Southern Curses (Max Porter Mysteries Book 6)

by Stuart Jaffe

  Covered in sweat and panting, Sandra flopped over. Max wanted to tend to her, but he knew this had to be finished first. He walked back to Tucker Hull.

  “Okay, look,” Tucker said, struggling against Drummond. “I see what you’re thinking, but you’ve misunderstood this whole situation. Once I had all that power, I was going to share it with you.”

  “Hold still,” Max said. “I suspect this will hurt a lot if you fight me.”

  “You can’t do this to me. I won’t allow it.”

  “Drummond.”

  The ghost shoved Tucker’s arm, and Tucker arched forward, screaming but unable to move. Max shoved the gag over Tucker’s mouth and pulled the iron strap back over his head. It was a tight fit, scraping hair and skin off of Tucker’s skull, but it did fit.

  Drummond let go of the man, and Tucker scratched at his own face, trying to remove the gag. He reached around the back of his head, but no matter what angle he came from, he could not pull off the cursed object.

  With a jolt, he stopped. His arm flapped out. His leg kicked back. He turned to Max, his eyes searching for an answer to whatever strange sensations caused his body to spasm.

  He clutched his heart and slumped over.

  Drummond stared at the body, waiting. “That’s it? After Dr. Connor, I was expecting something bigger.”

  Max didn’t care about fireworks. He rushed over to Sandra. “Honey? You okay?”

  She peered up at him and made a small smile. “I will be. After a long, hot bath and a bottle of Jack Daniels.”

  Chapter 27

  Max sat in the dirt and stroked Sandra’s wet hair. Soon they would have to get up and deal with the consequences of the world, but for the moment, he was content to gaze into the eyes of his wife. Let the world and its consequences hang for a few minutes.

  But soon those minutes vanished. Cecily Hull cried out as she rushed toward Tucker’s body. She had an ax in her hand, and all Max could think was where did she get that?

  Before anybody could move, she swung the ax and decapitated Tucker. She dropped the ax and picked up Tucker’s head. Exhausted, she walked toward the path leading to the cars.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Max said.

  She stopped, and in slow steps, she turned back. “I’m in charge of the Hull family now. And I’m going to make sure this is properly taken care of.”

  Max eased away from Sandra. “That’s not going to happen.”

  “Careful, Mr. Porter. Your help in this matter is appreciated, but don’t try to cross me. I now have the full power of the Hull family at my disposal.”

  “Yeah, about that. When you get home, I think you’ll find your family power substantially reduced.”

  “What?”

  Max dug a business card out of his pocket. “It’s amazing the people you bump into at a party. This card is for Brian Dorsett. Interesting fellow. Works for the Reynolds family.”

  “That ruse again?”

  “Last time I was lying. This time, not so much.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I did nothing. However, while we all played in the dirt out here, one of my younger associates delivered a file folder to Mr. Dorsett detailing the Hull family’s involvement with the death of one of their cherished own — Z. Smith Reynolds. Now, I’m not exactly sure how things operate in these situations, but I’m pretty confident the Reynolds family has been itching for decades to find anything they could use to destroy the Hulls. From what I can tell, this is it. The investigations, the arrests, the unofficial retributions — I’m sorry to tell you this, but you’ve just inherited a family under siege.”

  Without realizing it, Cecily dropped Tucker’s head. Then she passed out.

  Leon’s voice cut in. “No, ma’am, you shouldn’t be walking. Let me carry you to the car.”

  “Nonsense,” Mother Hope said, shuffling over to Max. “I’m a little shaken, that’s all.”

  Max stepped in their way. “Don’t be going for that head. I won’t let you take it, either.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of taking your prize. Just make sure you put it someplace nobody’ll ever get to it.”

  “I promise.”

  She wagged her finger. “You haven’t learned a thing. You shouldn’t be making promises to me. Look what happened to you from the last time.”

  Max touched the mark on his chest. “I suppose now you’ll tell me to give you Tucker’s head or you won’t remove this curse.”

  “I told you already, you get to keep the head. I’ll keep the curse right where it is.”

  From behind, Sandra said, “You can’t.”

  “Oh, I most certainly can, and I will. The Hulls are finished, but there’s plenty of disorder that needs fixing. What better way for the Magi Group to continue its mission than with its own expert research firm on retainer.”

  Drummond threw his hat on the ground. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” The hat vanished and reappeared on his head.

  Mother Hope pushed by Max and, with Leon’s help, negotiated her way down the root steps. “I’ll give you a few days to recoup from this. Especially for your wife. That was an impressive display, dear.”

  Max grabbed Tucker’s head. “We’re not working for you. After I take care of this, we’re done with your whole messed-up world of magic.”

  “Then you’ll die.” Mother Hope didn’t bother looking back. Neither did Leon. They left the Devil’s Tramping Ground, and a few minutes later, their car rumbled away.

  As the sound died in the distance, Max placed Tucker’s head in the bowling bag. Sandra rose and joined him. Drummond checked over the debris, making sure they didn’t miss anything important, before he came over.

  “Don’t worry about this. From what I’ve heard in the Other, this place really has some serious magic. All the bodies, the blood, everything will disappear by morning.”

  Max looked at his feet. “Maybe we shouldn’t be standing in here, then.”

  “Look at you. Suddenly a crybaby.” Drummond laughed and smacked Max on the shoulder. Both man and ghost let out a painful cry.

  Rubbing his shoulder, Max said, “I guess the curse is back to being dormant.”

