by Morgan Brice
Simon refilled his glass of sweet tea and drank it, gathering his courage. “All right,” he said. “You want to do it here?”
“Reggie is safe here. I don’t think we dare take him elsewhere,” Miss Eppie replied. “He can help make the circle.” That confirmed to Simon that Miss Eppie suspected the man had a bit of a Gift, which would strengthen the séance circle, and the connection to Dante, if the ghost answered their summons.
Gabriella and Eppie set up the table and chairs, while Simon ran through a few breathing exercises to calm himself and let go of his nervousness and exhaustion in order to open his Gift more fully to Dante’s presence. When he opened his eyes, he saw that they had prepared the space with a candle and a batik tablecloth whose block print design hid protective runes.
“Ready when you are, Sebastian,” Miss Eppie said, holding out her hand.
“I’m not going to let him talk through me,” Simon said, worried that would require too much after the strain of the previous night. “But I’ll tell you everything he says to me.”
Simon pushed off the couch and fell into step beside Reggie. Their guest still looked unnerved, but Simon wasn’t worried the man would freak out on him. When this was all over, assuming they survived, Simon intended to talk to Reggie and see if he needed to be one of the Skeleton Crew to help protect him and hone his abilities.
Settling in at Miss Eppie’s table felt nothing like the séance at Socastee Manor. Then, Simon had been acutely aware of all the darkness and misery etched into the mansion by the troubled lives of its former occupants. He’d needed to expend energy to hold off those negative vibes, which left him with less power to connect with the spirits.
Here, the house exuded calm and safety within strong wardings. Simon already knew that neither Beecher’s ghost nor Dunwood’s could attack him inside these walls, thanks to Miss Eppie’s layers of protective magic. With both Gabriella and Miss Eppie as part of the circle—as well as Reggie with his latent, untested abilities—Simon felt a surge of power that wiped away his exhaustion.
They joined hands, forming the circle. Simon took in a deep breath and let it center him. He tuned in to the energy the others sent his way. “Dante Morris. Please come back and finish our conversation. Your old enemy has returned, and I need your help to stop him before more people die.”
Simon sent a wave of psychic power behind his summons, trusting it to carry into the ether. They waited, and Simon watched the flickering candle in the middle of the table. He tried to relax and stop the chatter of his thoughts so that he could be open for Dante’s response. After a few minutes, the temperature dropped, and the flame flickered wildly.
Simon. I am glad you came back.
Thank you for helping me fight off Dunwood’s ghost.
Of course. You are kin. What help can I provide now?
We think Dunwood’s ghost is killing to keep people from finding out a secret—maybe something hidden in the manor.
Dante was silent for a moment. There would have been ledgers, somewhere, of his dealings. He was too active not to have his shipments recorded.
Can you see where they are?
Dante’s laugh sounded like a gust of wind. I’m just a ghost. Not all-knowing.
Simon wasn’t surprised, but he thought it had been worth asking. Your energy feels stronger tonight.
I was a water witch. The storm feeds me. I can’t usually show myself this strongly.
Simon knew the connection between them could falter at any moment, so he pushed on, setting aside the many questions he would have loved to ask about his ancestor and the time period. William Beecher’s ghost is killing the descendants of the men who hanged him. How can I stop him? The Wilton Stone is underwater, and it’s treacherous to dive there.
This is new?
Yes. Just since the storms washed the wreck to shallower water.
If he has been quiet for so long, with the stone deep in the ocean, then lend me your power at the peak of the storm tonight, and together we will push it back to the abyss.
That just might work, Simon thought. When and where?
You’ll feel the storm crest and know it’s time, Dante promised. Just have a line of sight to where the wreck lies. We’ll send that son of a cur back to Davy Jones.
Dante’s ghost slipped from Simon’s consciousness, but this time the parting was gentle, not the wrenching violence of the night at the manor. For a few seconds, Simon drifted peacefully. Then an image appeared full-blown in his mind, of the diver, Josh Williams, slipping up the front steps of a darkened Socastee Manor.
