by D. G. Swank
“Isn’t that what angels do?”
He grinned. “Touché, but you’re likely thinking about angels from the Judeo-Christian belief system. Wings and halos. Swords like the one St. Michael was carrying in the stained glass windows we first met underneath.”
My lips curved upward. “I’ll give you that. What did you learn?”
“Everything I read suggests they aren’t ghosts or demons, or even gods.”
“Gods?”
He stared into my eyes. “Didn’t one of the demons you killed say something called Okeus would be interested in you?”
“Yeah,” I said, surprised. I hadn’t told him that, but I knew he and Rhys had been in contact since that night. She must have been the one to tell him.
“Okeus is a Croatan god. Or more like their version of the devil. I think we’re dealing with a smorgasbord of supernatural beings.”
And a few weeks ago, I hadn’t even believed in ghosts.
I shook my head. “Like in Neil Gaiman’s American Gods?”
His mouth twisted as he considered it. “Yeah. Maybe…”
I wasn’t sure what to make of that. “Next thing I know you’ll be telling me vampires and werewolves are real.”
“I’m not ruling anything out.”
I expected him to laugh or smirk or something, but he remained straight-faced. “You can’t be serious, Jack.”
“I just don’t know, Piper. Until we learn otherwise, I think we should expect and prepare for just about anything now that the door to the supernatural has been opened.”
“So should I be putting wooden stakes in my bag?”
“I’m not sure I’d go that far, but…” His voice trailed off as a waitress walked over to our table to refill our water glasses.
When she walked away, I picked up my glass. “So what else did you find out about the Nunnehi?”
“They’re called a variety of things. The People Who Live Anywhere. The Immortals. If we were to compare them to other supernatural creatures from our mythology and stories, they would be most like fairies.”
My eyebrows shot up. “Fairies?”
“Yep. And,” he said, leaning close again, “that little being you talked to outside the warehouse? I think it was one of them too. A little person.”
“A dwarf?” I asked in disbelief.
“No. A genuine miniature person. Some accounts claimed the Nunnehi had the ability to appear either human-sized or miniature. Others thought the Little People were different than the full-sized warriors. A few of the sources I found said that while the full-sized Nunnehi look human, the Little People are hairy.”
“Like a miniature Bigfoot?” I asked, fighting my disbelief. But Jack was right…why should I doubt this, or anything, after everything else I’d seen? I was suddenly more understanding of Detective Powell’s plight. It was hard to live in a world where anything was possible.
“You said the first creature—the small one—claimed to be your friend when you told it you planned to fight the demons, right?”
“Yeah, but…”
“The Nunnehi were friends of the Cherokee. The Nunnehi loved the Appalachian Mountains, so the location fits, and it’s said they occasionally interceded on the Cherokee’s behalf when they went to battle.” He paused. “This could be huge, Piper. If they really are Nunnehi, they might help you.”
I frowned. “Keyword: might.”
“They obviously knew about you. The other two wanted to know if you planned to defeat the Great One.”
I considered it for a moment. “So I might have a supernatural ally. Three of them.”
“Or more. You could possibly have a small army by your side.”
“Only they haven’t officially introduced themselves. And I have no idea when—or if—I’ll see them again.”
Jack grinned. “So we need to work out a few bumps.”
I studied him for a moment. “I wish you could see them too without having to touch me.”
“I’m working on it,” he said in a grave tone.
His answer caught me by surprise. “What’s that mean?”
He held my gaze. “You let me worry about that, Piper. You worry about yourself.”
“And Rhys.”
He nodded. “And Rhys.”
“What if the thing killing people to send me messages isn’t a demon? What if it’s the voice?”
He blinked. “What?”
“Think about it. You and I blindly follow the voice. What if Abby did too? Then after the voice left, she changed her mind?”
His face paled. “You could be right. It can’t be a coincidence that the voice chose someone close to one of your helpers.”
“Or that the boyfriend of one of your parishioners was likely possessed.”
He looked grim. “That leaves you…”
I blinked. “What leaves me?”
But even as I asked the question, I knew the answer. I picked up my phone and called Hudson.
Thankfully, he answered right away. “Did you change your mind about celebrating?” he asked.
“Celebrating?” I asked in confusion, then remembered this shitstorm of a day was my birthday. “No. I just wanted to check in. We found Rhys’s girlfriend dead from a drug overdose, and I needed to hear your voice.”
“Oh my God,” he gasped. “Is she okay? Are you with her now?”
“No, she’s with another friend, and she’s far from okay.” I would explain it all to him later, but I couldn’t make myself go there right now. “Just promise me you’ll be careful, okay?”
He lowered his voice. “I’m not going to overdose. I don’t do drugs.”
“I know, it’s just that…watch your back, and if you see anything that looks suspicious or threatening, call me.”
“Way to boost a man’s ego,” he teased lightly.
“I’ll make you a deal: you protect me from human threats, and I’ll protect you from supernatural ones.”
“Deal, but be careful, Pippy,” he said, his voice riddled with worry. “I don’t want to lose you.”
“I’ll be careful. And Jack’s with me, so I’m not alone.”
