by Morgan Brice
“You are not welcome. You have no power here. By all that is good and holy, all the power of creation and the enemies of darkness, be gone, and do not trouble us again!”
The entity made one final salvo, shrieking its fury when it did not succeed, and then vanished. The enemy was gone, but so was Dante’s fragile connection. Simon remained alert, tense, and watchful, until he felt certain that the attacker would not return. Then exhaustion caught up to him, and he slumped forward, feeling like he’d just run a gauntlet.
“Simon?” Pete’s voice cut through Simon’s mental fog. “Is everything okay? You were kinda yelling.”
Simon winced. When he was in a trance, it was hard to know what was spoken aloud, and what was just in his mind. “It’s all right,” he replied. “You can pull the curtain.”
Pete obliged and placed a cold bottle of soda in front of Simon. “Thought you might need this. Whatever happened sounded intense.”
Simon massaged his temples, fighting the headache that often accompanied a difficult session. “Thanks. Just…don’t go outside for a while. You have those charms I gave you?”
“Yeah. In my pockets.” Pete moved to look out the front window, past the books and t-shirts on display. “Is there something out there?”
There’s always something out there, Simon thought, but it served no purpose to freak out his assistant. “Not anymore. Grab a couple more of the onyx stones out of the cabinet. Did you ward your apartment the way I told you?”
Pete’s eyes went wide. “Okay, I’m a little weirded out now. I mean, yeah, I did the salt thing, and I hung the dried herbs at all the windows. But…do you think something is going to follow me?”
Simon didn’t want to overly worry Pete, but at the same time, he wasn’t sure just what they were up against. “I don’t know. Whatever it is, we think it has killed several times—and probably will again. But so far it’s also stuck to a very clear pattern. If you’re really worried, you’re welcome to stay in my old apartment upstairs until we get this worked out.”
“I’d be fine with that,” Pete said, jumping on the offer so fast that Simon knew he was truly scared. “That way, I can keep an eye on the store, too.”
“If anything happens, call the police. Don’t try to be a hero,” Simon warned.
Pete grinned. “Me? I’m more like the comedic sidekick who runs away to live to fight another day.”
“Wait a couple of hours, then go back to your place to grab whatever you need to stay for a few days.”
“Even better,” Pete proposed, “I’ll just ask my roommate to chuck some clothes and my toothbrush and a few things in a bag and drop it off. He’ll be thrilled—his brother is visiting, and this way, they can have the place to themselves.”
Simon mentally promised to give Pete a bonus for watching over the store. Pete went back up front, just as Simon’s phone buzzed with a call from Cassidy.
“Hi, Simon. I’ve got some info for you about that wreck and Dante,” Cassidy said. “The Annabelle smuggled a lot of different things, but it often carried occult or magical items from the Caribbean to witches and practitioners on the mainland. Dante and Coltt and the Vengeance skirmished with the Annabelle frequently, trying to reclaim dangerous stuff.”
“Okay,” Simon replied. “So do you know anything about what the Annabelle was carrying when it went down?”
Cassidy hesitated as if debating how much to say. “According to the family stories, the Annabelle was supposed to be carrying a load of illegal bourbon. Dante believed they also had an amulet stolen from a wealthy family in Barbados that was a powerful focus stone. It—and the bourbon—went down with the ship.”
“If the current brought the wreckage up closer to shore, and the focus stone was with it, could it juice up a vengeful ghost?”
“Maybe,” Cassidy allowed.
“Could the depth of the water, or the sand, or the current have possibly kept the ghosts from being able to draw on the focus stone before this?”
“It’s possible,” she mused. “Water can interfere with magic, sort of dampen the signal. I’d guess that ghosts can also take a while to learn how to manifest. Maybe the combination of time and being brought back into shallow water made the difference.”
“What about Dante? Was he a water witch?”
Cassidy hesitated a bit longer this time. “According to the stories, yes. Our store, Trifles and Folly, is always passed down from one psychometric to another. But apparently some other talents run in the family—like Dante’s magic and your psychic abilities.”
