Southern Curses (Max Porter Mysteries Book 6)

by Stuart Jaffe

  “Yes, actually, it did cross my mind. But then, I went ahead and found Marlyn Chester’s family.”

  She faltered. “What?”

  “I found her family. I spoke with her daughter. I told her everything I knew, and you know what she did — ah, I can see on your face you know exactly what she did. That’s right. She gave me a very special canister.”

  Cecily’s nostrils flared, and Max worried she might take a swing at him. He didn’t want to get in a fistfight with her — especially with her bodyguard so near. She covered up her emotions with her usual stern mask.

  “I suppose you have a price in mind,” she said.

  “I do. See, I’m sick of being caught between all of you. I never wanted any of this crap you all keep slinging around. So, I’m auctioning off the container. Highest price that includes my freedom from all of you wins.”

  “Tell me when and where, and I’ll see that I have the highest bid.”

  Max stood and put out his hand, but she did not shake it. He mimed tipping a hat, started to leave, and then stopped. “I almost forgot to mention — it addition to finding Marlyn Chester’s daughter, I also learned her maiden name. It might interest you. Before she married William Chester, her name was Marlyn Hull. Imagine that. The witch who cursed Libby Holman was a Hull.”

  Cecily waved off the idea. “She wouldn’t be the first Hull to be called a witch.”

  “True. But she may be the first Hull witch to curse a member of the Reynolds family. I assume they would not be pleased to learn of this.”

  “Are you trying to blackmail me?”

  “I don’t do that.”

  “Then what? You obviously have something in mind to exchange for your silence.”

  Max hoped he looked calm and casual despite the lie he was about to tell. “Oh, no, I’ve given you the wrong impression. I’ve already notified them about your family’s treachery.”

  “You what?”

  “I imagine the eldest Reynolds is learning about it all right now. It’s all over for you.”

  Cecily’s hands rolled into white-knuckle fists at her sides. Through clamped teeth, she managed, “Why?”

  “Because I plan to end up on top of this mess. I’m not your pawn. I refuse to be beholden to you or Tucker or Mother Hope or anybody else.” Max turned on his heel and walked away.

  He rode the escalator down and headed toward the exit. When he walked by the restrooms, he darted inside, took the first available stall, and pulled out his cellphone.

  “Hey, Ghostman, you ready?”

  Max said, “She’s all yours, J.”

  “Don’t worry, boss. I’ll follow her wherever she goes. I got PB’s car this time.”

  “Good. Get to it.”

  Chapter 20

  An hour later, Max went to Maria Cortez-Kane’s house to visit with PB. Sandra and Drummond met up with him there, too. It was risky having everyone at Maria’s place, but Max wanted to make sure PB was recovering. Plus, he worried about Jammer J, and looking after one Sandwich Boy gave Max the sense that the other would be okay.

  Besides, provoking Cecily Hull had pushed the ball over the hill. Now it was rolling, building speed, and nothing could stop it. Max had no choice but to keep going.

  After spending a short time watching PB sleep in the guest room, Max went downstairs to the kitchen where Sandra and Maria sipped coffee. He pecked his wife on the cheek before fixing his own mug. Drummond hovered by the door to the garage.

  “You feeling any better?” Max asked Maria.

  She brushed back her disheveled hair. “Oh, sure. I love having a runaway in my house that’s been shot while I watched. Couldn’t be happier.” She slammed her hand on the table, rattling the silverware, and then stormed out of the room.

  In a low voice, Sandra said, “Give her time. She’s actually doing okay.”

  Drummond flew in closer to Max. “She might be fine, but I’m not. What were you thinking going to see Cecily Hull alone?”

  “I wasn’t alone,” Max said. “J was with me. Besides, my bluff worked.”

  “Yeah, about that — what exactly did you do? I mean, I understand shaking up a suspect and then following them to see what they do, but what’s all this with the canister? Aren’t we supposed to be looking for Madame Vansandt’s eye so she’ll help us free Dr. Connor?”

