by Morgan Brice
By comparison, Simon had his psychic Gifts—his visions and the ability to talk to ghosts—and a few minor spells he learned by rote. Patience and persistence more than native magic honed the ability to burn with a touch, open a lock with a word, send a stream of fire a few feet, hurl a small object farther and harder than usual, and summon a small protective barrier. They were, at best, a distraction against the kind of power Simon feared they faced from both Dunwood’s ghost and Beecher’s vengeful spirit. He wasn’t sure they’d be worth the drain to his power, given the bigger goal in mind, but Simon felt better knowing he had at least a little magic of his own.
Heavy storm clouds blocked the moon, and the rain dimmed the reach of the Toyota’s headlights so that Simon could barely see a few yards in front of them. He had traveled this road enough lately to know they were nearly to the manor. He wondered if Vic had gotten his text, and assumed that since he’d had no response, that Vic was either too busy to read his messages, or unable to get a call through. As much as Simon wished for reinforcements, he feared that the battle fell to them.
“Josh Williams is definitely here. That’s his car,” Simon said, as they pulled up near the manor. “And so is Jonah Camden, the developer. That’s his BMW.”
“If Josh came looking for the ledger, would Camden be able to stop him?” Miss Eppie asked.
Simon remembered Josh’s muscular build and Camden’s slender frame. “I wouldn’t bet on Camden in a fist fight. Josh is a bigger guy.”
“If Dunwood is riding Josh, then Camden doesn’t have much of a chance without magic to counter him,” Gabriella warned.
Simon pulled in, threw the car in park, and they ran for the manor. The wild wind made umbrellas useless and drove the rain nearly sideways, soaking them before they got to the door. He had to lean against the gusts, keeping a tight grip on a shotgun he’d brought, while Gabriella and Miss Eppie linked arms.
Dante loved the storm; Simon could feel the ghost’s contentment with the wind and rain, the primal energy he commanded from the tempest. Simon could only hope that Dante could marshal those forces on their behalf, or things were going to go very badly.
The door swung on its hinges, banging open and shut. Simon and the others hesitated before entering, trying to get a read on where Josh and Camden might be. Then he felt the approach of dark power and sensed Dante’s sudden departure as the ghost went to hold off Beecher’s spirit so they could take on Dunwood.
Dante’s absence made Simon feel vulnerable, though he knew Miss Eppie and Gabriella were fierce and powerful in their own right. Simon refused to carry a gun with lethal ammunition, but he had come prepared with a shotgun with rounds filled with rock salt. He also had an iron dagger in a sheath on his belt and plenty of salt in his backpack, as well as a container of holy water. As they entered, Simon lifted a hand to touch the silver medallions he wore, drawing strength from them.
“Go,” Gabriella whispered after a moment to sense the entranceway.
Simon swung inside with the shotgun leveled and found an empty front room. Crashes and banging came from farther inside, and Simon fought the urge to run forward, fearing that Camden was in danger from Josh and the ghost of Jamie Dunwood.
The unfinished parlor looked much as it had the last time Simon visited, with an electric lantern set on a board between two saw horses providing a pool of light that did not extend farther into the house.
“Where are they?” Simon murmured. “They’ve got to be here.”
A crash in the next room and a man’s shout made them jump. Seconds later, Jonah Camden appeared in the doorway to the parlor, shirt untucked and hair askew. “He’s right behind me!” He panted, wide-eyed and fearful.
“We can protect you,” Simon offered. “Come with us.”
“Simon! No! He’s the one who killed Platz!” Josh’s voice carried over the storm from the parlor Camden had just left.
“He’s lying,” Camden said, heading toward Simon and the others. “I got here, and found him tearing the place apart.”
“Liar!” Josh hurtled from the parlor and flung himself at Camden’s back. Simon glimpsed just enough to see that Josh’s left shoulder was bloodied and his right eye was nearly swollen shut. Just before Josh should have tackled Camden to the floor, the developer wheeled and grabbed Josh by his wounded shoulder. Josh cried out in pain, and Camden pulled Josh in front of him like a shield, drawing the third missing knife from his belt.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Camden said, eyeing Simon and the others. “Josh made a mistake coming here. He thought he’d steal what’s rightfully mine, expose what doesn’t need to be shared. I caught him in my house, and I’m going to deal with him like a thief deserves.”