“I tried to reach Dante’s ghost today. He gave me a warning, about something called the Wilton Stone.”
Cassidy caught her breath. “That’s it. The focus stone that the Annabelle was supposed to be carrying.”
“He said it should have been destroyed. Then something tried to attack from outside the wardings, and I lost the connection to Dante.”
“Be careful, Simon. This doesn’t sound like your usual haunting, and there were rumors that the crew of the Annabelle made pacts with the darkness for their success.”
Simon chuckled. “Funny, but I’ve heard the same kind of stories about the Vengeance.”
“I know enough about Dante and Coltt to tell you that whatever agreements they made, it wasn’t with anything evil,” Cassidy assured him.
“Good to know,” Simon replied. “Any suggestions on what to do if the Wilton Stone washes up on shore?”
“Put it in a lead box and bring it to me. I’ve got someone who can make sure it doesn’t bother anyone ever again.”
“I’m hoping I don’t have to get that close to it, but it’s nice to have a Plan B. Thanks a lot, Cassidy.”
“Please be careful,” Cassidy warned. “I’ve got a friend who’s a witch—”
“Thanks, but I’m going to bring Miss Eppie and Gabriella in on this. If it’s more than the three of us can handle, I’ll definitely be calling you back.”
He ended the call and sat back, thinking about his options. The storm was supposed to hit late tomorrow, although the forecasts varied. Simon couldn’t shake the feeling that all the different threads were converging, and the storm would be the least of their worries if he didn’t stay ahead of the game.
That meant taking charge of the agenda, Simon decided. Until now, he and Vic had been reacting. But if Simon could flip the script and put the vengeful spirits on the defensive, he might be able to push them into making a mistake. Or goad the entity behind the suicide hangings into revealing itself and giving the investigation a crucial lead. And he felt certain he knew what to do to make that happen.
“You want me to come to a what?” Tracey replied, hitting a shrill note that made Simon move his phone away from his ear.
“A séance. Tonight, at Socastee Manor. Bring Shayna. I need people who believe, and who have positive energy.”
“Uh huh. What’s your boy think about this?” Tracey demanded. Simon could practically see her tapping her toe.
“Vic’s going to be there. And so are Miss Eppie and Gabriella, although Gabriella is really riding shotgun. She’s not going to be part of the circle.”
“Ooooo-kay,” Tracey said, drawing out her syllables. “And is this on the sly, or is the owner in on it?”
“Not exactly the owner. Trevor, the General Contractor, invited us. He’ll be there in the circle, too.”
“How about the real estate guy? I thought you said he was cranky.”
Simon snorted. “Cranky” was as good a word as any. He figured Tracey must be in a public area because her assessments were usually more frank—and profane.
“You know we’ll be there to watch your back,” Tracey assured him. “Has Vic ever seen you do a séance before? Hell—has he ever been to one? Does he know how they work?”
Simon knew what she was really asking—had Vic ever seen him allow a ghost to possess him? “I’ve explained what goes on, but he hasn’t been to a séance or seen me hold one before.”
&nb
sp; “You think he can handle it?” Tracey sounded skeptical. Simon knew that she liked Vic, but questioned his tolerance for what he had once termed “woo-woo.”
“I think he’ll do his damnedest to,” Simon replied. “He knows this is part of who I am, the way I know being a cop is part of him. So we’re both working on it. And I know he’d be pissed if I didn’t include him.”
“Yeah, I imagine so. Okay. Count us in. We’ll see you there at seven.”
Vic insisted on driving, which Simon appreciated because a séance could leave him badly drained, depending on how difficult the spirits chose to be. They arrived at Socastee Manor as soon as Vic got off work and Simon closed the shop. Trevor’s car was in the lot, but they were still ahead of the others.
“You really think this is a good idea?” Vic asked as he walked beside Simon toward the old house.
“I’m running short on options. And we need answers or more people are going to die.” Simon understood the risk involved, but with Miss Eppie and Gabriella here to help, Simon felt safer. Having Vic and the others as part of the circle would strengthen him. That was the good news. He looked out across the dark ocean, toward the lights of the Grand Strand. For just a second, he thought he saw the silhouette of a man in an old-fashioned frock coat, the kind associated with buccaneers.
