by Morgan Brice
The new ghost battered at Simon’s shielding. It felt like his head was going to split open. The spirit pushed relentlessly, strong enough to tear at Simon’s protections.
“Get out!” A gravelly voice shouted against Simon’s will. “Get out of my house! You’re not welcome here. I will kill you all!”
Simon rallied his strength even as he felt Gabriella turn her magic toward the unwelcome newcomer. Vic kept a bone-crushing grip on Simon’s hand. Miss Eppie shifted her arm, and a mojo bag slid down into their joined palms.
The counterattack from Gabriella and Miss Eppie startled the ghost, and Simon saw his chance. He imagined someone attempting to force their way through a partially closed door, an intruder trying to break in. In his mind’s eye, Simon saw himself hurtle toward the door, slamming against it with his consciousness and his magic.
The psychic door almost closed, but the vindictive ghost pushed back, wedging the opening wider. Simon fought, knowing that he dared not lose. The ghost was old and strong, stinking of hate and fury. Simon knew that this was the revenant behind the “accidents” here at the manor, and he felt certain it had a hand in the death of the groundsman. He could feel the spirit’s glee in the turmoil he caused among the séance attendees, although to their credit, no one broke the circle.
The ghost shoved hard, but Simon held his ground. He could not imagine the damage a spirit like this could do if it gained control of him and his abilities.
I don’t belong to you, Simon growled in his mind. He felt Vic’s grip on his hand, steady and sure. Simon drew in the energy his worried friends sent to him through their link and threw everything he had against the intruder, as he felt another wave of Gabriella’s magic wash over him.
Again, the mental door inched toward closing, with the vengeful ghost fighting mightily. Simon strained to shut the door, surprised the spirit could hold out with so much psychic power arrayed against it. The ghost’s rage and fury flared like a forest fire, bent on forcing the opening wide enough to seize control.
Who are you? Simon shouted in his mind.
I am the master of this house! The voice roared back, and Simon no longer could tell whether he had screamed the words himself, or they just echoed in his brain. He saw an image of a man in an old-fashioned frock coat and guessed it might be Jamie Dunwood. In that moment of shared knowledge, other images flashed in Simon’s mind, almost too fast to process. I will not be denied.
Simon was determined to keep on denying the entitled asshole of a ghost. He drew on his love for Vic, his friendship with Tracey, and the affection he felt for Miss Eppie and Gabriella, Trevor’s trust that Simon could make a difference. Reaching down to the core of his being, Simon mustered his power and pushed.
The mental door slammed shut. Simon threw himself against it, digging in his heels, as the ghost on the other side raged and threatened.
Dimly, Simon became aware of the rain outside, driving hard against the walls, making the windows rattle. And in the storm, he felt another spirit, old and familiar. Dante’s ghost swept toward them, but instead of focusing on Simon, Dante brought his power against Dunwood.
Dunwood was fury and fire. Dante’s ghost felt like storm surge and lightning. Simon rallied for another salvo, channeling his own Gift, the energy of the séance circle, Vic’s love, Gabriella’s magic, and Miss Eppie’s hoodoo to support Dante.
With a scream of sheer rage, Dunwood’s spirit wrenched away from Simon and vanished.
When you need me, call to me. I will come. Dante promised, then disappeared into the storm.
Finally free of the spirits, barely conscious, Simon slumped in his chair. “The séance is over. Go in peace.”
12
VIC
Vic had no idea what to expect from a real séance beyond what he’d seen in cheesy horror movies. Simon tried to assure him that wasn’t the way things worked in real life, but Vic had been skeptical. He couldn’t remember a single film when a séance had gone well.
And yet, Simon knew much more about ghosts and the spirit world, and Vic wanted to trust his boyfriend’s judgment. Even if doing the séance was dangerous, it couldn’t be worse than Vic’s job, which all-too-often required dodging bullets. Whatever it took, Vic intended to show Simon that he was all in. So he came along, seeing it as a milestone in their relationship that he hadn’t learned about the séance after the fact, determined to prove that he deserved Simon’s trust.