  Max took Maria’s seat and drank some coffee. “We don’t need that eye anymore. Even if we had it, I doubt Madame Vansandt would help us. She’s with the Magi Group, after all.”

  “That was a set up.”

  “Perhaps. But look how she treated her own student. You really think she’s going to play fair with us?”

  “You think that canister is any better? Whatever magic is in it came from a witch — a Hull witch, at that.”

  Max’s fingers tapped the side of his coat. “The only thing we can trust hasn’t changed — they all hate each other more than they hate us. It doesn’t matter, though, because we were never going to get that eye.”

  “Oh?”

  “Cecily Hull already has it.”

  Maria threw open the door and leveled a burning look on Max. “How do you know that? Did you see it? Can you be sure that it’s the real thing?”

  Setting his mug down, Max let her questions hang until he saw the manic flare leave her face. “I did not see the eye. I didn’t need to. When we spoke, she confirmed everything in the way she behaved, the words she said, and those she didn’t. She knew, for example, all about Libby Holman and the curse. She knew that there was a container holding great magic. And she wanted it. She needs it. For the same reason, she took Madame Vansandt’s eye — protection. Right now, living in North Carolina, I suspect there are only two living witches old enough and powerful enough to cast these special, ancient spells — Madame Vansandt and Mother Hope.”

  Sandra clicked her nails against the side of the mug. “Oh, she’s clever. She takes the witch’s eye as a warning to Mother Hope.”

  “Partially. But she also has it at her disposal. Most importantly, as long as she has possession of the eye, she doesn’t have to worry about others using the eye against her.”

  Maria scoffed. “That means nothing. You don’t have any proof of any of it.”

  “We have the proof of what has not happened. If Tucker Hull or Mother Hope had possession of your mentor’s eye, they would have used it — either against each other or against Cecily.”

  “Somebody else might have it.”

  “If that were the case, then Cecily Hull would be frantically searching for it. But she’s not. She would have paid me double, maybe even triple, to find that eye. But she’s not. Instead, she’s searching for Marlyn Chester’s canister. Trust me on this. I know when my instincts are shooting true. Cecily Hull has Madame Vansandt’s eye.”

  Maria lifted her head and snarled before walking out of the kitchen. Drummond snickered. “Charming gal.”

  Max checked his watch — four hours since his meeting with Cecily. To his ghost partner, he said, “Will you do me a favor? Please go check on Jammer J. I don’t want him getting into any serious trouble because of us.”

  “You got it.”

  Once Drummond disappeared, Sandra took Max’s hand and led him back to PB’s room. They lingered for a few minutes, watching the boy’s chest rise and fall. Then she escorted Max out onto the balcony.

  The sky had turned a dark, evening blue. Sandra dropped her head back and closed her eyes. “I can’t remember the last case that made me so tired.”

  “Don’t know if we can classify this one as an actual case, but it certainly is exhausting.”

  Max paused to look at his wife. He stroked her arm. She pressed into his touch.

  “I’m worried about you,” she said.

  “Me?”

  “Don’t pretend everything is under control. I know you heard Madame Vansandt as well as I did. She said I failed. She said you’re still cursed.”

  Max rubbed his chest. The mark stung at his touch.
“I’ve been so busy trying to stay ahead of everybody, I haven’t really thought about it.”

  “Well, I have. Maria and I talked about what could be done.”

  He dropped his hands and his voice. “There’s nothing to do. Not yet. You tried, and you brought me back, so you succeeded. It may not have been perfect, but you did fine.”

  “This is not fine. You’re not fine. That curse is like a ticking time bomb. You really want to ignore it until it’s too late?”

  “What should I do? Run around, hold my head, and cry?” The air felt colder as the sun went down for the night. “You know we work best when we fight our way through these things. That’s what I’m doing. But we can’t go worrying about something we have no control over.”

  “We do have control. I do. That is, I will. Soon.”

  Max shook his head. “You can’t keep digging deeper into witchcraft.” But he could see the determination on her face.