Simon jolted awake, eyes wide, heart thudding. “Josh Williams. He broke into the manor. He must be looking for the ledger.” Simon looked around the table. “He was on the dive to the Annabelle. If he was near the Wilton Stone, maybe Beecher’s ghost has been possessing him all this time. We’ve got to stop him.”
Simon told them what Dante had revealed. “We need to destroy the ledger to break Dunwood’s hold on the manor and stop him from hurting the workers. And we have to stop Josh Williams so Beecher’s ghost won’t kill more people.”
“Socastee Manor is only a mile from here,” Miss Eppie said. “Let’s go.”
Simon shook his head. “You shouldn’t come with me. It’s bad out there—the storm is going to get worse.”
Miss Eppie tilted her head and gave him a look. “Child, do you know how many hurricanes I’ve seen in my lifetime? I respect the ocean, but I don’t fear the storm. Where you go tonight, Gabriella and I are coming, too. Right?”
Gabriella cussed under her breath in Spanish, then nodded. “Of course.” She glared at Reggie. “You, stay here. That way Beecher won’t make you his hostage. Stay inside, and don’t touch anything unless you want to be turned into a frog.”
Simon knew that wasn’t possible, but Reggie’s eyes widened and he paled. Miss Eppie clucked her tongue at Gabriella and laid a hand on Reggie’s arm. “No frogs. But there are items best not handled if you don’t know what you’re doing. So stay inside, and stay out of trouble.”
Gabriella went to the window. “If we’re going out to the Manor, we should go now. The rain’s coming down hard, and the water’s rising. That access road could get cut off.”
Simon fished his phone out of his pocket and hit Vic’s number on speed dial. He had no idea what Vic might be doing at the moment, since he’d been called in for emergency storm duty—directing traffic around accidents, helping get stranded motorists out of flooded cars, setting up barricades, and any other police duties that needed extra manpower. He didn’t really expect Vic to pick up, but he knew he needed to let him know that they might be closing in on two killers.
“Vic—I know what to look for at the Manor to break Dunwood’s link, and Dante’s ghost told me how to stop the Gallows Nine killer. But we’ve got to go out to the mansion to do it, and we’ve got to go now. Miss Eppie and Gabriella are coming with me. And I had a vision of Josh Williams breaking in—I think he’s the one who’s been possessed by the ghost of the Annabelle’s captain to cause the hangings. If you get this message, we could use some backup. Stay safe. I love you.” He disconnected, swallowed hard, called the shelter to say he might not be coming to help, and then pocketed his phone.
“Come on. We’ve got some ghosts to wrangle.”
14
VIC
On nice days in Myrtle Beach, even a boring stakeout wasn’t all bad. This definitely wasn’t a nice day. At least it wasn’t snowing, like back in Pittsburgh. But nights like this, in the driving rain and pitch black, with power outages taking down traffic lights at major intersections and alarm systems going wacko, Vic sometimes thought a little snow wasn’t as bad as he remembered it.
“We should be shadowing those guys on the list Simon gave us,” Vic grumbled to Ross as they struggled through water that nearly went over their hip waders, in the glare of the blue and red strobing lights from the parked cruiser at the flooded intersection.
“Probably. But until
you figure out how we can show up and warn them that they’re going to get ganked by a ghost, we’re going to follow orders and push cars out of flooded streets because drivers are too stupid to know their Honda isn’t a Jet Ski,” Ross replied.
They were cold and soaked, despite the heavy-duty police rain gear. Vic’s short hair was plastered to his skull, sending drips of icy rain down his back. Sure, it wasn’t snow, but being wet clear through in a gale force wind in late January was still fucking cold. His feet might not be wet, but Vic swore he hadn’t felt his toes for at least the last hour.
“There was a reason I applied to be a detective,” Vic said as he and Ross pushed yet another stranded car out of water that had stalled it.
“Look at the bright side. It’s too cold for the gators to be out, and the snakes are hibernating.”
Vic glared at his partner, not feeling the humor. “And it’s not mosquito season. I’m thankful for small fucking favors.”
