Turning an old mansion into a funeral home is all kinds of stupid when it comes to psychic energy. If the place didn’t have ghosts of its own already, it sure stood likely to collect some from all the dead bodies coming and going.
“You’re sure this is the place?” I asked, as Teag, Father Anne, and I stood outside the Kubler Funeral Home. The white clapboard Victorian sprawled across most of a block. On the plus side, being turned into a mortuary meant someone had the money to keep the house looking like a showplace. But the trade-off lay in how the owners earned that cash, sending the dearly departed on to the afterlife pumped full of embalming fluid and covered in spray tan.
“I’m sure,” Father Anne replied. “Horace Kubler showed up in my office this morning completely beside himself. Wanted me to come do an exorcism right that very minute.”
“Exorcism?” Teag raised an eyebrow.
Father Anne shrugged. “It’s the first thing people think of when things go bump in the night. Unless they’ve been watching ghost hunter TV shows, and then they’re telling me how to do my job at the same time that they’re begging me to come save them.”
I eyed the rambling white home. The original owner must have had a slew of kids, and maybe servants, too. It definitely had more space than the normal modern family needed with its two-point-five children. If it hadn’t been turned into a funeral parlor, it probably would have been subdivided into apartments or fallen into disrepair. That would have been a shame since it was a beautiful building. Even so, I dreaded going inside. Mortuaries are filled with uncomfortable resonance, for obvious reasons.
One hand went to my agate and silver necklace as I sought protection and a cleansing blast. Just touching the healing gemstone made me feel better. “Do we know what we’re up against?” I asked.
“Not completely,” Father Anne admitted. “That’s what worries me.” She had a black shirt with a clerical collar on under her leather jacket, over jeans and Doc Martens. I could see the sheath for a blessed boline knife on her belt, a weapon with some extra mojo for going up against nasty spirits. She wore a silver crucifix on a chain around her neck, and I knew she had a flask of holy water in a pocket, as well as salt and sanctified oil.
“How long has it been haunted?” Teag asked. He had his hands jammed in his pockets since the night was cool enough for a jacket. While most knives wouldn’t do much against ghosts, Teag had brought his espalda y daga set, as well as his silver whip, an iron short sword, and a silver dagger.
“Horace says that the house had family ghosts before it became a mortuary and that those spirits don’t trouble anyone. They’re either oblivious to the change, or they seem to have appointed themselves the official hosts,” she added with a chuckle. “He doesn’t want to get rid of them, but he says that since the other spirits showed up, those ghosts seem to be hiding.”
“Great. We’ve got ghosts that scare other ghosts,” I muttered.
“What about the new ghosts?” Teag prompted.
“They’re big on pranks—but some of the tricks have an edge to them,” Father Anne replied. “Hiding objects is one thing. Breaking them is another. And Horace says that the new ghosts ‘feel’ different. Edgy, angry, maybe even dangerous. He’s already had one person quit, and another started carrying salt in her pockets, a squirt bottle of holy water in her purse, and as he puts it, enough religious jewelry to put Madonna to shame. The singer, not the Virgin Mother,” Father Anne clarified.
“Anything else?” I had the feeling we didn’t know enough about the problem, but that might mean Horace didn’t, either.
“Yeah.” Father Anne looked like she deeply regretted giving up smoking. “And I don’t like it. He said he keeps hearing things in the walls, moving around. And last night, one of the bodies was damaged.”
“Damaged how?” I asked, although the hair on my arms rose, and I didn’t think it had anything to do with the cold night.
“Chewed on,” Father Anne replied. “Nothing actually missing, but Horace thinks that might have been because he made a lot of noise going into the mortuary and interrupted whatever it was.”
“Chewed?” Teag echoed. “Shit. That sounds like more than a ghost.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Father Anne replied.
Horace had given Father Anne a key. He and the other workers had made themselves scarce since no viewings or services were scheduled. Father Anne let us in the back door. The security lights made it bright enough to see where we were going, although they gave everything a bluish glow right out of a low-budget horror movie. I shook the dog collar on my left wrist, and Bo’s ghost appeared beside me. I kept my athame in my right hand, but I had iron shavings and salt in my pockets, a spray bottle of holy water, and an iron knife.