Blackcoat Benny, Simon thought. He froze, and Vic jostled his arm.
“You’re seeing them.” Vic didn’t even make it a question.
“Yeah,” Simon replied, unwilling to commit to a Blackcoat Benny sighting. They had enough to worry about, without adding the storm to the list. “Let’s get inside.”
Trevor greeted them when they entered. He had a few electric lanterns set up to light the main parlor, along with a round folding table and enough chairs for all the guests.
“I didn’t know if you needed an Ouija board or a crystal ball or anything,” Trevor said apologetically. “So I hope you brought them if you do. I didn’t think to ask.”
Simon smiled. “Contrary to everything you see in the movies, they’re not required. This is perfect. Thank you.”
“I really appreciate you doing this,” Trevor added, shaking hands with Simon and then Vic.
“How about Camden?” Vic asked.
Trevor glanced at Simon, unsure. “He’s not asking as a cop,” Simon replied. “Just wondering whether he’ll be here.”
“I might have forgotten to mention it to him,” Trevor said, clearing his throat. “He has so much on his mind.”
Simon felt relieved to know Jonah Camden wouldn’t be present. If the man was hostile to the idea, he might shut them down without a chance to contact the spirits. If not, his negative energy could put a damper on Simon’s efforts.
The crunch of tires on gravel had Vic going to the window. “Tracey and Shayna,” he reported. “And I think the other car is Miss Eppie and Gabriella.” Out of habit, Vic’s hand fell to his holster. He was off duty, but he’d insisted on wearing one of his own personal handguns, a sleek Sig, just in case.
The old house was quiet enough that Simon could hear rain hitting the windows. Socastee Manor felt restless, an uneasiness that went down to its foundation. He’d heard that the first house built on Dunwood land had washed out to sea in a hurricane, taking family members and servants with it. This newer house was no stranger to tragedy and bloodshed, and Simon could feel where darkness had stained the home like blood sunk into the floorboards.
He had done his research and determined that the ghosts haunting the manor were not buried in the family graveyard on the hill that he had contained with a salt ring. Jamie Dunwood was buried in Charleston, since he’d died of a fever and bringing the body home posed a risk. The body of his first wife had been sent back to her family after her untimely death. Any servants whose ghosts remained would have been buried in a separate graveyard, away from the family. That meant their ghosts were free to haunt the house, and communicate with Simon.
“You picked a helluva night to do this, Sebastian,” Miss Eppie scolded as she and Gabriella came through the door, shaking off their umbrellas on the porch. “I wouldn’t consider this auspicious.”
“I hadn’t counted on the rain,” he replied. “Come in and get settled. I want to get us all home before the roads get bad.”
“We’ll be okay for a while,” Trevor told them. “It takes a long, hard rain to flood the access drive.”
While the others took their places around the table, Gabriella assessed the room, then picked a corner and laid down a circle of salt and aconite to protect her as she stood sentry over the séance. Simon would be open to the spirits, and the others who were linked to him could be equally vulnerable. Gabriella would make sure that nothing human or supernatural tried to take advantage.
Simon sat with Vic to his right and Miss Eppie on his left. Tracey sat next to her. Shayna was next to Tracey, and Trevor sat on the other side of Vic. Simon glanced at the friends assembled around the table.
“Ready to begin?” Nods and murmurs let him know everyone was set. Simon reached out and clasped hands with Vic and Miss Eppie as the others followed his lead. Then he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and opened his Gift to the friendly, supportive energy at the table. He sensed Gabriella’s protective magic, and beneath everything, the house’s restlessness.
“Spirits of Socastee Manor. We mean you no harm,” Simon began. “We wish to understand why some of the workers here have been hurt, and ask you to let them work in peace. Please, show yourselves.”