“He’s out of his mind!” Josh shouted, then bit back a cry as Camden dug his fingers into Josh’s bloody shoulder.
“You came to find the ledger. Do you deny it?”
“I had permission! Trevor told me I could come.”
“I will deal with his betrayal when we are through.”
Simon took in Camden’s features, which were his own and yet, altered. Gone was Camden’s citified hipster arrogance, replaced by a much colder aristocratic entitlement used to holding men’s lives and fortunes in the balance. Simon was willing to bet that Jonah Camden couldn’t hold his own in a fight, but the spirit possessing his trim body carried himself like someone with military experience who had been no stranger to brawls.
“How’d you figure out about the ledgers, Josh?” Simon asked, buying time to figure out what to do.
“An old journal, from one of the jurors,” Josh replied through gritted teeth, panting from the pain as Camden kept a cruel grip on his shoulder. “Said something about Dunwood keeping track of what was owed him in his ledger. It didn’t sound like a business transaction.”
“Doesn’t matter how you found out about it; the ledger stays at Socastee Manor,” Camden said, keeping the blade at Josh’s throat.
The front door slammed again in the wind. Camden jumped, and Josh tried to twist out of his grip. Camden growled and dug the blade into Josh’s neck just enough to raise a thin line of blood.
“Don’t!” Simon shouted, desperate to keep Josh alive and Camden talking. He wondered how much of Camden was aware of the possession, or whether the developer had been a willing participant. After all, anything that damaged the Dunwood reputation might bring down property values, Camden’s one true priority.
Josh’s gaze darted toward the door. Simon didn’t dare take his focus off Camden, but a glance out of the corner of his eye told him Miss Eppie was no longer behind him. He thought about hoodoo, and what it took to cross someone and hex their luck. She needed something personal from the target, like a hair or a possession.
The cars, Simon thought. She’s gone to find something she can use in Camden’s car. At the least, he’ll find himself very unlucky.
Just turning Camden’s luck wouldn’t be enough. Simon knew that between the two of them and their abilities, he and Gabriella could probably best Camden and drive out Dunwood’s ghost. But they hadn’t counted on a hostage, and right now, with the blade digging into Josh’s throat, Camden held all the cards.
“Why’d you kill the gardener?” Simon asked, figuring that if he could keep Camden monologuing, he’d give Eppie room to work her hoodoo, and maybe he and Gabriella could seize an opportunity.
“Too damn nosy,” Camden said with a sneer. Now that he paid close attention, Simon could hear the difference in the possessed man’s voice. Camden’s normal tone was higher pitched, and he usually spoke like he was giving a presentation to investors, stilted and full of jargon. Dunwood’s voice had the same odd hint of a British accent Simon had heard when Beecher the pirate spoke in his mind, a reminder that Colonial America wasn’t far removed yet from its English roots.
“Why would Platz have cared about an old ledger?” Simon asked, needing to know and desperate to keep the conversation going.
“He might have sold it
, or someone else could have gotten a hold of it, figured things out. I couldn’t risk that.” Dunwood’s inflection made it clear that protecting his interests justified whatever action was required—including murder.
“If you hid it in the house, why would Platz be anywhere near the ledger?”
“He heard stories and told them to the contractor, Nichols,” Camden snapped. “I couldn’t get rid of Nichols without the investors noticing, but if an old man got jumped…well, that’s just too bad, isn’t it?” A cold smile touched Camden’s thin lips.
“How’d you kill the diver?”
Camden’s smile broadened, and Simon got the feeling that Dunwood was enjoying a private joke. “I’m dive certified,” Camden replied. “Never did much with it except some vacation scuba, but it was enough to stop the looter from bringing up that accursed stone.” His answer was an odd mix of Camden and Dunwood, juxtaposing a difference of centuries.
“You knew about the Wilton Stone.” Simon figured Camden kept talking because he wanted someone among the living to know of his exploits…even if he intended to kill that “someone” later.