The main floor of the funeral parlor looked like a well-appointed private house—with five living rooms, and no kitchen or dining room. Without the bustle of a crowd coming to pay respects, I could feel how huge the old mansion was. It felt cavernous and cold, despite its designer-perfect decor and upscale furnishings.
“The upstairs are all offices,” Father Anne said. “Horace said there haven’t been any problems up there. Nothing in the front rooms on this floor either, although this is where the regular ghosts show up when they’re active. No surprise, since they would have remembered this house as a family home.”
“So the problems are in the back, where the bodies are handled,” I guessed. My gut knotted. I’d been to a few morgues, but funeral homes seemed so much more personal, maybe because they were in old houses. With everything we dealt with, I knew that dead bodies weren’t anything to fear. But my hindbrain wasn’t listening to reason, and I hoped I didn’t look as reluctant as I felt to head down the hallway to the “business” end of the mortuary.
The building felt cool when we entered, but the temperature had dropped enough between the front of the house and the back that I had goosebumps. Once we went through the doors to the section of the building that held the preparation rooms, the funeral home looked much more like a hospital or a morgue than its homey reception areas. Gleaming white tile covered the walls to shoulder height in wide corridors made to wheel gurneys to the workrooms. Compared to the tasteful decorations in the parlors, this part of the building felt spartan and empty of personality.
We moved slowly, alert for trouble. I wasn’t thrilled about stretching out with my gift, but I knew that would be part of what was needed when I agreed to come along. I tuned into my psychometry, tentatively extending my senses in case Horace’s problems stemmed from a cursed or haunted object that had hitched a ride with one of the dearly departed.
“Can you read anything?” Teag stayed close beside me. Teag knew I’d be vulnerable when I focused on the impressions, and he was good at watching my back.
“I don’t think the ghosts are tied to an object,” I said, since my spidey sense wasn’t honing in on a particular location. “As for the ghosts themselves, I’m sensing less sadness than…surprise.” I paused. “Everyone always thinks they’ve got more time, and then—wham.”
“You might have given me the theme for next Sunday’s homily,” Father Anne said. “I bet that ‘Wham—You’re Dead’ would make people look twice at the church’s sermon sign.”
I’d learned a long time ago that dark humor can get you through a lot of bad situations. But even as I cracked a smile at her comment, I felt a shift in the energy around us. Unlike a real medium, I can’t summon the dead or make a connection with a reluctant ghost. My gift works best when I can touch an object that belonged to the departed, and then I can read the memories “imprinted” into its resonance. But if a ghost wants to make itself send or heard, I’m maybe a little more tuned in than the average person, and I suspect my abilities attract spirits who probably see my energy like a candle in the darkness.
The air grew even colder, and I saw Teag shiver. “You feel it, right?”
Teag nodded. “Yeah. Temperature’s dropping. And I’m picking up on a vibe that’s trying to make us turn around and leave.”
“Dread,” Father Anne said quietly. “Something is trying to keep us from going down the hall.”
A breeze picked up. All the doors and windows were closed, and no air conditioner put out a gust that whipped our hair and made jackets flap. We passed a door marked “Storage” and heard a crash that sounded like an entire row of shelves had tipped over. When I opened up the door, a barrage of shoes, belts, hats, and other articles of clothing pelted me, hurled by invisible hands.
I yanked the door shut, catching a man’s tie half in and half out. The mismatched pieces littered the floor in the corridor, and I tried to make sense of the impressions I picked up.
“They’re angry,” I said slowly. “But not at us. Angry at something else. Something that hurt them. I think…they’re trying to tell us to turn back.”
We were a few feet from the double doors to the big preparation room where the bodies were kept. That’s when I heard it—a skittering, scratching sound way too loud to be rats. We all exchanged a glance, and I knew Teag and Father Anne had heard the noise, too. The loud shriek of wrenched metal clearly came from inside the mortuary room. We readied our weapons and rushed inside.
“What the hell are those?” Teag breathed.