  She hugged him, laying her head on his chest. “I promise to be careful.”

  He held her back, his hands on her biceps. “Nothing good is going to come from being a witch.”

  “That’s the point — making it into something good. I mean, why would magic exist if it’s only purpose was evil? Life doesn’t work like that. Things simply are and it’s people that turn it into good or evil. Well, I’m going to learn how to use this stuff and make it good. Healing you, saving you, that’s good.”

  “Excuse me,” Drummond said, and Max wondered how much he had overheard. “Sorry to interrupt anything, but J should be pulling up any minute.”

  “Is he okay?” Max asked.

  “Looks fine to me. Although he’s driving like a lunatic.”

  They heard a car screech its tires as it braked hard around front. Max shared one last look with Sandra — a look that promised to keep loving each other no matter how troubling their conversation felt. He hated when they had to share that kind of look.

  Downstairs, Jammer J made a ruckus calling out for everybody. In short order, Max and Sandra had met him in the dining room. Maria came a moment later while Drummond circled from above.

  Jammer J beamed as he placed his backpack on the fine wood table beneath a tasteful chandelier. “You won’t believe what happened to me.” With rapid-fire delivery, he told his story.

  After getting the call from Max, J sprinted outside the mall. He slowed down, remembering that he was supposed to be hidden, and casually strolled to PB’s car. Well, PB’s stolen car.

  Earlier, he parked as Max had instructed: one row over and five cars up from Cecily Hull’s slick Benz — a silver convertible with a black ragtop and a personalized plate reading HULL7. Following her was going to be a snap. Her car stood out like a raging bonfire in the desert at night.

  From Winston-Salem, she went south into Lexington, and then burned up Route 64 going east into Asheboro. For over an hour, J followed her. Twice, he thought she might have spotted him, but after a while, he decided she was simply an erratic driver. He wondered if she might be heading to the zoo — it was the only thing he knew in Asheboro — but she took a side road south into Chatham County.

  He let a pickup get between them and hung back as much as he dared. The road had become a rural winding mess, walled in with trees and fields. The numerous sharp turns kept her from flooring the Benz, but it also meant she had more opportunities to glance in her rearview mirror — more opportunities to discover J.

  Overall, the ride was both exciting and boring — long and drawn out, yet he had to constantly be paying attention to her behavior. Still, he had to admit, he liked the job.

  “Anytime you want following done, I’m your man.”

  Twenty minutes of backroads ended when Cecily pulled into a gas station sitting on the corner of a crossroads. She walked inside, and that’s when J decided to take some initiative. He parked on the side of the road, grabbed his backpack, and scurried to the Benz. She had been courteous enough to leave the car unlocked.

  He rifled through the glove compartment but found nothing except old receipts and the car’s registration. In the armrest, he found twenty dollars and a few old CDs — horrible music taste. Disco.

  “And then I looked in the back,” he said, his chest filling up. Perched in the middle, he saw a leather bowling ball bag. She would be coming back soon. If he got caught, he’d be screwing everything up for the boss and for PB. So, he unzipped the bag, covered it with his backpack and dumped it over. Then he zipped up the bag and sprinted for his car. He didn’t make it in but had to dive behind the side. Peeking over the hood, he watched her get in the Benz, glance back at her bowling bag, buckle up, and drive off.

  “I was worried that losing her wouldn’t be worth what I did, but then I looked in the backpack. That’s when I knew I had to get back here fast as I could.”

  Max pulled the backpack over. It was heavy. “What is it?”

  “Just look.”

  With a skeptical look, Max opened the backpack. Inside, he saw a skull. A skull with an iron gag latched around it.

  “Holy shit,” Max said.

  J grinned. “I know.”

  Drummond peeked from above. “Is that?”

  “I think so,” Max said, tilting the bag so Sandra could see.

  She nodded. “That’s got to be Dr. Connor.”

