Southern Belle

by Stuart Jaffe

  Not that I'm seriously considering it anyway. Having the thought was despicable enough. But no matter how desperate he became, he would never stoop so low.

  Perhaps the witch could sense the change within him, perhaps she could read his face better than he thought. Whichever the case, she thrust out her hand and said, "Take the vial, go to your pretty wife, and ask her a personal question. I promise you that's all it will take for you to bring me what I want. One intimate, personal question. After that, if I'm wrong, toss the vial and never bother me again. I'm sure you wouldn't object to that."

  "Never seeing you again. That would be wonderful."

  "One intimate, personal question. That's all."

  Snatching the glass vial from her hand, Max whirled around and left the office. To Drummond, he raised his hand. "Don't say a word."

  Chapter 19

  Running the windshield wipers to clean off the layer of pollen, Max grumbled in his mind at the inconvenience of city sprawl. He had spent too much time in the last few days stuck in his car. And now, as he headed back to the office, back to Sandra, he could either stew in his own fears or argue with Drummond. Floating above the passenger seat, his ghost partner made the decision easy.

  "You got a problem with this?" Max prodded.

  "Don't you?"

  "I'd rather swipe a bit of my wife's blood than let her die at the hands of a witch coven of ghosts. You got another way out of this? Oh, wait, there's a simple way, isn't there? You could man up and go take care of Patricia's body yourself."

  Picking at his lips, Drummond kept his eyes looking out the window. "For the sake of helping Sandra, I'm not taking your bait. And I know you want to help her, too. I only ask that you think through this some more before you do anything you can't undo."

  "Sandra'll understand."

  "I'm not worried about her in all this. She loves you. And we've all had to make tough choices when dealing with the Hulls. Of course, she'll understand. But giving her blood to Dr. Connor — that's insane. You can't do that."

  Max drove on for two minutes without another word. Finally, he said, "I know."

  And he did. Beyond his brain and his gut and his love, he knew it straight through to his soul. It reverberated deep inside him like an adrenaline rush that never died. His heart plummeted at the thought of what would happen if he let Dr. Connor have his wife's blood — they both would be slaves to that witch until they died. Perhaps even beyond that.

  But at least they would be alive. If he failed to stop the coven, he and Sandra would be lucky if death was the worst result. More likely, they would learn a slew of ancient curses as each witch carved a new one into their skin.

  That's why I took the vial.

  "Listen," Drummond said, "I know this is a tough situation, but we need to focus on how to proceed. Forget about the dead ends and find something new."

  Max wanted to smack Drummond hard on the back of the head, but the act would hardly satisfy considering his hand would go through Drummond and hit the dashboard instead. Besides, as Sandra had often pointed out — with the Hulls, the best way through was barreling straight on. Before he could do that, however, one last matter needed clearing up.

  "Connor said Patricia's the High Priestess."

  "I heard her," Drummond said.

  "And she said that you knew Patricia was a witch long before —"

  "I was there. I heard her."

  "Well?"

  "Well, nothing. Dr. Connor's a witch. Witches lie to fracture a partnership. You ever heard of divide and conquer? That's all she's up to. Telling you lies to make you doubt me and drive a deeper wedge between us."

  "She also mentioned the handbell. Knew all about Modesto bugging us for it."

  "You do remember that I was right outside the door? I heard everything."

  "My point is that if she's so careful with her words, using them in an attempt to splinter us apart, then what does it mean that she mentioned the handbell?"

  Drummond rubbed his chin. "It means we better find that damn handbell."

  "It sure is sounding like a lot more than a family heirloom. Maybe they really can pull off this spell. But if that were true, then why would they —"

  "Go find it, then. That's a smart move. Stop analyzing and go find it."

  Max's face pinched as he bit back his anger. "You've got no idea what you're doing."

  "About what?"

  "You have any clue what I've got to build myself up to do here? With this vial?"

  "I thought we were done with that."