Four pale, naked creatures looked up from where they had wrenched a steel refrigeration drawer off its track, leaving it pulled out askew and revealing the corpse inside. The creatures had the same fish-belly white color as the dead body. Their joints and spines seemed unnaturally visible through nearly translucent skin, and their heads looked overly large for their bodies. Skin stretched tightly across their faces, flattening their features, and the black eyes that turned their gaze on us were as cold as a snake’s. Too-long fingers gave their outsized hands a skeletal appearance. But for as bony as their bodies were, the intruders’ distended bellies looked bloated, and when their black lips pulled back in a snarl, I could clearly make out rows of razor-sharp teeth.
“Damned if I know, but they’re trying to eat the bodies.” Leave it to Father Anne to get to the heart of the matter.
“Ghouls.” They both turned to look at me. “Pretty sure that’s what they are.” I’d never seen any myself, but I’d heard about them. And now it looked like we were going to have to fight them.
The creatures turned on us and hissed, which might have been their language, or a warning. They were unarmed, but their fingers ended in sharp claws and I didn’t want to see their teeth close up. We faced off against them, as each side sized up the opposition. My athame dropped down from my sleeve into my hand, and Bo’s ghost let out a low growl.
Everyone moved at once. Ghouls are damn fast. They scattered, not just left and right, but two of them skittered up the walls and across the ceiling. Bo dove for one of the ghouls still on the floor. I aimed my athame and sent a stream of bright, cold energy that tore one of the creatures off the ceiling and flung it across the room. It slammed into one of the stainless steel autopsy tables with enough force to have broken a human’s spine, but the creature got up and shook itself off, eyeing me like a tasty morsel. They might eat dead flesh, but ghouls probably don’t mind a warm meal when they get the chance.
Teag’s silver metal whip snapped out, snaking across the back of the other ceiling ghoul, and the sharp, coiled blade opened up a gash from shoulder to hip that dripped foul, black sludge instead of blood. The ghoul shrieked and let go, managing to twist in mid-air like a falling cat so that it landed on its feet in a crouch.
The creature sprang at Teag, but his long knife came up fast, impaling the ghoul with its own momentum. A downward slice gutted the monster, and a hard swing sent the ghoul’s head rolling.
Meanwhile, the ghoul I’d thrown against the autopsy table was ready for round two. Its squeal sounded hungry and furious, and it ran at me on all fours, like a huge, ugly attack dog. Bo was still busily harrying the third ghoul, and Father Anne was busy with her very own monster.
I sank my gift deep into the resonance of my spoon-athame and blasted the ghoul again. But this time I held the blast as long as I could; moving forward as I kept the creature pinned against the wall. The dark red stain around its mouth brought to mind images I didn’t dare dwell on, and I closed the distance between us at a dead run, so I didn’t have too much time to think.
My knife blade sank deep into the ghoul’s chest as I ended the blast from my athame. The ghoul dropped to the floor at my feet. I swung the sturdy knife with all my strength, as its razor-sharp blade sliced through the monster’s neck and the head fell to one side with a wet thud.
By the time I looked up, the fight was over. Bo had kept one of the ghouls cornered until Teag could lop off its head. For being a ghost, Bo has a very real bite, and teeth marks suggested that for once the ghoul was on the receiving end of being chomped. Father Anne stood over the body of the fourth ghoul, spattered in ichor and breathing hard from the fight.
The once-pristine preparation room looked like something out of a zombie movie, with gore sprayed across the white tile walls and black pools of stinking ooze puddling around the headless bodies. Teag navigated carefully over to the morgue drawer that the ghouls had pulled from the bank of refrigerated shelves on one wall.
“Doesn’t look like they had time to start on dinner,” he observed. “Other than the damage to the drawer, the body doesn’t look chewed.”
I turned to Father Anne. “Does the funeral home have a crematorium?”
She nodded. “Yeah. Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“Probably,” I replied. We walked over to the big sink against the far wall and washed, scrubbing the awful liquid from our hands, arms, and weapons, and mopping at our clothing with wet paper towels.
While Teag and I cleaned up, Father Anne pulled out her phone. “Horace,” she said. “We’ve solved your problem, but you’re going to want to handle the clean up before your employees come in. I’d suggest waiting fifteen minutes, and then heading over here. If anyone asks, say that the alarm tripped. The vermin that chewed on the bodies are dead, but it would be best if you burned them…when no one’s looking.” I couldn’t hear Horace’s side of the conversation, but Father Anne smiled. “You’re welcome. And if anyone asks—we were never here.”