He pushed out a breath. “Thank God. Stick close to him. I’ve gotta go. Love you.”
“Love you too.” I set my phone on the table and lifted one shoulder into a half shrug. “I had to check on Hudson.”
“I understand.”
We both sat in silence for a few seconds. Then I asked, “What do you think the voice is? I think it’s safe to say this has all been set in motion by some greater being.”
“I used to think it was God,” he said, “but my god is a loving god. He wouldn’t hurt people for his own entertainment.”
“Do you think that’s what this is? Entertainment for gods?”
“Honestly, Piper, I have no idea. But I suppose it fits.”
I didn’t like the sound of that.
He pressed on. “We need to focus on finding and destroying the Great One and hope the Nunnehi will jump in and help.” He paused a beat. “Do you think Abel will help you?”
“If last time was any indication, no. He needs me to survive, but for some reason he can’t interfere.” I paused, then added, “I think we both know he’s not entirely human. The demons seem to know what or who he is, but whenever they start to say something revealing, he silences them.”
“Silences them? How?”
Should I be telling Jack this? If I was going to count on him to help me, he should probably know everything I did.
Well, almost everything. I still didn’t feel comfortable telling him about the blood oath.
“It’s like he has power over them.” I took a breath. “There’s something else. He has power over everything. People. Demons. I suspect he can control animals too.”
He looked alarmed. “And you?”
“No. Not like the others. My reaction is different.” My face blushed at the memory of Abel’s effect on me.
“You’re drawn to him.” His face was ex
pressionless.
I looked away. “Yes. It’s hard to explain, but it feels like my power is seeking his.”
“Piper.”
His voice was soft and kind and full of worry, which made me feel even worse. I’d already figured out that Jack Owen was my ideal man—devastatingly good-looking, smart, kind, funny, thoughtful—but it didn’t matter. I was stuck on Abel. Supernaturally so. While I no longer trusted the voice, it wouldn’t be fair to start something with Jack when I felt this way about someone else.
“Piper,” he repeated, obviously wanting me to turn back to face him. “You can discuss this with me. This is why we need to just be friends. So you can share these things with me and not worry about hurting my feelings.”
I didn’t quite believe he was content with just being friends, but I suspected his reasoning was sound. I nodded.
“We need to figure out what Abel is. If he can control the demons, I suspect he’s important. But what is he? A god?”
“Abel told me the demons were locked up until Elinor Lancaster and the other curse keeper released them,” I said. “Ghosts weren’t locked up, but what about all the other beings? Were the Nunnehi in there?”
“Good question,” Jack said. “The legends of the Nunnehi predate the English settlements. The Cherokee consider the Trail of Tears to be confirmation that their former friends abandoned them. I suspect they were locked up as well.”
“Abel wasn’t,” I said. “He was around when my father found the daggers.”
He frowned. “How old is he?”
“That’s a very good question. I suspect he’s much older than he looks. But if all the supernatural creatures were locked behind the gate, why wasn’t he with them?”
“Another very good question. I’ll see if I can find something.”
The waitress showed up with our orders and I spent the next several minutes trying not to attack my food like a carnivore on a wildlife documentary.
When half my sandwich was gone, Jack asked, “When was the last time you saw Abel?”
“The night I killed the demons. The next day he texted to tell me he’d set up my training. Then he left town.”
“Do you know where he’s been?”
“Europe, but no clue why.” This would be the perfect time to tell Jack about our supernatural connection, but what was the point? The connection had been severed yesterday. And all I’d been left with was a deep ache in my soul.
Chapter 11
When I pulled up to Mrs. O’Keefe’s house, Jack following right behind me, Detective Powell was already there, waiting in her car across the street. She got out as we parked our cars back-to-back in front of the house.
I grabbed my messenger bag and climbed out, looping the strap over my head as I stood and met the detective near the hood of my car.
“I have some ground rules,” I said with as much attitude as I could muster.
“Okay…”
“I know you’re expecting me to perform party tricks to convince you that I’m the real deal, but I expect you to treat me and my client with the utmost respect. I have no idea why Mrs. O’Keefe has asked me to visit her home, but there’s a strong chance the ghost is one of her loved ones. We will not disrespect her or her family, even if you think the haunting is all in her mind.”
Anger sparked in the detective’s eyes, but it quickly faded into acceptance. “Okay.”
“Second, there’s a chance we won’t see a ghost at all.” I held up a hand before she could speak. “The chance is slim. For the past couple of weeks, I’ve had three appointments a day, and it’s only happened once. If I tell her there’s no spirit, there will be no gloating of any kind, which includes eye rolls and sighs. Can you agree to that?”
Perking up a brow, she propped her hands on her hips. For a moment, I thought she was going to walk away, but instead she said, “Okay.”
“Third, when you see a ghost, you will not interact with it unless I tell you that you can. They’re often confused and unsure of what’s going on. My goal is to ease them into acknowledging they’re dead and help them move on to the afterlife. Sometimes they get upset and I have to calm them down. You have to promise to back off and let me handle it if that happens today.”
The smirk on her face wavered. “How will I see them?”