“Of course I knew. I purchased the damned thing!” Camden’s eyes were glazed, and the fury that glinted in them belonged to the spirit who possessed him. “Would have made me an even bigger fortune, if they’d delivered it like we planned. But when the privateers scuttled the ship, the stone went with it. And I guess Beecher’s had time enough to make it his. Couldn’t take the risk he’d get even stronger if it came to the surface.”
Simon felt sick with the confirmation of Dunwood’s malice. “Did you know Beecher’s ghost was killing off the descendants of those you bribed to throw the trial?”
Camden tittered, a chilling, mirthless sound. “Figured that out, did you? I owned this town in my day. Those pirates had a good thing going until they didn’t deliver. I couldn’t let them damage the Dunwood name.”
“Because murder doesn’t count?” Simon challenged.
“Fortunes aren’t built by playing nice,” Camden scoffed, and Simon wondered if the developer and the long-dead plantation owner had found common cause in kindred souls. He couldn’t say he’d put it past Camden to ignore the law if it suited his needs, just like Camden hadn’t cared whether the workers on the job site got hurt, so long as the deadlines were met.
Time was running out. Simon felt the struggle between Dante and Beecher’s ghost in the background and knew that Dante couldn’t hold off the angry spirit much longer. Before they left Miss Eppie’s house, Simon had already figured out that he’d be able to see the site of the Annabelle’s wreck from Socastee Manor, to help Dante push it and the Wilton Stone out to sea forever. But first, they had to find a way to stop Dunwood’s ghost without costing Josh his life.
Outside, the wind howled and thunder rattled the windows.
“That ledger isn’t just a way to protect your reputation, is it? It’s what holds your spirit to this world.”
Simon sensed the malice in Dunwood’s ghost and its need for control. They’d guessed the secret of Dunwood’s long stranglehold on his property, and Simon felt certain that the ghost did not intend to let any of them leave alive.
“This ledger?” Trevor’s voice sounded from the next room, and he emerged holding a leather-bound book—and a cigarette lighter with its flame dancing perilously close to the tinder-dry pages.
“Give me that book!” Camden tried to turn on Trevor and still keep hold of Josh. The knife slipped away, just for a second, but it was enough for Josh to elbow his attacker and evade his grip. Simon pulled the trigger as soon as Josh was out of the way, and the round of rock salt hit Camden squarely in the torso.
The salt blast weakened the ghost’s power, and Simon pulled on his ability as a medium and sent the psychic equivalent of a body block, using his Gift to try to knock Dunwood free of his vessel. In the same instant, Trevor’s lighter set pages of the ledger aflame.
Camden screamed.
Josh scrambled out of the line of fire, holding his injured shoulder. Simon was too tangled up with fighting off Dunwood’s ghost to get in another shot, locked in a life-or-death battle to wrest Dunwood out of Camden’s body.
Josh scooped up the shotgun and sent another round of rock salt into Camden, hitting him in the back this time. Trevor dropped the burning ledger into an empty metal paint bucket as the flames danced high in the darkened room.
Simon lunged for Camden, struggling both physically and psychically to force Dunwood to release his hold. Camden growled and swung the knife at Simon, who brought his arm up to deflect. The blade arced downward, stabbing into Simon’s thigh. Simon cried out in pain, but he hung on, resolute, and spoke the words of power that made his hands burning hot to the touch, trying anything to drive Dunwood’s ghost out.
Camden fought him, trying to get away from the burning touch, and Gabriella called out an incantation of her own, ending with a shout. Camden suddenly went limp in Simon’s grip, and Dunwood’s ghost tore free. Simon didn’t know whether that was because of Gabriella’s spell, or because Dunwood’s possession had drained Camden to unconsciousness. Simon rolled off Camden’s limp form, still locked in an unseen battle with Dunwood’s ghost.
Dunwood had no intention of letting go of this world, and he battered at Simon’s mental shields, trying to take him over as he had Camden. Simon felt the spirit’s age and its cold fury. Jamie Dunwood did not abide being denied, not in life and not in death. But as the flames leapt and the old book crackled and burned, Simon sensed the spirit’s connection to its anchor wane.
This house is mine! Dunwood shrieked.
Not anymore.