“Do you think the ghosts are gone?” Teag asked as we made our way back out to the driveway. None of the spirits bothered us as we walked through the corridor, and we encountered no strange wind or odd cold spots.
“I don’t think they meant to hurt anyone,” I replied, looking over my shoulder but seeing only the shadowy hallway. “They were trying to warn Horace and his people away from the ghouls. Maybe they were the spirits of the people in those drawers, who didn’t want to get eaten.”
“Seems reasonable to me.”
“So unless the ghouls come back, the new ghosts are probably going to rest easy,” Father Anne said as we put our weapons into the trunk and got into the car. Teag drove, and I slumped back against the seat as he pulled out of the parking lot without the lights on.
“Is this kind of thing happening elsewhere, and we never heard about it?” I asked.
“First time for me, too,” Father Anne replied. “And since the dead rising kind of goes with my job description, I figure there would have been chatter in my professional circles if other people were getting calls for exorcisms and the like.”
“So back to the idea about everything being connected,” Teag said. He flicked the lights on when we were a block away and drove carefully at the speed limit.
“Explain what you mean by ‘everything,’” Father Anne said from the back. We took turns filling her in.
“Ghosts going bonkers, everyone’s on edge, strange break-ins and missing relics, zombies and ghouls, and something’s draining energy from charged objects—how does it all fit together?” I asked as I wrapped up our tale when Teag pulled up in front of my house.
“I don’t know—but there has to be an answer,” Father Anne said as she got out of the car. “And in the meantime, be careful. Until we know who’s behind it, we don’t know where the next attack is coming. So watch your backs.”
I opened my door. “Want to come in?”
Teag shook his head. “Thanks, but I’m going to head back. Anthony had a continuing education class that went really late, and if I hurry, I can clean the ghoul guts out of my hair before he gets home.”
I hurried inside, greeted Baxter, and took a hot shower. Between ghouls and zombies, I was going through soap faster than usual. Usually, I didn’t like heavily scented bath products, but when it comes to washing off gore and blood, I found a real use for body wash I would have otherwise considered to be overpoweringly strong.
It was only eleven o’clock, and the thought of curling up in my sweats on the couch with Baxter and watching some TV sounded wonderful—especially if that also included a glass of wine and fuzzy slippers. But as I got a treat for Baxter and poured myself a nice glass of Shiraz, my phone went off, and the ringtone told me it was Kell.
“You still up?” he asked.
“Yeah. Just starting to wind down. You?”
Kell hesitated. “We came back from a ghost hunt about an hour ago, and I’m still pretty ramped up. Want company? I’ll bring snacks.”
I smiled. “Throw in a bottle of wine and plan to spend the night. I’ll fill you in on my day. I’d rather not be alone tonight.”
Fifteen minutes later, Baxter did a happy dance at the door when Kell arrived. Baxter is the official guard dog and welcoming committee, torn between biting noses and wriggling for hugs. Kell patiently scooped Bax up, held him at arm’s length until the growls subsided, then ruffled his fur and snuggled him before releasing him and turning his attention to me.
I knew from the way Kell pulled me close and the feel of his kiss that something had gone wrong. He held me tight, a gesture that seemed more protective and reassuring than romantic, and the touch of his lips felt like he wanted to affirm that both of us were still safe and alive.
“Bad hunt?” I asked, taking his hand and leading him into the living room as Baxter jumped and pranced around our feet.
“Not the worst I’ve been on, by any means.” Kell leaned against the kitchen counter as I pulled goodies from the grocery bag he’d brought. Kell is about Teag’s height, with blue eyes and light brown hair, a combination that caught my attention from the first time we met.
“Then again, you’ve been on the scariest hunts,” he added, moving away from the counter to help me get a plate for the selection of yummy appetizers he’d picked up. Cheese, olives, crackers, spreads, and toppings along with some charcuterie made my mouth water. He opened a new bottle of Cabernet and poured himself a glass to match mine, then followed me into the living room.
“Fill me in,” I said, settling into the corner of the couch with one knee pulled up, facing him. He smeared pimento cheese on a cracker and gobbled it down. I realized that he looked rattled, and my concern grew. Kell had been chasing ghosts for years, and not much shakes him up. We’ve seen some pretty horrific things on hunts, and he’s usually pretty cool about it. So I wondered what had gotten under his skin.