They waited in silence for several heartbeats. Simon felt Vic fidget, despite his warnings that a real séance took far more time than the re-enactments on TV ghost-hunter shows. Miss Eppie’s energy felt solid and steady, reassuring. Tracey and Shayna were excited and curious, while Trevor’s wariness came through the link. Gradually, the room grew colder, until Simon was certain he would see his breath mist if he opened his eyes.
“Who has come to us?” he asked as he sensed a spirit in the room. “You are welcome to speak to the others through me, if you like.”
Vic’s hand clenched his, worried. Simon smoothed the pad of his thumb over the back of Vic’s hand to reassure him. Then he opened himself and felt the ghost wink into his consciousness.
“My name was Marilee, and I was a kitchen girl. I died in the year of our Lord, seventeen fifty-two.” Simon hadn’t known how to explain this fully to Vic, how he could speak for Marilee, and still retain his sense of self. Her voice sounded higher pitched than his own, with an accent that was not quite British, but definitely not modern.
“What do you want us to know, Marilee?” Simon asked in his own voice.
“I saw what I wasn’t supposed to and died for it,” the ghost replied. Under her influence, Simon’s voice turned thin and reedy. “I went out late to use the privy and saw men carrying boxes up from the shore. They caught me, though I cared nothing about their business, and beat me for it. I died before I woke again.”
“We hear you, Marilee. What happened to you was wrong. Does something hold you here?” Simon asked.
“I wanted the truth of it known. They told the others it was a cutpurse who killed me.”
“We know now, and we will honor you. It’s all right to move on and rest.”
Simon felt the ghost hesitate and understood. Socastee Manor had not been a good place for her but leaving meant uncertainty. Then the ghost gathered its energy and left Simon, feeling lighter and less burdened. Simon felt it rise, then vanish from his Sight.
One down. Let’s see what shows up next.
“I know you’re out there,” Simon said, with his eyes still closed. Vic’s hand was warm in his, reassuring. Miss Eppie’s grip was a conduit for her energy, sustaining Simon and sharing her energy.
Simon sensed a cloud of spirits hovering just beyond reach, drawn to his power. Some were too faded to manifest, even with his help—mere shadows of their former selves. Others hung back, afraid still in death of the family that ruled the manor with bruta
l authority. Finally, a woman’s ghost appeared to Simon, wearing a fine, high-necked dress that might have been Colonial-era and carrying herself like an aristocrat. He shivered as her spirit filled him, anchoring himself to Vic and Miss Eppie as the unfamiliar presence took hold.
“Dear Lady, who are you? And how can we ease your way?”
Marilee’s ghost wanted to be heard. This spirit wanted justice.
“My name is Katarina, and I was married to Jamie Dunwood. For a time, I was the mistress of this house.” Her voice was lower in pitch from Marilee’s, with a Deep South accent, and very different from Simon’s own. Simon recognized the name from his research.
“What brings you to us?” Simon asked.
“My faithless husband pushed me down the steps, because he wished to wed another.” Katarina’s voice grew hard and bitter. “A more profitable bride.”
“I grieve for your death,” Simon told her. “And Jamie Dunwood is long dead, as are his descendants. The family came to ruin. What will help you to pass on?”
Simon felt the ghost consider. “I am pleased that the family did not prosper,” Katarina said after a pause. “I had learned that my husband was a criminal, smuggling guns. He meant to profit from the war, and I told him that was wrong. I would have everyone know that he was a cad.”
Simon thought of all the stories he had read about the Dunwoods and how hated they were by the other plantation aristocrats, even though no one had been able to prove all the allegations of lawbreaking. Ghostly testimony wouldn’t count, although it affirmed what those around the table suspected. Katarina had her justice many times over.
“It’s time to let go,” Simon coaxed. “You can rest now. We’ve heard your testimony.”
“It’s not over yet,” Katarina replied through Simon. “They’re still here. Still keeping secrets and hurting people.”
Simon sensed everyone’s attention focus. “What do you mean?” Simon asked.
Before Katarina could answer, a frigid wind blasted through the closed room. Simon held on tightly to Vic and Miss Eppie and felt a powerful dark force rip Katarina’s ghost away from him. Simon sensed her terror as she sped toward the light.
