Deadly Curiosities

by Gail Z. Martin

  “No,” Rebecca said, “but she offered to throw the dog statue in with the rest of the things I was buying for an extra twenty-five dollars.” “Didn’t she realize it was from the 1800s?” Teag asked. “It would have been worth hundreds.”

  “She said she really needed to clean the place out and to take it with her blessing.”

  “And how long after you brought the dog here did the problems start?” I asked.

  Rebecca took a drink from her hot chocolate as she thought. “I had the dog statue for a week or so before Debra brought me the things from Trifles and Folly. And it was just after that when the problems started.”

  “So the Foo dog was already in the house before any of our items arrived,” Teag said. “Interesting.”

  “If the dog statue had some kind of weird energy, it might have eventually activated the ghosts that were present in the house but couldn’t manifest by themselves,” I mused. “And as luck would have it, the items Debra brought all had histories of their own, but without the Foo dog’s energy, no one could tell.”

  “Which goes back to the main question,” Anthony recapped. “What do all the items have in common?

  And what juiced up the Foo dog to give it so much power?”

  I looked back at Rebecca. “Would you happen to remember who the lady was who sold you the Foo dog?”

  Rebecca sighed. “I can give you directions to the house, but it won’t do you any good. The woman who lived there was moving to Georgia.”

  “I have a feeling there’s something we’re missing, a common thread,” I said, finishing my drink. “But I’m too tired to figure out what it is.” I yawned. “It’s way past my bedtime. Let’s see what we can come up with in the morning.”

  WHEN I WALKED to Trifles and Folly the next morning, I was afraid that I’d find the man with the withered face watching at the street corner or that Teag would tell me that the rest of our items had gone haywire. Instead, Teag gave a merry wave when I entered, and went back to his phone call, scribbling notes as he murmured encouraging sounds to the person on the other end of the line.

  I put my purse away, powered up my laptop, gave the puppy spa a quick call to check on Baxter, and then checked phone messages. Two of the people I had phoned the previous day returned my call, and while the shop was quiet, I took the opportunity to ask questions. By the time I was finished, Teag had wrapped up his conversation, and was chatting with a customer who had wandered in.

  I checked the rest of the messages, and found one from Sorren. “Expect me at 9 p.m. A situation’s come up that you and Teag need to know about. I’ll explain when I get there. In the meantime, be careful.”

  I stared at the phone after the message finished, pondering. Sorren, my silent partner, had bankrolled the founding of Trifles and Folly back in 1670. Sorren came and went on his own schedule, stopping in to alert us to a new danger, staying long enough to help face down some of the nastier haunts. He owned a home outside Charleston, one of many around the world. Sorren had the charm of a thief and the instincts of an assassin, and for more than three hundred and fifty years, he had proven an unwavering loyalty to my family.

  Centuries had come and gone. Wars, hurricanes, and financial panics had left their mark. Trifles and Folly had occupied several buildings over its long life. Yet two things remained constant. One was our true mission, to find and neutralize dangerous magical objects that somehow found their way into unsuspecting hands. And the second was Sorren.

  Much as I hated to admit it, I was stumped. We had shadow men, our stalker with the withered skin and broad hat, and haunted objects that seemed to be getting more dangerous every day. I really needed Sorren’s advice, and after what we had faced at Gardenia Landing, I was ready for some Alliance back-up.

  Until now, in the time since I had taken over Trifles and Folly after Uncle Evanston died, nothing we had done quite prepared me for the kind of threat we were facing. Oh, Sorren and Teag and I had handled some nasty haunted or magical objects, but we had been able to tackle them one at a time.

  Now, if felt as if every haunted object in Charleston was ganging up on us, with a shadowy someone behind it all. I really didn’t like the sound of that.

  I started to pace. My office is small, and I never really got around to cleaning out Uncle Evanston’s books and knick-knacks. Manuscripts and leather-bound volumes filled the bookshelves that covered three of the small room’s walls. I had left things where they were when I took over the office. We had been so busy since then, I had never even had the chance to go through the books and trinkets. I winced at how dusty the shelves were.