“I think Charleston’s ghosts have all gone mad,” He said, taking a gulp of wine. “The phone at SPOOK has rung non-stop. Ghosts that never had the juice to make themselves seen are now visible. Or audible. Or able to throw things. And most of them seem disturbed about something. Jittery. Even the repeaters seem more solid and active.”
Kell ran a hand back through his hair, and I noticed how tired he looked. “I thought maybe it had something to do with the phase of the moon or some upcoming obscure holiday. But…I can’t find any connection. And I told myself that it was just ghosts, no one was getting hurt.” His voice trailed off, and I reached out to put my hand on his arm.
“What happened?”
Kell closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the couch. “I got a call from a friend who does tours at the Old Jail. Not many of the tour companies in town will go there at night, because we all know the ghosts are real, and they’re not nice. But usually if anything manifests, it’s some cold spots, or a disembodied voice, or someone feels a touch on a shoulder or an arm.”
He let out a long breath. “My buddy said he heard the gallows trapdoor dropping open, and heard voices all around them, muttering and mumbling.”
“Someone’s idea of a prank?” I asked, though I doubted that was the case. “Maybe a bunch of theater majors who thought it would be fun to freak the guide?”
“I don’t think so,” Kell replied. “He saw orbs materialize right in the same room with them and zip around. You know those usually only show up on pictures. The guests thought it was great, until one of the orbs went right through a woman and she passed out. Then the lights went off.”
I’d been to the Old Jail once. It’s one of Charleston’s most popular tourist attractions, but it’s got a brutal history of blood and death, and the resonance reflects its past. I hope I never have to go back again because I sure wouldn’t consider it an evening’s entertainment.
“Those iron steps aren’t great to navigate even with the lights,” I said. “Did someone get hurt?”
Kell nodded. “People started shouting about being pushed. No way to know in the dark what was going on, but then others denied doing the pushing. The guide tried to call for assistance, but his phone was dead—and no one else could get a signal, either.” Ghostly activity often drains electronics. The dead phones didn’t surprise me.
“The guests started to panic. So the guide tried to get everyone calmed down and out of the building. But one woman fell down the steps. She’s hurt pretty bad.” Kell looked at me as if I could solve the mystery. “As soon as she fell, the lights came back on again, and all the paranormal phenomenon stopped. The guests who were near the top of the stairs said they felt a body slip between them, solid but cold as ice, right before she was pushed.”
“Do you believe them?” I asked. “Or were they covering up being scared enough to crowd the stairs?”
Kell stared into his wine for a moment before he took another sip. “Tom, the guide, has been doing that tour for five years. He’s one of two guides at his company that will go to the Old Jail at night. We always used to go out for drinks, and he’d tell me stories about things that happened and none of it ever got to him.” He drained his glass, and set it aside.
“Tom quit after that incident. Says he’ll go home and live with his mom if he has to while he finds another job. But he’s never setting foot in the Old Jail again.”
I finished my wine and moved over to snuggle against Kell. No surprise that Baxter insisted on being on Kell’s lap—he’s a possessive bit of fluff. Kell wrapped his arms around me, and I laid my head on his shoulder. He felt warm and solid, grounding me and letting me know I wasn’t alone. I hoped my presence did the same for him.
He nuzzled my hair and gave me a squeeze. “How about your day? Sounds like you had a rough one, too.”
Kell, like Anthony, knows what we really do at Trifles and Folly. Given his work with SPOOK, he usually isn’t fazed by run-ins with regular ghosts. He’s backed us up on outings where he’s seen real magic at work, and the fact that he’s still here means a lot to me. Kell helped us out in dangerous situations without demanding to know everything ahead of time, because he trusted us—he trusted me. That meant I had to trust him, too. When I explained about the Alliance, Kell wasn’t completely surprised. He said that he had pretty much figured that to be the case, and was waiting for me to be ready to tell him the whole truth. It felt good to share the secret with him, and he swore that he would never tell anyone. We were coming up on our first anniversary of dating, and I had to admit that having a relationship last long enough to settle into a comfortable routine felt…nice. Very nice.