  "If I don't give Sandra's blood to that bitch, you know —"

  "Okay, okay." Drummond kicked at the dashboard, his leg going straight through and his foot sticking out of the car's hood. "I'll do it. I'll take care of Patricia's corpse."

  "You will?"

  "I can't let anything happen to that doll of yours. I hoped maybe we'd have some way out of this that I wouldn't have to deal with my past, but the moment Matt Ernest died, I had no choice. I'm sorry. I should've told you from the start. Then there'd be no way for Connor to split us apart."

  Max sat up, lighter and excited. "You're right. She wants to split us up, so that's what we'll do. We'll go on separate paths, and if she's watching, her arrogance will make her think she's winning. It'll give us a slight advantage when we see her tonight."

  "What? You're still going through with the blood thing? There's no need. I'm going to do the job. We don't need Connor and her blood price anymore."

  "I guess not. I just thought —"

  "You thought you'd fill it with what? Pig's blood? Chicken? She'd see through it. After casting all the spells she's done in the past, I'm sure she knows her blood."

  "I suppose. I want to see Sandra. Make sure she's okay."

  "Of course. I'll go do what I have to. You check on your wife."

  "After you're done, I want you to search for that handbell. Start at Reynolda House. They had the rest of the set on display a long time ago. Perhaps you can find something to help us. If that's a bust, go to a graveyard or to the Other and talk to the ghosts, or use some of those old detective skills of yours. Do whatever you need to do to find that handbell. When we meet Modesto tomorrow night, I've got to have it in hand."

  "You can count on me."

  "I know I can. Meet me back at the office by ten tonight. I'll look after Sandra and then do research on my end."

  "You got it," Drummond said and disappeared.

  As Max entered the city, the glass vial in his pocket grew heavier. He had always considered himself a man who could do what needed to be done, make the hard call, face the sacrifice that would save those he loved. But the gulf between what he considered himself and what he knew to be the truth widened in the face of these supernatural threats.

  I'm just glad I don't have to deal with it any further.

  He parked the car and headed up to Sandra. When he entered, expecting Sandra to be recovering on the couch, he found her pacing around her desk like a trapped panther. Upon seeing him, she rushed over, wrapped her arms around his waist, and kissed him hard on the lips.

  "I'm so glad to see you. My mind's going crazy with worry."

  "I'm fine," Max said, pulling back but she held tight.

  "I know, I know. I love you so much, and with all that's happened, the thought of you out there, facing those dangerous witches — it just got to me."

  Finally freeing himself, Max walked to the bookshelf. He pulled out one of Drummond's special books — the one with a flask of whiskey. "I'm here now. And I'm okay. You look a lot better. How do you feel? Besides paranoid for me."

  She watched his movements, her eyes darting toward every creak in the building or chirp from a bird outside. "I feel like I had a thick, heavy chain around my throat attached to a big chunk of concrete, and the whole thing dragged me to the bottom of the ocean. And then suddenly, it broke. I was free. At first, I was disoriented. Sat here awhile waiting for you or Drummond or somebody to tell me what was going on. The
n it all came back to me in a rush. That's when I started to worry about you. But you're here now. You're okay, right?"

  "Absolutely fine."

  Sandra's stomach gurgled loudly. "I guess I'm a bit hungry. Actually, now that I'm thinking about it, I'm starving. Let's get something to eat."

  "Sure. Where do you want —"

  "Fox and Hound. Let's go there."

  Max arched an eyebrow. "Isn't that more for college kids?"

  "After what I've been through, I could use a taste of youth around me. Come on. It'll be fun."

  Thinking of the glass vial, Max said, "We don't really have time for fun right now. In fact, we need to talk about some serious things. Drummond and I met with Dr. Connor, and —"

  "Not yet. I need to eat and it won't hurt anything if we go to a place that's a little fun. I promise I won't tell Drummond that you relaxed before dealing with witches, covens, and ghosts. Okay?"