  And then something caught my attention. It was a feeling really, that directed my attention. I looked around the packed shelves and found myself in front of Dante’s watch. The watch was one of Uncle Evan’s favorite pieces, carefully kept under a glass dome. He was especially fond of pieces that had belonged to family members who had worked with Sorren in years gone by. I reached out to pick up the glass cover and touch the pocket watch. It was very old – from the late seventeen hundreds. Before I had given it thought, the watch pulled me into its story.

  Two young men were fighting for their lives. One of the men, skinny with straw-blond hair, struggled to keep a shadow man at bay, slashing and poking at it with a lit torch. The other, a broad shouldered young man with lank, dark hair, held a sword two-handed, staring down a creature that was straight out of nightmares. Somehow I knew that the pocket watch belonged to him, my ancestor Dante.

  The creature they fought had slick, greenish skin, the color of the film on rotting meat. It towered over Dante. Elongated arms and legs ended in sharp talons, and the creature’s bulbous head had a maw of wicked looking teeth, set row on row like a shark. Nothing about it was natural, but my mind supplied a word for the thing: demon.

  The two young men were in the courtyard of a large home that looked abandoned, and between the dark-haired man and the demon was a large, brass-bound trunk, its lid thrown open. The red velvet lining was streaked with ichor and blood. From behind the demon, four dead men staggered forward.

  Their eyes were dull and their ashen corpses bore wounds no mortal could have survived, but still they came, bound to the demon’s will.

  From the look of them, the young men had been fighting hard for some time. Their clothing was torn and stained red. They were dirty and bruised, soaked with sweat. Now, they were fighting almost back to back, and from the grim looks on their faces, they expected to die here, soon.

  A streak of white light, like a lightning bolt, crackled across the dimly lit space, striking the demon full in the chest. It roared, and fell back a step as its smooth skin blistered and sloughed off. The dead men kept moving forward, heedless to anything around them.

  I saw a blur of motion, and the dead man on the right was lifted off the ground, its head ripped from its rotting body as if it were made of paper. Another blur, and the second dead man was hoisted into the air and bent backwards, its spine making a popping noise as it snapped, and the still-twitching corpse fell to the ground. A boot came down hard on the skull, shattering it.

  Whoever had sent the streak of light was approaching from behind me, but in this vision, I was rooted to the spot. The demon howled and gave a mighty leap, ignoring the two young men, soaring over my head to land behind me, facing down this new threat.

  I saw a slender, blond man grab the third corpse by the shoulder, tearing the arm from the decaying body, and with a movement almost too quick to see, thrusting one fist through the dead man’s rib cage as the other hand tore the skull from the neck. Sorren stood victorious, covered in dark blood, ready for the next attack.

  Behind me, another blinding flash of light flared and the demon shrieked. My view shifted. I saw a woman with an ornate walking stick grasped in her hands. Its tip still flickered with light. She was dressed in ruined finery, as if she had just come from a ball. Her skirt was torn and her sleeves were ripped. Dark hair clouded around her face, come loose from
an elaborate upsweep. A crystal necklace glowed with harnessed energy, and I knew this woman was a wizard of considerable power.

  Everything seemed to happen at once. Sorren motioned for the dark-haired man to throw him his sword, catching it like an expert. The vampire then lunged toward the demon, striking it through the spine with the sword as the woman sent another searing wave of light. The dark-haired man raised his hands. For a few seconds, nothing seemed to happen, as the woman struggled to keep up the barrage of light and Sorren kept stabbing the demon with his sword.

  From a cistern in the courtyard, a tide of water rose, then split into thick tendrils. The tendrils snaked toward the demon, moving rapidly. The woman was chanting now, words I did not understand. Sorren thrust his sword one more time and leapt free as the water tendrils smashed into the shrieking creature.

  Its smooth skin had been burned away by the woman’s magic, and it was bleeding from dozens of gashes where Sorren had done damage with his sword.