Simon called on all his power and training and pushed with his mind and Gift, hurling the ghost away, toward the fire. For an instant, he saw Jamie Dunwood silhouetted against the flames in his frock coat and tricorn hat, the imperious master of Socastee Manor. Then the edges of the images began to burn and crackle like old celluloid film, and the image curled and distorted until Dunwood vanished with one last, piercing shriek of defiance.
Simon dropped onto his back, breathing hard, knowing the battle was only half won.
“We’ll secure Camden,” Trevor assured him. “Go do what you need to do.”
Simon climbed to his feet, triaging the effects of his fight. He’d spent some of his energy, but thanks to the help of his friends, not nearly as much as if he had needed to wrest the victory from Dunwood all by himself. His leg throbbed, and the knife still protruded from his thigh, as blood ran down, soaking his jeans and sock. Pushing away fatigue, Simon hobbled to the windows in the front room that overlooked the ocean. He opened the French doors and stepped outside onto the balcony, into the lashing rain and howling wind.
Dante, are you ready?
“We’re here, Sebastian.” Miss Eppie came to stand next to him, soaking wet, but undeterred. She took his left hand, as Gabriella took his right. He heard Trevor and Josh take their places to make the circle, lending him their energy. He hoped it would be enough. Simon centered himself, gathering his courage, and thought of Vic, hoping that both of them would make it home alive this night. Then he reached out with his abilities and connected to Dante’s spirit.
“Dante,” Simon murmured. “Come in.”
Dante’s ghost rushed into Simon’s consciousness, filling his mind, possessing him fully. Usually, Simon fought to hold back, but he knew that they would not win against Beecher’s ghost without total commitment on both their parts. It was an all-or-nothing bet. If Simon and Dante succeeded, Beecher and the Wilton Stone would be lost to the depths of the Atlantic Ocean forever. And if Beecher won, his vengeful ghost would continue its killing spree, unfettered, and both Simon and Dante might cease to exist.
Dante’s magic roiled through Simon like fire in his blood. He’d had a taste of the ghost’s water magic before, but nothing like this. The full measure of Dante’s power filled Simon, attuned to the storm that raged outside, giving and receiving energy until Simon wasn’
t sure where he ended, and Dante and the storm began.
Beecher’s ghost dove and swooped at them like a hawk, furiously intent on its prey. The energy of the circle forced Beecher back, and Simon was vaguely aware of protective magic rising from both Miss Eppie and Gabriella, passing through Josh like an amplifier. He didn’t have time to question, promising himself that if he survived, he’d get to the bottom of that mystery. Now, Simon emptied his thoughts, sharpened his focus, and joined his energy with Dante and the storm.
He knew from the dive charts where the Annabelle lay beneath the water, although he couldn’t see the wreck itself. Simon fixed his concentration on what remained of the old pirate ship. Dante’s magic showed him the old timbers and the skeletal hull, a far cry from its heyday as the terror of the seas. The wreck looked more like the bones of a dinosaur, half-hidden in the sand. Time and the waves had not been kind. Only part of the ship was still intact.
Somehow the Wilton Stone had been dragged along with the bones of the Annabelle, or its pernicious magic had attached it like a barnacle to the rotting keel, keeping it with the vessel that had been its last home. Even at a distance, Simon could feel the stone’s power. It drew Dante’s magic like a beacon. Two hundred and fifty years of connection with the stone had fueled Beecher’s ghost, along with cold rage and an iron will. But now, with Simon’s mediumship lending the energy of his Gift and the séance circle to Dante, the Wilton Stone was about to pass into oblivion
Give me all you’ve got, Dante urged, as his energy twined with Simon’s to dislodge the wreck from its resting place. The violent waves worked with them, and when they found the riptide, Dante’s magic only had to keep the hull from scraping bottom until the water carried it to the end of the relatively shallow ledge, and it could drop off into the depths far below.
Beecher didn’t give up easily, slamming against Simon’s mental shields and the wardings Gabriella and Miss Eppie raised around them. But the farther the waves carried the Annabelle from shore, the weaker Beecher’s ghost became, still raging and furious, but no longer able to wreak its vengeance on anyone ever again.