  “Come on,” Sandra said, leading the way back to their car.

  As they reached the gnarled roots, the ground rumbled.

  “Everybody down!” Drummond yelled.

  Max grabbed a tree and looked back. Tucker’s headless body jittered as if suffering a seizure. His legs cracked, and Max thought the body might explode. Instead, the ground opened up beneath him. In seconds, it swallowed him whole, along with all the bodies and beer cans and debris, leaving behind nothing but solid earth.

  Max might have stayed there for an hour staring at the strange land. But Sandra pulled him away. “Let’s get out of here. I want my hot bath and booze.”

  Shaking off what he had seen, he said, “If we’re going to be working for the Magi Group, I’m going to need a bottle for myself, too.”

  Drummond flew in front of them. “Hold on. I thought you said you wouldn’t work for her.”

  “What can I do? I’m cursed.” Max clasped Sandra’s hand. “Besides, did you see what this great woman here did? She’s got mojo like you wouldn’t believe. With a witch like her for my wife, I think we can handle Mother Hope or anything else that comes our way.”

  With Sandra’s head resting on his sore shoulder, they walked to their car. Max placed the bowling bag in the trunk. He planned to have Sandra find a good spell to cast on the bag that would prevent anybody from opening it with ease. Then he’d have the bag put into a safe deposit box. Then a spell on the safe deposit box. Maybe even a spell surrounding the bank vault.

  As he drove for home, he thought of the old pilot’s adage — any landing you can walk away from is a good landing. Well, they certainly walked away from this one. That would have to do for now.

  A smile crept onto his lips.

  Afterword

  This was one of the more diffic
ult Max Porter books to write for several reasons. There were logistical issues within the book that were challenging, such as the big finale in which I had to juggle ten characters, almost all of which had full stories that needed to be addressed in some way. The book also presented the challenge of wrapping up everything that came before while opening a door to a new future for Max, Sandra, and Drummond. Oh, and I still had to put in a bit of history and mystery. Hopefully, you’ve enjoyed the book enough to feel satisfied by my efforts.

  As for truth versus fiction — here are a few answers: The big one first. The death of Z. Smith Reynolds and the resulting murder charges against his wife, Libby Holman, is true. Marlyn Chester is a figment of my imagination, but all the other names related to the case were real people. There are a handful of books that go into great detail about the case, and it’s fascinating to see how wealth and fame altered the path of justice in this situation.

  Libby Holman’s story is also true. Though not cursed by a witch, she did live a life both blessed and cursed — a life she ended on her own terms. You can search her name on YouTube and hear the recordings of her big hits. Knowing how her life turned out can make her deep voiced singing rather eerie, but if that doesn’t bother you, the music is worth listening to.

  Also in the truth department is the Devil’s Tramping Ground. You can find pictures online and read numerous tall tales about the area. Unless you’re a diehard fan of this series or weird locales in general, I don’t recommend seeking this place out. Not because of any fear over the place itself, but rather because it is not nearly as exciting to see as it is to read about. It’s an empty circle of land in some woods just off of a backroad. It’s also a pain to find. Even with a GPS.

  As always, thank you for spending your time with me, Max, Sandra, and Drummond. We’ll be back with more as soon as we recover from this latest adventure. Take care.

  More Max Porter will be coming soon!

  While you wait, try out Stuart Jaffe’s Nathan K series!

  IMMORTAL KILLERS

  Nathan Flynn is trying to get a start in life - law school, internship, and a fiancé. But when he finds himself on the wrong end of a knife, everything changes. He should have died. Instead, he acquires a unique ability - he harbors two souls in his body. If he dies, he loses one soul yet continues on. As long as he replenishes his second soul, he cannot be killed - he's immortal.

  But gaining immortality throws him into a world of government spies, crime syndicate couriers, and elite assassins. A world in which mankind is second class. A world where one has all eternity to master anything, and he is not the only one.

  Nathan wants nothing to do with such a dangerous world. He wants to help people, not destroy them. But when he tries to leave, he learns that freedom will be a lot harder to gain than he thinks.

  CLICK HERE TO GET IMMORTAL KILLERS

  Acknowledgements

  There are always numerous people involved in helping make a book happen. Special thanks goes to Jeff Dekal for another amazing cover, Ed Schubert for friendship and support, my Launch Team for their enthusiasm and error catching, especially Lisa Gall, Randy Wood, and Sarge, and of course, to Glory and Gabe.

  Most of all, my enduring thanks to you, my reader. Max, Sandra, and Drummond have become far more than I ever expected because of you. For the first time, I’m daring to think well beyond the next few books for our trio. So, as long as you keep coming back, I’ve got some wonderful plans in store!

  Thank you for making this possible.

  About the Author

  Stuart Jaffe is the madman behind The Max Porter Paranormal Mysteries, the Nathan K thrillers, The Malja Chronicles, The Bluesman, Founders, Real Magic, and so much more. He trained in martial arts for over a decade until a knee injury ended that practice. Now, he plays lead guitar in a local blues band, The Bootleggers, and enjoys life on a small farm in rural North Carolina. For those who continue to keep count, the animal list is as follows: one dog, three cats, three aquatic turtles, one albino corn snake, seven chickens, and a horse. As best as he’s been able to manage, Stuart has made sure that the chickens and the horse do not live in the house.

  Copyright Information

  Southern Curses is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  SOUTHERN CURSES

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright © 2016 by Stuart Jaffe

  Cover art by Jeff Dekal

  First Edition: May, 2016