  Scorched by fire, bound by water, the demon screamed its fury. As the woman’s chant grew more insistent, the demon began to tremble, its remaining skin splitting and peeling away, until the creature suddenly exploded into a rain of gobbets that sizzled against the water and burned where they hit exposed flesh.

  Abruptly, the vision ended, and I collapsed against the bookshelf, still clutching the watch in my hands.

  I had no idea how long my vision had lasted. Only minutes, probably, though I felt as if it had gone on forever. My hands were shaking as I replaced the pocket watch on the shelf. I hugged myself, trying to get warm.

  I wasn’t sure who the woman was, but Sorren had told me stories about Dante and his friend Coltt, his partners from long ago. I had never seen Sorren fight like that, and the utter ruthlessness in his eyes gave me pause, though I reminded myself he had saved his human comrades.

  But now I had a name for the power behind the corrupted objects and the shadow men. I recognized the feel of the magic as soon as I saw the hideous shape of the creature in the vision. The same feel and taste of the magic I had from the Foo dog. And while the evil behind the dangerous magic we faced had not yet shown its face, I knew what to call it. “Holy hell,” I muttered. “We’ve got a demon on our hands.”

  Chapter Ten

  WHEN EVENING CAME, I closed the shop, and Teag and I went down the street to Jocko’s Pizzeria, run by Giacomo Rossi, ‘Jack’ to his friends.

  “Cassidy! Teag! Long time no see!” Jack Rossi stood behind the counter. He wore an apron that was smudged with flour and olive oil. There was even a dusting in his dark black hair.

  “Hi Jack!” I replied. As always, Jocko’s smelled of fresh tomatoes, basil, and cheese, along with the scent of a wood fire and baking crusts. It was a little bit of Italy near the heart of Charleston, and one of my favorite places for a quick bite to eat.

  “You want the usual?” Jack asked, spinning a crust as he talked. Jack was in his late forties, with a touch of gray in his temples that couldn’t be blamed on flour.

  “Sure,” I replied, and my stomach growled just thinking about it. Teag and I probably stopped in to Jocko’s at least once a week, sometimes more. I breathed deeply, relaxing into my chair and allowing the familiar, comforting smells to ease away the tension of the day.

  The walls of the restaurant featured a hand-painted mural in vibrant colors, telling the story of the Rossi family’s history and Jack’s journey from New York to Charleston. Jack’s portion of the mural began with the World Trade Center as the towers had once stood, tall and proud. Jack had been a stock trader in the North tower on September 11, 2001. He had been one of the lucky ones, and within a year he had resigned from the brokerage business, moved to Charleston and opened up Jocko’s, a move that left him more time to spend with family.

  Jack brought out a pale ale for Teag and a glass of red wine for me. It was Wednesday evening, and the restaurant was quieter than usual. “How’s the shop?” Jack asked, returning with plates and silverware.

  “Doing well,” I answered. “Thanks for asking.” “Hey Jack,” Teag said. “Do you have any of your world-famous antipasto tonight?”

  Jack shook his head. “Sorry. I didn’t get my shipment this week. So no artisan-cured salami and none of the specialty marinated Kalamata olives you love.”

  “Damn,” Teag replied, brushing his lank hair out of his eyes. “What happened? Did New Yorkers suddenly get peckish?”

  Jack dusted off his hands. “Unfortunately not. Police found a dead guy behind the specialty food warehouse, and they closed down the whole place until they figure out what happened.”

  I sipped my wine. “Was it a robbery?”

  Jack shrugged. “Dunno. My guy at the warehouse says the police have been cagy about the details.

  Made him wonder if it might be gang-related or something like that.” He shook his head. “I heard whoever did it made a real mess of things.”

  “Was the dead man someone who worked at the warehouse?” Teag asked.

  Jack shook his head. “No idea. The warehouse is over by the abandoned Navy yard. The whole area is a little down on its luck, gets a lot of vagrants. ”

  Jack brought the pizza, and stood by like a proud papa as Teag and I praised his work. He went back to the kitchen while Teag and I dug into our meal.

