her shoulder. “You didn’t have to. I saw through her disguise. I knew she wasn’t you.”
“Not at first. Not until the last moment, really. In fact, if you hadn’t caught on when you did, you would have had sex with her thinking it was me.”
“But that didn’t happen.”
Sandra stepped away from Max’s hand. “Ever since that case, I’ve thought about this moment, about what could have happened. It wouldn’t have bothered me — the sex, I mean. If it had happened, you would have been thinking you were with me. It’s not like you would have been knowingly cheating on me or anything.”
“It still would have felt like cheating. Heck, I feel bad about kissing her or you or however you want to think about it. I can see why it spins your head a bit. But why dwell on it? I did figure it out before anything bad happened. It all turned out okay.”
Her fingers traced the bricks where her possessed body had braced herself that night, ready for Max to take her. “What would have happened if you had done it here that night? What if I had become pregnant?”
“Sheesh, honey, why would you want to think such a dark thing?”
She whirled back on him, her eyes blazing. “Because it almost happened. Even if it didn’t this time, that doesn’t mean it can’t or won’t ever happen. And if we could come so close to that kind of a twisted tragedy, then what about those who aren’t in touch with the truth of the supernatural? What of people like Shawnee Darian? What might those forces be doing to her unborn child?”
“Ah,” Max said, all the dots lining up. “I think I see. This case isn’t about Libby or the house or any of that. It’s really about Shawnee Darian and her baby.”
“I thought I’ve been quite clear on that point.”
“You probably have. I don’t think I could see quite beyond Libby. I’m sorry.”
Sandra wrapped her arms around Max’s waist and rested her head on his chest. “I’m not the one you really need to apologize to.”
Max winced. “Do I really have to?”
“Do you really need to ask?”
“Okay, okay. I’ll make nice with Libby.”
“Good, because I called her earlier and set up a meeting tonight in the Darians' house. She said we’d have a better chance of spotting activity at night.”
“I swear this has been the longest day ever. Coffee and bagels feels like it was a year ago.”
Sandra leaned back and looked down the alley. “Drummond? You can come out now.”
Drummond sauntered around the corner and approached as if nothing unusual had occurred. “Y’all having a good time back here?”
“The best. I should get possessed more often.”
Max forced a smile though none of them liked the joke. “We’re going back to the Darians' house for the night. See what happens.”
Drummond hesitated. “Did you get hit in the head? You forget what happened to Sandra and me? That hurt.”
“Don’t worry,” Sandra said. “You’re not coming along. I think your time would be better spent searching the Other for any ghosts that were associated with the house. Surely somebody out there knows what happened here.”
“You got it. I’ll find something.” To Max, he added, “You watch out for her. That house ain’t right. It’s another lesson you both need to keep learning — just because we’ve survived some pretty tough spots, doesn’t make us invincible. You’ve got to be careful.”
As Drummond left, Max and Sandra walked back to the car. Max agreed with the warning — especially for Sandra. She had become so focused on Shawnee and the baby that she didn’t appear to take seriously the dangers of what she had experienced. Or maybe that was his own fears talking. Either way, he figured it would be better to stand by her side and back her up than be outside the house, unable to help her should the need arise.
Still, one thing bothered him. “Why did you hide all this stuff from me? You could have opened up to me about it.”
“I wasn’t hiding anything. I was waiting. I was dealing with it until I could tell you. When it all started, I couldn’t really explain what I was feeling, and I knew if I had said anything, you’d bombard me with questions that I couldn’t answer. So, I waited.”
“I see,” Max said, and though her explanation made sense, a shiver in her voice suggested that she still hid the full story.
“Being here, I thought, would help me articulate it all, get it clear in my head. And it did. Had you not shown up when you did, I would’ve gone back to the office and told you everything. How did you find me here, anyway?”