  She lowered her chin to her shoulder and gazed up at him with a coy look that often worked on him. He knew it. He knew she did, too. This time would be no different.

  "Okay. We'll go eat and take a breather. But then we've got to talk."

  "Fox and Hound?"

  "If that's where my darling wants to go."

  "That's where I want to go." She kissed him, pressing in and opening her mouth slightly — a sensuous kiss, the kind that often led them to more physical activities. When she broke the kiss, Max leaned in for more, but she put her finger across his lips. "Nope. I need food."

  * * * *

  The Fox and Hound Pub was located on the edge of the city off Knollwood Avenue. It was part of large strip mall filled with restaurants, clothing stores, a bakery, postal service, and the like. The Pub held a large number of people, had televisions blaring away sporting events, and several pool tables set up on one end. Everything was decked out in wood and brass. The back wall encompassed the bar, and the overall atmosphere exuded youth and vibrancy.

  Sandra giggled and twirled when they entered as if by being amongst all these young people had rejuvenated her own youth. Max noticed a fresh sparkle in her eye. Perhaps facing down a coven of ghosts and surviving had given her a new appreciation for living. She certainly seemed happier than he had seen her in a long time.

  They ordered their meals and a couple beers. Sandra stretched her arms. "I could sure go for a cigarette."

  "Since when do you smoke?"

  She laughed — a little too long, too forced. "Since never. But, hon, we only get to live once."

  "Cigarettes will make that one time around quite a bit shorter. I doubt you're allowed to smoke in here, anyway."

  "That's no fun. I want to have fun. Want to play some pool? I'm not very good, but I do know how to handle a stick." When she saw the shocked reaction on Max's face, she laughed. "I'm going to go freshen up. Be back in two shakes."

  Max watched her walk off. He swore she added a bit more sway in her lovely hips but not in her usually sassy manner. This time, she wanted him salivating. Had it really been so long since she acted like this? So long that he was shocked at her behavior? They weren't old by any stretch of the term, but they were far from their college years, too.

  Those were the wild times. Meeting up on the weekends — starting the weekend on Thursday — and borrowing a barely-running car from her roommate. Driving up the Michigan coast until they reached the little, northern towns that were too small to warrant a dot on a map. They'd go to the local grocer, stock up, go to the nearest liquor store, stock up, grab a room in a motel, and never leave until Sunday night. The entire weekend would be a two-person orgy of alcohol, sex, laughter, and sleep. Once they removed their clothes, they never dressed until the day they left. Sometimes they'd order a pizza and answer the door in the nude. Sometimes they grew serious, held each other close, and talked of their life in the future.

  But that was a decade ago. Another life. Before they suffered through poverty and job loss. Long before Max learned of ghosts and witches, covens and curses, Hulls and Modesto.

  Maybe Sandra was right to want to cut loose a bit. Even with all that hung over them, taking what little time they had to clear the mind sounded like a smart move. He also had Drummond working to find the handbell, and before leaving the office, Max had left a note telling Drummond where they went. Should the old detective find anything important, he'll be able to tell them right away. The situation was covered. Besides, there was always the possibility that they would end up dead or cursed after all this, so why not find some time for a little living?

  As Sandra sashayed back to the table, Max felt his tensions easing. Running her finger along his shoulders, she bit her lip, leaned in and kissed him again. The electricity from lip to toe and everywhere in between brought back more memories than he knew he had held.

  She must have felt it, too, because she caught her breath before melting into his side. "Suddenly, I'm not all that hungry."

  "At least, not for food."

  "At least."

  They gazed into each other's eyes with the innocence and desire of hormone-crazed teens. There was nothing innocent, however, in the way Sandra's hand crept up Max's thigh. She nibbled at his neck, and he could smell the perfume she had dabbed on in the bathroom — a sweet, candy smell.

  "Let's go for a walk," she whispered in his ear.

  Max tossed more than enough cash to the waitress as they headed outside. Sandra led the way, her hand trailing behind to hold his. Max's heart hammered in his chest, and for the first time in ages, the cause was not fear of impending death.