He listened while I told him about the ghouls, and heard me out without needing to throw up, which won props in my book. I went on to tell him about the other weirdness since it had been a couple of days since we’d seen each other. Kell’s a good listener and curled up next to him and Baxter, I felt safe. The house is warded, I have some badass magic, and Baxter is a ferocious watchdog, so I was already physically protected, but tonight, it was really nice not to be alone.
“I wondered if your gang had been dealing with any new weirdness,” Kell said, shifting so we could stretch out. “Any idea what’s kicking the supernatural strangeness into overdrive?”
I shook my head. “Lots of possibilities; no real leads. I took our medium friend, Alicia Peters, back to the museum to check out their ghosts. I thought that might help. But we didn’t get anything new, at least not from those spirits. A total dead end—no pun intended.”
Baxter squirmed, and I figured he was getting too warm, although he didn’t go far. He hates to not be the center of attention. I rustled his white fur, and he brazenly rolled over to have his tummy rubbed.
“Maybe the ghosts at the museum have something in common with the ones at the funeral home,” Kell suggested. “Maybe they can sense something going on, and they’re trying to warn you.”
I thought back to what Mrs. Teller had said, and how people were lining up to buy Hoodoo protections. “That would make sense,” I said. “Maybe it’s worth making the rounds of all my favorite botanicas and New Age supply stores and seeing what the gossip is. I could use some more copal incense, sage, and High John the Conqueror root.”
We didn’t use a lot of special objects, despite the fact that we banished unruly ghosts, fought vampires and shifters, and dispatched the occasional demon back to Hell. Then again, we buy salt by the fifty-pound bag, and we keep a good stash of the more versatile gems, metals, plants, and roots on hand, because when we need something, it’s often in the middle of the night when the shops aren’t open. The stores I favor aren’t the ones that look like Halloween all year round for the tourists. I go to the little shops that aren’t in the fanciest part of town, where the owners and the shoppers have a spark of something extra, and we all know that magic is serious business.
“Probably a good idea. I’ll hit up my regulars, and see what’s being said on the other paranormal investigation sites,” Kell said. “Discretely, I promise.”
I stretched up to kiss him. He kissed back, and my heart skipped a beat. “We’re still on for dinner with Teag and Anthony tomorrow night?”
“You mean, later today?” he joked. I glanced at the clock and realized how late—or early—it was. “Yes. Looking forward to it.” Kell stretched and sat up, dislodging both Baxter and me from our comfy spot. “Come on. We should get some sleep. The ghosts will have to look after themselves for the rest of the night.”
The next morning, I got to the shop before it was time to open, and found Teag already at work on his laptop in the break room. “Did you make it home before Anthony last night?” I asked, pleased to find the coffee pot already full and hot. I poured myself a cup, noting that it looked like Teag had already drunk a few rounds of java himself.
“Barely,” he replied, not looking up from his screen. “But I did get into the shower and managed to shove my clothes in the washer before he could ask about the bloodstains. Lawyers are funny about those kinds of things.”
“I bet.” After I fixed my coffee, I came around to look over his shoulder. “What’s up?”
Teag sat back and angled the screen so I could see it better. “Sorren left a list of names from the dug-out graves for me, and Father Anne sent me her info. I’ve been looking them up. And big surprise—there’s a connection, but damned if I know what it means.”
“Let me guess. They are all either from families featured in the museum and Archive exhibits, or they were extremely involved in those kinds of hunting sports.”
“Got it in one,” Teag replied with a sigh. He chugged his coffee and blinked hard a few times as if his eyes were bleary from the screen. “And here’s one other little tidbit. All of them died as a result of their ‘hobbies.’”
My eyebrows rose. “Really? So Alistair was right about all those gentry sports being dangerous?”
He shrugged. “Even the carriage rides downtown have a waiver on their tickets about the ‘inherent dangers of equine activities.’ People fall off horses or get trampled. Guns go off and hit the wrong target. Fishermen drown. Maybe it’s karma for hunting Bambi. Things like horse racing or jumping hurdles is even more dangerous. I guess that’s part of the attraction.”
I pulled up a chair to get a closer look at the screen. “Was there talk that those deaths weren’t accidental?”
“Are you looking for murder, or something supernatural, or both?” he asked.
“Not sure. Right now, we need to find out what the connection is. We know the stuff that’s been going on is not random.”