Damn, Vic hadn’t counted on how hard it was to see Simon taken over by something else, to hear him speak and know it wasn’t really him. To trust that Simon’s Gift was strong enough to protect him if the ghost’s intentions were bad.
When the first ghost settled into Simon’s skin, Vic felt the shift on a gut level. He knew, bone-deep, that the entity speaking through those familiar lips was not Simon. Everything felt wrong on a hind-brain level, sending his intuition screaming. But Vic held on.
When Marilee’s spirit left quietly, Vic breathed a sigh of relief. Then Katarina came, angry about her murder but respecting Simon’s boundaries until the end, when she was about to tell them something vital, and another presence forced its way to the front.
Vic thought he had been terrified the night he’d spent pacing in the hospital waiting room, not knowing if Simon would survive a gunshot. Now he knew a different kind of fear. The gun at his side couldn’t fight this threat. Vic knew how to tackle an armed assailant, could hold his own with his fists. But this attacker was beyond his reach. Simon needed help, and all Vic could do was hang on and pray.
After the third ghost’s terrifying threats, Simon went silent, but Vic felt his struggle. Every line of Simon’s body tensed with the invisible fight. The cords in his neck strained, his jaw clenched, and his eyes rolled back in his head like he might have a seizure. Simon’s rigid form and his death grip on Vic’s hand proved that Simon was fighting, but Vic was locked out.
This is how he feels when I’m on duty. The truth of that insight cut through Vic’s terror. When Vic went to work, he trusted his partner, his gun, his own skills, and the system. He had backup, training, experience. He believed in those things to protect him, even though his job was hunting down killers, men and women who had nothing to lose. And except for the cases they worked together, when the culprit was supernatural, Simon was on the outside, powerless to protect Vic.
I get it. Sweet Holy Mother of God, save us both.
Vic wasn’t very religious, but he’d been brought up Catholic in an old-school parish, and old habits died hard. He’d prayed that night at the hospital, and now the words came to memory again, the only kind of incantation he knew, one he had been promised carried power.
Hail Mary, full of grace. The Lord is with thee. Vic chanted silently and held on to Simon’s hand as if the storm outside might tear Simon from his grip.
Suddenly Simon jerked and trembled. The expressions that played across Simon’s face hinted at a silent, internal battle. Gabriella’s voice sounded from her corner of the room, low and commanding. Vic could see the fear on the faces of the other participants. Tracey’s gaze never left Simon’s face, as if she could will him to be all right. Shayna looked like she might bolt. Trevor had a thunderstruck expression as if he got far more than he bargained for. Vic couldn’t see Miss Eppie’s face, but she had a white-knuckled grip on Simon’s hand and had managed to slip a mojo bag between their palms, drawing on her spirit guardians.
Vic didn’t have a mojo bag, but he had the woven bracelet and pocket square that Simon swore had protective magic incorporated into their warp and woof. He kept on repeating the Hail Mary, and focused on the bracelet and kerchief, willing himself to be a conduit for whatever white light they might share with Simon. His own fear didn’t matter. All that counted was helping Simon win his battle.
Vic noticed that the rain had turned to a storm, with wind that howled around the manor’s chimneys and a downpour that lashed the windows. Lightning flashed far out to sea. The hairs on the back of Vic’s neck
stood up, and he knew another presence had joined them.
Simon jerked back and forth, twitching in the throes of a nightmare battle. A stranger’s voice roared threats, controlling Simon’s body to speak through him. Simon gasped for breath and tensed hard enough that his back arched. Then suddenly his eyes flew open. Thunder crashed outside. The energy in the room shifted, and the cold, oppressive feeling vanished. Simon let out a long breath with a whoosh, and slumped in his chair, eyes closed.
“The séance is over. Go in peace,” he mumbled, barely coherent.
“Simon!” Vic released his grip, and his hand ached from being clenched tight for so long. He reached for Simon, but Miss Eppie batted his hand away, leaning in from the other side.