He looked out over the main stretch of the Grand Strand. Usually, Ocean Boulevard and Kings Highway were lit up like the Vegas Strip, awash in neon and tail lights. From the never-ending carnival of Family Kingdom amusement park to the huge glowing signs of the big beach shops, the party never ended. Except now, whole blocks were dark. Stoplights blinked without changing colors or were out completely. Sirens wailed from every direction, and the crashing of the ocean that was normally just background noise sounded unnervingly loud and rough.
A car came through on the opposite side of the road, going too fast for conditions, and sent up a chest-high spray of water, dousing them. Vic sputtered and wiped his eyes, muttering at the driver.
“You know, you’re usually not this surly. Did Simon make you sleep on the couch or something?”
Vic bit back a retort that Ross didn’t deserve because his partner was right; Vic’s mood was out of line. They had done this job in dozens of storms, under worse conditions, with more danger, and Vic had taken it all in stride.
Tonight, Vic’s intuition—what Simon jokingly called his Spidey sense—was jangling, putting him on edge. Not for himself, but for Simon. Something wasn’t right, and Vic had no way to do anything about it.
He’d gotten a message earlier in the day from Simon, before the storm got bad, saying that he was going to see Miss Eppie. Vic knew that Simon had intended to spend the evening helping out at the shelter where people went when their homes flooded, so his change of plans told Vic that Simon was chasing a lead on the case. At least if Simon was with Eppie and Gabriella, he wasn’t alone, and he’d be safe. Vic hoped.
They were supposed to get a break every hour, a chance to guzzle hot coffee, take a leak, and dry off. In reality, they were lucky if they got the chance every couple of hours. At their previous break, Vic had checked his messages. Nothing new from Simon—Vic wasn’t sure whether that made him feel better or worse.
He did have a new email from the crime lab. “Hey,” Vic said, getting Ross’s attention. “Take a look at this. They ran the prints on one of the knives and got a match.”
They read through the message once, then again, and stared at each other. “Shit,” Ross said, breaking the stunned silence. “I was sure it was going to be Josh Williams. I would have bet money.”
“Jonah Camden,” Vic said, feeling sucker-punched. “If Simon’s right, Dunwood was worried about his reputation. Camden would have been in the right place to kill the groundskeeper, if the guy found something incriminating.”
“But what about the dead diver?” Ross argued. “Williams had the means.”
“Do you remember that day at the manor, when we met Camden? His Beemer? The license plate had a dive flag.”
“Half the cars in Myrtle Beach have a dive flag on them somewhere,” Ross countered.
“I need to let Simon know.” Vic started to dial, just as a streak of lightning raced across the sky and a deafening peal of thunder followed. More lights went out, and Vic’s signal faded.
“Fuck. I can’t get any bars.”
“You can try again later. We need to get out and help with traffic. Simon’ll be safe. That root woman won’t let him do anything stupid,” Ross assured him.
Vic glared at his phone, shaking it as if that would improve his signal. Maybe he’d get moved to a part of town that still had reception, and he could get the call to go through. Vic shivered, but this time it had nothing to do with the rain. His intuition told him that Simon was in trouble.
They spent the next hour going from one disaster to another—wrecked cars, stalled vehicles, flooding that required evacuations for people who couldn’t manage on their own. Whenever Vic had the chance, he checked to see if he had signal, desperate to let Simon know about Camden and make sure he was okay.
Just when Vic had resigned himself to having a phone that was just a fancy paperweight, he and Ross responded to a dispatch that took them into a different area of downtown.
“I’ve got a signal!” Vic crowed. A text message popped up from Simon—over an hour old.
“No, no, no,” he muttered as he read the message.
“What’s wrong?” Ross asked, daring a side glance as he navigated through the obstacle course of standing water and stranded cars.
“Simon got a vision about Josh Williams going to the Manor, and he thinks he’s the killer. Shit. If Camden’s there, both Simon and Josh are in a lot of danger.”
“Tell Hargrove. This could be the big break in the case.”