I reached for the black stone pendant at the base of my neck. “This. As long as you touch me, you’ll be able to see the ghost. But if I tell you to let go and back up, I need to know you’ll obey.”
“Sure.”
“Fourth, if it’s a malevolent spirit, I need you to take the homeowner out of the house immediately, no questions asked.”
“Why? So you can case the joint without supervision?”
“Detective Powell,” Jack said, sounding frustrated. “I know you’re having a hard time believing this. We hope to prove that Piper’s being honest, but we also need to know that you and the homeowner won’t be endangered by your attitude and disbelief.”
“I would never endanger a citizen.”
“Not knowingly,” Jack said, “but Piper and I dealt with a poltergeist a couple of weeks ago. It was violent and could easily have hurt someone if it hadn’t been contained to the basement. I assure you, if we run into a poltergeist, it won’t be willing to leave, and it will fight Piper and anyone who’s with her.”
The detective glanced from Jack to me, starting to look like she might actually believe this was real. “Anything else?”
“Yes,” I said. “When we do this, I’m the boss. Jack or Rhys might offer suggestions, but I call the shots. The same goes for you.”
“So basically, you’re telling me I can go inside with you, but I need to keep my mouth shut and do as I’m told.”
“Pretty much,” I said.
She shrugged. “I’m good with that. Now what?”
“Now we go find a ghost.” I turned and started for the front door, leaving Jack and the detective to follow.
Mrs. O’Keefe must have been watching from the window because she opened the door before I reached the front step. She was an older woman with a warm smile, dressed in blue polyester pants and a floral-print shirt.
“You must be Piper,” she said as she held on to the side of the door.
“Yes,” I said, reaching a hand out to her as I stopped in front of the threshold. “Mrs. O’Keefe?”
She shook my hand with a soft grip. “Please call me Barb.”
“Thank you for inviting us into your home, Barb.” She was eyeing Jack and Detective Powell, so I added, “As I mentioned in my email, I usually bring someone with me to help in case of difficulties.” I gestured to Jack. “This is my friend, Jack Owen, an Episcopal priest.”
He offered his hand. “Pleased to meet you, Mrs. O’Keefe.”
She shook his hand, offering him a warm smile. “Welcome. I hope you can help me.”
“I’m sure Piper will,” Jack said.
I turned to my left and waved a hand toward the detective. “And this is—”
“Olivia,” Detective Powell said, extending her hand. “I’m here to observe. Thank you for allowing me to tag along. I promise to be as unobtrusive as possible.”
Some of the tension eased from my shoulders. This might actually go okay.
“Of course,” Mrs. O’Keefe said, backing up and clearing the threshold. “Where are my manners? Come in.”
The moment I crossed the threshold, I knew I was in trouble. My hair stood on end and a cold chill washed over my body like I’d walked into a meat locker. The house was a bungalow with slightly outdated furniture, but it had a warm and cozy look that was at odds with the ominous feeling sinking into my bones. I shot a worried look to Jack before turning to my client. “Mrs. O’Keefe—I mean, Barb—what led you to call me?”
“I’m quite certain I have a ghost.”
“And what makes you think that? Before I begin my investigation, I’d like to get a little bit more information.”
“All the strange noises.
The moving objects.”
“Moving objects,” I said. “Do things just fall off shelves, or do they fly across the room?”
She wrung her hands. “It started out small. Things would just move slightly or fall over, and the pictures were always askew, but the activity began to get more aggressive about a week ago.” She paused, shooting Detective Powell a nervous glance. “Yesterday, I saw the salt shaker slide across the kitchen counter and drop to the floor.”
“And did you feel a heaviness?” I asked. “Were you frightened?”
She paused for a moment. “In the beginning, right after I moved in, I was certain I was imagining things. I still thought that up until a few weeks ago, even when the ghost became much bolder. When my neighbor saw a glass fall out of the cabinet, I was relieved to know it was real.”
“Do you ever feel like you’re in danger?”
“Only when I fry chicken in my cast-iron skillet. Then the ghost gets angry.”
“Angry enough to hurt you?”
“Not quite that far, but like I said, it’s gotten a lot more active.” She frowned. “Which is why I called you.”
“Do you have any idea who the spirit might be?” I asked, then quickly added, “It’s fine if you don’t, and in fact, about a third of my clients guess wrong.”
She shook her head. “Not a clue. I’ve only lived here for a few years. My daughter and her family moved here for her husband’s job, so I followed them to be close to my grandbabies. But the house has started to scare them…another reason to make the ghost leave.”
A crashing sound came from the kitchen, making me jump.
Mrs. O’Keefe shouted over her shoulder, “I’m sorry, Beatrice, but I warned you what would happen if you didn’t become more polite.”
“Beatrice?” Detective Powell asked with her first hint of condescension.
“I realize I don’t know who she—or he—really is, but I had to call it something. We’ve been together for three years now.”
“You said she started getting more violent a week ago. Is that also when she started moving things?”
“No, she started moving bigger stuff a couple of months ago.”
“When the Lost Colony of Roanoke reappeared?” Jack asked.