  I checked my phone for messages. There were none, but I glanced at the time. “Oops! We’d better get back to the shop.”

  “Inventory?” Jack asked, bringing a small box for leftovers.

  “Out of town supplier,” I replied. Sorren kept a low profile in Charleston out of necessity. It wouldn’t do for people to notice that he never seemed to age. His involvement with the store was something known to only a few trusted associates.

  “Well, send your supplier this way and I’ll make sure he gets the royal treatment,” Jack promised. “Anything for a friend of yours.”

  “He usually eats before he comes by the shop, but I’ll let him know you offered,” I said. That was true.

  Sorren always made sure he had fed before visiting Trifles and Folly. How he fed, I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.

  We got back to the store just as I heard the bells of St. Michael’s church toll nine times. Before the echo of the ninth ring had faded, a voice startled me.

  “Nice to see you again, Cassidy.”

  Even though I was expecting him, I jumped. “I swear I locked all the doors,” I said, one hand over my thudding heart.

  Sorren grinned. “You did. And you’ve invited me inside in the past. Don’t forget, I was once the best jewel thief in all of Belgium, and I do have a key.”

  Sorren looked to be in his twenties, but I knew for a fact he was turned in the late 1400s. His hair was an unremarkable shade of blond, with features that were pleasant enough without being noteworthy; something Sorren told me had been a good thing back in his days as a master thief. But his blue-gray eyes always captured my attention, eyes the color of the sea before a storm. And while most mortals would do well to avoid making eye contact with a vampire for risk of being compelled to do their will, apparently I had the immunity to compulsion that seemed to run in my family.

  “Nice to see you, too,” I said, catching my breath. I double checked the lock on the door then led the way to the back room. Teag emerged from the stock room with a wave.

  “I got your message,” I said, sitting down at the table. “And your warning. So I’m curious about your news, because, boy oh boy, do we have news for you.”

  Tonight, Sorren was dressed in khaki slacks, a casual collared shirt and Sperry’s without socks. Nothing about his appearance would have drawn a second glance from anyone who met him on the street. A slight flush to his skin told me that he had fed before visiting.

  On some visits, when there were no pressing problems, we had gotten Sorren to talk about the centuries he had survived. Talking to someone who had personally experienced most of the last six hundred years was a dream come true for history geeks. But with
everything that was going on, I was sadly certain that tales of the old days would have to wait for another time.

  “Something is very wrong,” Sorren said. “There have been some odd spikes in supernatural activity around the Charleston area. The last time we saw these kind of energy fluctuations –”

  “It was a demon,” I finished for him. He looked at me, surprised.

  “Yes,” he replied. “It was.”

  Sorren had a network of informants that would put government or law enforcement intelligence to shame. Although his visits to Charleston were sporadic, he always arrived knowing more about what was going on in the dark corners of the city than we did.

  “Could those surges – and a demon – cause slightly haunted objects to suddenly turn malicious, and set nasty things wandering… say, shadow creatures?” I asked.

  Sorren looked worried. “Yes to both. I think you’d better tell me your news.”

  We took turns filling Sorren in, first on the unfortunate incident at the Academy Theater, and then on the eventful night at Gardenia Landing.

  “We traced the history of the items as best as we could,” I said. “The pieces all have some tragedy associated with them, but none of the former owners will admit to knowing that the items were haunted or even unsettling.” I turned my palms up in a gesture of resignation. “We haven’t found the common thread.”

  Sorren had listened intently. Now, he began to pace. “My contacts believe the spikes in supernatural energy near Charleston have something to do with a series of murders. That would also be consistent with demonic activity. The question is, how did the demon get loose, and what does the person who summoned it want?”

  I thought about the death near the warehouse that Jack had mentioned, and the ring that had arrived in the box. Teag brought the box out to show Sorren, and he handled the bloody ring gingerly.

  “I think this was sent as a warning,” Sorren said. “Someone’s aware of your gift, Cassidy, and whoever it is, is trying to make sure you don’t get involved.”