  They turned the corner into the back end of the restaurant. A hill of grass led up the left side, and Max heard the steady rush of cars on Highway 421 from the other side. Three cars were parked next to the building and a filthy dumpster after that.

  Sandra took Max behind the dumpster, spun back on him, and planted her mouth against his. Fiery lust ignited along every inch of his body. He pressed against her, feeling every soft curve of hers push back. Her candy aroma mixed with the stench of the dumpster, turning the groping into something both erotic and depraved at the same time.

  He brought his hand to her breast, but she shoved it away. "Not until I say so." A devilish grin crossed her lips, and she stepped away from him. She leaned against the wall, arching her body to push out her chest like a vintage pin-up girl, and licked her lips. Max stepped closer, but she put up a warning finger. "Not until I say so."

  Max had never seen her take command like this. She had often said that she had to be tough all day long in life, so when it came to sex, she wanted to let go of control. Yet seeing her this way, relishing her life in such a forceful way, thrilled him. He never minded the way things were before, but this sudden change had brought with it a wealth of new sensations to his body.

  "Okay," she said. "Take me. Take me hard."

  Max moved in, shoving her against the wall as her arms and legs wrapped around him. He kissed and suckled every part of her he could reach, and he heard her moan a guttural animal sound — unlike anything he'd ever heard from her before.

  He froze.

  Nothing about her behavior had been right. Not just the sex, but the way she threw aside their responsibilities, the way she wanted to be around such a young crowd, even the way she spoke. He had chalked it up to post-life-threatening reaffirmation, only now that sounded false to his ear.

  Ask her a personal question.

  Why would Dr. Connor have said that unless she knew something and wanted to prove it to Max? She had thought that such a question would change his mind about the vial of blood, so what did that mean about Sandra?

  One intimate, personal question.

  Sandra reached down between his legs. "Come on, baby. Give me this."

  He wanted to sound natural, as if he meant every word, but he heard the cold, monotone delivery that his chilled heart could manage. "You want it like that time in Dallas?"

  "Oh, yeah, baby. Just like in Dallas."

  The words thundere
d down upon him, boulders of reality smashing apart the fantasy this woman had built up that he so willingly fell into. He stumbled back a step, afraid to look upon her face, afraid he would lose his will to do what needed doing. And the witch Connor knew all along.

  "Honey, don't stop now."

  He shook his head slow as the words rose in his throat. "We've never been to Dallas."

  Sandra put up her hands in a shrug. "Whoops. Guess you found me out."

  "Who are you?"

  "This is still your wife's body. You won't be cheating on her."

  "Who are you?" he screamed, pulling back his arm and making a fist.

  "Sugar, I'm exactly who you think I am."

  "Patricia Welling."

  She nodded. Max felt as if he had taken a punch. If Patricia possessed Sandra, then what had happened to his wife? Was she still in there or should he be mourning her death? And something bad must have happened to Drummond, otherwise he would have destroyed Patricia's corpse. Had they been set up by Connor?

  "Sandra? You in there?"

  "She ain't coming out. Now, you come over here and give me a good time. If you don't, I'll go find one of those handsome, young men in the bar. I'm sure they'd love this body."

  Max thrust out his left hand, pinning her against the wall. His right hand, still curled in a fist, hung back ready to strike. Looking in her eyes, he didn't see anyone he recognized, but he saw a tinge of concern — what did she have to fear? Drummond?

  She laughed. "You going to hit me? Poor little Sandra's face. Are you a wife-beater?"

  Something was wrong here — more wrong than the obvious. Max struggled to find Connor's angle, how it might hurt him, but she had wanted him to ask the questions — she had wanted him to learn Sandra had been possessed. Whatever was going on, these witches were not on the same side. And that meant that he needed the blood of Patricia Welling — no, he needed the blood of his wife, possessed by Patricia Welling.