“Give him room to breathe. He’s gonna be okay,” she said, folding both of her hands around the mojo bag in his fist. Vic didn’t understand the words in Gabriella’s chant, but it felt more protective than defensive, a benediction perhaps, instead of a battle cry.
“What. The. Fuck.” Trevor looked completely shell-shocked. Shayna let out a sob, and Tracey wrapped her arms around her girlfriend, rocking slowly and murmuring reassurances.
Simon groaned, and Vic’s attention shifted immediately. This time, Miss Eppie moved back, allowing Vic to lean forward to see Simon’s face.
“Simon?” Vic’s heart pounded, waiting for a response. Simon opened his eyes, groggy and disoriented. “Hey,” Vic said gently, reaching to touch Simon’s cheek. “Are you okay?”
Simon nodded. “Yeah. Just…give me a minute.”
Gabriella stopped chanting, but she didn’t leave her warded circle, still on guard should the angry spirit return. Trevor walked to the windows, and from his stance, Vic figured that the contractor was trying to compose himself.
“Is he okay?” Tracey asked. She had an arm around Shayna, who sniffled against Tracey’s shoulder, looking shaken.
“He will be, child. Just give him a chance to collect himself,” Miss Eppie said. “He did real good. Just needs to catch his breath.”
Vic realized that the storm outside had ended. He hoped that the roads were passable, because he wanted to get the hell away from Socastee Manor and never come back.
Simon shifted, straightening in his chair. He shook his head like he was tossing off a bad dream. His long hair had pulled loose from the tie that held it, and strands fell into his face. Vic reached out to smooth them back.
“Hey,” he said, offering a smile that he hoped said “I love you” and “You scared me” and “Are you okay?”
“Hey.” Simon sounded exhausted, but completely himself once more.
“What happened?” Trevor turned from where he stood at the window. “One minute you were talking about a woman, and in the next—”
“I was attacked,” Simon said quietly. Vic scooted closer and put his arm around Simon, who leaned into him for support. “One of the Dunwoods—Jamie, I think. He didn’t want Katarina to finish telling us whatever it was she meant to say. I think there’s something here that ties him to the manor, something he doesn’t want found.”
“Did he have anything to do with the groundskeeper’s murder?” Vic asked.
Simon nodded. Tracey dug a bottle of water out of her backpack and pressed it into Simon’s hand. He drank it down and it seemed to revive him.
“I’m certain he did. But…I don’t think he’s the one behind the hangings,” Simon replied, turning to look at Vic.
Shit. There were a million questions Vic wanted to ask, but he could see that Simon was barely staying awake.
“I need to get him home,” Vic announced. He looked to Trevor. “Do you think we can get out?”
Trevor nodded, still shaken by what he’d witnessed. “Yeah. It sounded like we had a hurricane out there, but when I looked there’s nothing. No branches or leaves down, and it’s wet but not flooded. Go figure.”
Vic exchanged a look with Miss Eppie that confirmed much more had transpired than met the eye. Vic could bide his time to get the answers. His priority was taking care of Simon.
“Come on,” he said, helping Simon to his feet. “I’ve got sports drinks in the car. I need to take you home.”
Simon leaned heavily on Vic, proof that the séance had badly drained him. Gabriella and Miss Eppie flanked them as they left the house, like supernatural bodyguards. Shayna wiped her face with the back of her hand and took a few breaths, regaining her composure. Tracey looked torn between worry for Simon and her concern for Shayna. Trevor followed, still poleaxed.
Gabriella turned to Trevor as they reached the cars. “Darkness clings to this house. Much evil has been done here. It would be smart to burn it to the ground.”
“I can’t do that,” Trevor replied. “It’s not my call to make.”
Gabriella nodded. “I understand. I don’t agree, but I understand. We will help, but you must realize the bad energy is very old, very strong. When he is rested,” she added with a nod toward Simon, “we will see what can be done.”
“Take him home, put him to bed, feed him. Let him draw energy from you if he needs to,” Miss Eppie cautioned Vic as he helped Simon to the car. “He’ll be all right, but he’s had a day of it.” She and Gabriella headed for their car.