Vic didn’t bother with his cell phone; he used the dispatch radio. “Cap, Simon got a lead on the killer, so he’s headed to Socastee Manor. Josh Williams might be there, too. But forensics just confirmed Camden’s fingerprints on one of the murder knives. Simon and Josh are in danger. Permission to head for the Manor?”
“Go,” Hargrove said. “You and Ross. Just watch yourselves. The way the storm surge is rising, you might need a boat. If the road out that way floods, you won’t get a car through there.”
“Got it,” Vic said. “We’re heading out.”
“How are we going to get to Socastee Manor if the road is swamped?” Ross asked.
Vic smiled. “I’m going to call in a few favors.” He toggled the handset on his police radio. “Dispatch? I need you to patch me through to the Coast Guard. Captain Bret Timmons.”
15
SIMON
Simon’s Toyota had good tires, but traction wasn’t the problem. As he skirted standing water and went around stalled cars, he found himself wishing for a Humvee, or at least a big SUV with high clearance and enough power to not get stuck in soft sand. The rain fell in sheets. Dante’s ghost whispered that the storm had begun in earnest, the big one that had the forecasters in a tizzy.
Socastee Manor was just a mile away, but with the torrential rain, Simon had no choice except to crawl with his four-ways flashing, hoping none of the other idiots who were out in the awful weather were going to hit him. Miss Eppie rode shotgun, while Gabriella was in the back. Reggie had been all too glad to stay at Miss Eppie’s house, and Simon agreed that he would be safer there. But if they got stuck, he wouldn’t have objected to having another man to help push the car.
Puddles covered the road, deceptively deep. The side roads weren’t quite as well maintained, leaving them with dips and potholes, but Simon didn’t dare try to go around on the wet sand. All the while he chafed at the delay while simultaneously dreading the confrontation to come. He couldn’t use Dante’s weather magic while driving, and he didn’t want to squander his energy when he knew the fight to come would be brutal. But Simon definitely wanted the ability to pause the rain and stop the wind, just until he got to his destination.
You know it doesn’t exactly work like that, Dante’s ghost confided.
We’re going to lose the battle by default if we can’t get there. Simon gripped the wheel white-knuckled, hunched forward and jaw set as he tried to see through the downpour.
He worried about Vic, something Simon was coming to accept as just a given. On normal
days, if he thought too hard about it, Simon worried about bullets, knives, and ambushes. But pulling emergency duty meant going up against the worst Mother Nature had to throw at them, wading into dangerous situations to protect people, animals, and property. High water could be deceptively swift, and many people had drowned in storm water ditches. Fallen electric wires and snapped trees could be lethal, and the high winds were notorious for flinging debris with the speed of a pro baseball player hitting a line drive. Simon could conjure up far too many scenarios that were just as deadly as a shoot-out, and harder to protect against.
But worry came with loving a cop, just like it did for military families, and Simon was resolved to learn how to balance reasonable concerns with dark imaginings. After all, Vic had a much harder adjustment to make, accepting all the “woo-woo” that went with loving Simon. He vowed to be worth the trouble.
The closer they got to Socastee Manor, the more Simon’s sense of foreboding grew. He asked and got no response from Dante, probably meaning that the ghost knew no more than he did about what to expect.
“Are you picking up on anything?” Simon asked Miss Eppie and Gabriella. Before they could answer, a deep puddle dragged one of his wheels, making him adjust sharply to keep them on the road.
“A storm like this stores a lot of energy for magic that can tap into it,” Gabriella replied. “I’m not a weather witch, but I’ll do my best to pull what I can when you need it.”
“I have what I need to cross the person responsible for those poor men’s deaths, but I have to know I’m putting a root on the right person,” Miss Eppie said. “It’s strong magic, and I want to have it right.”
Simon knew just how powerful Miss Eppie’s hoodoo was, having seen the result of one of her curses firsthand in his battle against a serial killer. He’d been in the Lowcountry long enough to understand that having a hoodoo practitioner cross someone or put a root on them was nothing to be trifled with.