He agreed. “I’ve already looked to see if the deaths came in cycles—or waves—and there’s no pattern that I can see.”
I glugged down my coffee and poured another cup. The bell jangled, and Maggie let herself in. “Good morning!” She greeted, far more cheery than anyone has a right to be this early. Let it be said that I am not a morning person, so skulking around in the wee hours suits me far better than being up at the crack of dawn like normal people.
“G’morning,” I managed, doing my best to fake enthusiasm. Maggie’s known me long enough to recognize that I wasn’t caffeinated enough yet.
“We’ve got a beautiful day today, so hopefully, that means a busy shop.” Maggie stashed her purse and shawl in my office, grabbed a cup of coffee, and headed up front. I joined her, leaving Teag to his research. Together, Maggie and I chit-chatted as we pulled out the jewelry from the safe and put the trays in the glass display cases.
Most of our inventory is too big to lock away each night. Silver candelabra, heavy tea sets, lamps, and clocks, and odd pieces of furniture too bulky and awkward to steal. But in theory, at least, a thief could smash the window and break into a display case and grab a handful of jewelry if we didn’t keep the little pieces locked up. We go through the motions to keep the insurance company happy, but the truth is, no regular thief is going to make it through the layers of magical wardings laid down on the shop over nearly four centuries.
Maggie’s prediction proved true; the good weather brought out shoppers in droves. Fortunately the crabby opal lady didn’t come back, and for the most part, the customers played nicely with each other. Even so, the vibe felt off to me, like everyone was wound tight for no particular reason.
Trifles and Folly attracts an eclectic clientele. That’s putting it mildly. We get bargain hunters who quickly find out that while our prices are fair, we aren’t giving away stuff because it’s old. Collectors frequent the shop and tell their friends. Interior designers who specialize in historic restoration, funky B&Bs, or homeowners with a love of the past shop us or send us their wish lists.
Weekends—especially in the fall—bring out the antiquers, couples who love looking for the perfect piece to set off a room. Tourists get intrigued by the window display, wander in and wander out. Vintage jewelry buyers know that we not only have a beautiful selection, but the pieces always have a positive feel to them. And those in the know about supernatural things either stop by to talk shop, pass on a warning, or look for the more specialized relics and benign magical items we keep in the back.
Today seemed to belong mostly to the tourists, antiquers, and bargain hunters. Plenty of people walked in, took a look around, and walked out. Some of the shoppers had such a specific item in mind for the right spot that while I could offer alternatives, I didn’t have the perfect piece. That’s the trouble with antique stores—almost everything is one of a kind, and the things that aren’t can’t be stocked in bulk. Then again, Charleston has more than its share of antique shops to browse, so I felt confident they’d eventually discover something they could use. And the tourists? Bless their hearts.
I counted ourselves lucky that neither Alistair nor Mrs. Morrissey called with a new crisis. Neither did Father Anne, which either meant that the dead had taken a break from rising, or they were waiting until after dark.
The day passed quickly, and before I knew it, the last shopper headed out the door. Considering all the browsers who came and went, we still sold well, mostly small items like rings or necklaces. I totally understood that if you came to Charleston on a tour bus, taking back a hundred pound silver tea set might cause problems. That’s why I talked one lady into having us ship her treasure home for her.
“Want to join us for dinner, Maggie?” Teag asked as we cleaned up, locked the door, and switched the sign to “closed.” When all three of us put the jewelry back in the safe, we’re done in less than ten minutes.
“Thank you, but my neighbor’s cooking tonight, and I wouldn’t miss it,” she replied with a smile. “Thanks for asking.”
“You’re welcome to join us anytime,” I added.
Maggie laughed. “Truly, thank you. But she’s making one of my favorites tonight. Linguine with homemade puttanesca sauce.” Then she blushed. “She’s also inviting her friend. He’s also retired. And single.”
“Then, by all means, don’t let us keep you from a hot evening!” I said. She waved, and we both watched to make sure she got to her car all right, though tourists crowded the sidewalk and the gas street lamps were still bright enough to read by.
“God, I hope Anthony and I are half that frisky by the time we’re Maggie’s age,” Teag said, with a wistful expression.
“I can’t believe you used the word ‘frisky.’”