“Call me if you need me,” Tracey told Vic, with a worried glance toward Simon. “If you get called out or something. Don’t leave him alone.”
Vic promised and watched as she and Shayna drove off. Simon was already asleep as Vic started the car. The rain had slowed to a light drizzle, just enough to require wipers and to make the road dark and reflective.
Vic struggled to keep his mind on his driving, but his thoughts and feelings were a jumble. A year ago he would have doubted his sanity after what he’d seen tonight or concluded that somehow, the entire performance had been rigged. He’d accused Simon of being a fraud the first time Simon had done a reading for him. Now Vic knew better, both about the supernatural and about Simon’s abilities. That knowledge did not help him sleep at night.
Simon woke when they pulled in beside the blue bungalow. Vic came around to help him out, but Simon managed on his own, although he did accept Vic’s arm around him as they climbed the steps. As soon as they were inside Simon relaxed, and Vic wondered if the protective wardings on the house made him feel more at ease.
“Come on,” Vic said, tugging Simon toward the couch. “You get comfortable, and I’ll get dinner.” Simon didn’t object, and he had gone from sitting to lying down before Vic had even left the room.
Vic pulled a container of leftover homemade lasagna from the fridge and split it into two portions. It would take several minutes to microwave, so he checked his phone, which had been on silent. He realized he’d missed several calls from Ross.
Vic glanced at Simon, asleep on the couch. Rather than listen to his messages, he just hit speed dial.
“What’s up?” Vic asked when Ross answered.
“You didn’t listen to the messages, did you?”
Vic couldn’t resist a smile. “Of course not. That’s why I called you back.”
Ross gave an exaggerated sigh in response. “Hargrove called me since he couldn’t reach you. Turned up some more details on Josh Williams, the guy who’s heading up the dive on the Annabelle. Seems like Jonah Camden has filed a cease and desist against him that is pretty much of a gag order on saying anything that links the Gallows Nine to the Dunwood family or Socastee Manor. Apparently, Camden tried to get the whole dive project shut down, even called in favors with a couple of his rich buddies to throw their weight around, but he couldn’t swing it.”
“Interesting,” Vic said, splitting his attention between the call and the timer on the microwave.
“Oh, and it turns out that Williams not only crossed paths with Sean Bradley, his fist also crossed Bradley’s face a time or two. They were graduate students together, and diving partners, until Bradley double-crossed Williams and got caught selling relics to private collectors on the black market. The scandal al
most ruined Williams’s career and cost him a high-profile reclamation project.”
“Some details Williams managed not to mention.”
“Yeah. I want to bring him back in for questioning, but right now we’re not having much luck finding the guy.”
Vic frowned. “You think he’s going to turn up dead? And if he does—are you betting on ‘suicide’ or the third missing knife?”
Ross swore under his breath. “Your guess is as good as mine.” He paused. “You sound a little off. Simon okay?”
Vic grimaced, even though Ross couldn’t see his expression. “He did a séance out at Socastee Manor and it got fucked up.”
“A séance. What happened? Accidentally summon a demon or something?”
Vic winced. He’d been around Simon enough to know some things shouldn’t be joked about. “Not quite. I don’t have all the details yet. It went hard on him. I’m trying to get him to eat. Kinda afraid he’s going to have a hangover headache tomorrow.”
Ross believed in Simon’s abilities, but he hadn’t seen as much close up as Vic had, and the whole supernatural aspect was new to him. “You gonna be in tomorrow?”
“Planning on it,” Vic replied. He bent to take the lasagna out of the microwave and nearly burned his fingers on the plate. “I’m hoping that a good meal and some TLC will set things right.”
“TMI on the TLC,” Ross answered with a laugh. “Just let me know if anything changes, and I’ll keep you posted if I hear from Cap.”
Vic ended the call and slipped his phone in his pocket. He thought about setting dinner out on the table, then set up a couple of retro TV trays that had come with the bungalow. He and Simon could eat on the couch. He found a movie they’d both seen a dozen times, figuring that neither of them were up to paying full attention.
“Hey,” he said, gently jostling Simon to wake him. “Dinner.”