  Max closed the backpack. His mind swarmed with thoughts of the Magi Group, the Hulls, the war between them, Madam Vansandt, Libby Holman, and Dr. Connor. The connections formed fast. He could almost see lightning strike between his thoughts.

  “We’ve got to hurry,” he said. “Cecily Hull thinks she still has Dr. Connor’s skull. And she has Madame Vansandt’s eye.”

  Drummond snapped his fingers. “She’s making her move. With you holding the canister, she’s thinking she’s got to try now or she might lose.”

  “But she already lost,” J said. “I got that skull from her.”

  Sandra pointed at Max, and he could tell that she had started putting it together, too. “She doesn’t know it yet. Neither does anybody else.”

  “Exactly,” Max said. “You know just like they’ve been watching us, they’ve been watching each other, too.”

  Drummond pursed his lips. “Which means that they’re all figuring this out right now. They all know she’s trying to make a big move.”

  “And they’re all going to follow her to the same place,” Sandra added.

  J laughed. “I’d love to see their faces when she opens that bag and it’s empty.”

  Max glanced around the room. He didn’t like where his mind had taken him, but his gut said this would be the best play.

  Sandra must have read his face because she placed a hand on her hip and shook her head. “No. You are not going there.”

  “If we’re going to stop this, if we’re going to be free of this insanity that we’ve been stuck inside for the last bunch of years, this is our chance. They’ll all be in the same place. And we have the skull. The power is on our side.”

  Drummond nodded. “He’s right, doll. Don’t worry, though. I’ll keep him safe.”

  “Then I’m coming, too,” she said.

  Max shouldered the backpack. “You can’t.”

  “I’m not giving you a choice.”

  The firmness in her eyes told him that arguing would be futile. “Fine.”

  “Are you nuts?” Drummond said. “They can threaten her. Force you to do whatever they want.”

  Sandra glared at them. “Have you two boys forgotten everything I’ve done for us?”

  Not wanting to prolong a settled discussion, Max pulled up his maps app and handed it to J. “Show me where you got the skull. Assuming Cecily planned to cast a spell with the eye and this skull, I imagine it would be most effective near midnight. Right?”

  “Yeah,” Sandra said. “Especially because the kind of spell needing those objects would be one of those dark, ancient kinds. From what I’ve learned, the witching hour is called that for a reason.”

&nb
sp; “So we’ve got a few hours to figure out where she went, come up with a plan of action, and get ourselves there.”

  Maria spoke causing everyone to jump. “I know where she’s going.”

  “How long have you been there?”

  She entered the dining room and glanced at the phone. “Oh, I know exactly where she’s going. You remember what Madame Vansandt said? That the ancient spells and curses of this nature needed a location of strong negative energy. Well, there’s one place out there — a terrible place that flows with nothing but negative energy.”

  “Then that has to be where she’s going. What’s the place?”

  Maria scanned the room, making sure everybody paid attention. Her face had hardened into that of a calculating mind. A witch, Max thought. When she spoke, he knew it to be true.

  “She’s going to the Devil’s Tramping Ground.”

  Chapter 21

  They drove in silence. Max and Sandra stewed in their thoughts, each shifting and sighing and staring while the streetlights rolled across their faces. He parked in their driveway and took a moment to look at his house. It had been days since either of them had seen their home. All brick, large lawn, and a hefty price tag — more home than they ever thought they’d own.

  “You sure it’s okay to be here?” Sandra asked.

  “Not sure of anything. But I think there’s no point in hiding anymore. Everybody is either at this Devil’s Tramping Ground or on their way. Drummond will watch over that area for us. He’ll warn us if anything happens. But really, they’re going to have to wait for us — we’ve got Dr. Connor’s skull.”

  “They don’t know that.”

  “Not yet. But they will. Sooner or later.”

  Entering the house, Max marveled at how it smelled new. A few days without anybody inside and it had taken on that stale yet oddly fresh new aroma of an empty house. Sandra clumped upstairs to take a shower while Max went to his study. As tired as he felt, he still found the energy to giggle at the idea of having a study.