He grinned. “I can think of plenty of alternatives, but none of them are suitable for polite company.” We closed everything down and headed out the back door, locking up behind us. “See you and Kell at eight?”
“Count on it. We’re looking forward to a good meal and even better conversation,” I promised him as we got in our cars. “See you then.”
I went home, fed Baxter, and took him out in the garden, got a shower, and went through the mail. And all the while my mind churned through the weird stuff going on, trying to make sense of it. So far, no one had gotten killed—at least, that we knew of. But it’s never a good idea to ignore power that can raise the dead, and I had the feeling we hadn’t seen the main event yet. “Worried” didn’t begin to cover it.
Bax gave me his best puppy eyes to try to guilt me into staying home. He’s persuasive, but I figured that since Kell and I would be coming back here after dinner, Baxter wasn’t suffering too much—especially when I knew we’d both slip him some leftovers.
We met up with Teag and Anthony at Jocko’s, our favorite Italian restaurant. Everything on the menu is good, and it all comes from the owner’s family recipes. I gave Anthony a hug. “Haven’t seen you in forever. You work too hard.” It had only been a week or so, but it felt longer, especially since these past few days had been stressful.
“Thanks for keeping Teag from getting bored,” Anthony replied. Teag and Anthony make such a cute couple. They’re close to the same height, but otherwise such a contrast. Anthony’s blond and broad-shouldered, looking every inch the South of Broad scion that he is. Teag still rocks a skater boy haircut, and while Anthony is all Brooks Brothers, Teag’s more of a jeans, t-shirts, and Vans kind of guy. Somehow, they make it work.
“Hey Cassidy!”
I turned and saw two of my favorite people, Drea Andrews and Valerie Dane. Drea runs Andrews Carriages, and Valerie is one of her top tour guides. It’s rare for them to have a night out, given the type of business they’re in, and even more unusual for them to be out together.
“Birthday? Anniversary? Promotion? Apocalypse?” I guessed. “How’d you two slip the leash and get the night off?”
Drea laughed. “All of the above? We’re dreaming up new tours for next year, so I decided we deserved to have some fun doing it!”
“You go, girl! Can’t wait to see what you come up with.”
Drea gave me a knowing look. “I wasn’t maybe completely joking when I agreed on the apocalypse part,” she added. “And somehow, when strange things are going on, you usually have an inside track.”
“What kind of strange things?” I asked. Kell slipped an arm around my waist. We had time to kill waiting for our table to be cleared, and I wondered what Drea had heard. She’s usually very tuned in since her job means she’s talking to people all over the city all day long.
“For one thing, the way everyone’s suddenly crabby,” she replied. “This city doesn’t even get ruffled when we’re washing away in a hurricane, and now people seem unusually grouchy. And then, there are the ghosts.”
“We’re thinking of suspending the ghost tours until things settle down,” Valerie chimed in. “Too dangerous, after what happened at the Old Jail.”
“Yeah, we heard.” Kell and I answered almost in unison.
“Do you think it has anything to do with what’s going on out in Aiken?” Valerie asked.
Kell and I exchanged a glance. “What’s going on out there?” I asked. Aiken ranks right up with Lexington and Louisville for big money horse racing. Back in the 1800s, folks from the old money crowd from up north would winter in Aiken to get their prize horses ready for the Triple Crown.
“Prize thoroughbreds gone missing,” Drea confided. “Hunting dogs, too. And we’re talking expensive livestock. Those horses cost big bucks, and champion dogs aren’t cheap. Plus, all those big race farms have security. It’s not like horse thieving in the Wild West.”
“Any people vanish?” I asked.
“Not that I’ve heard,” Drea replied, and Valerie shook her head.
“Can you keep me posted on the Aiken thing?” I asked, as their server came to lead them to their table. “It might be important.”
Teag and Anthony came up behind us. “Something going on?” Teag asked quietly.
“Maybe,” I replied. “More weirdness.”
The server seated us then, and conversation came to a halt as we glanced through the menu. We ate at Jocko’s so often we should have had the choices memorized, but sometimes it was fun to try something new. I went for spicy seafood pasta, and Kell opted for the Chicken Marsala, while Teag and Anthony split a specialty pizza. Of course, we had to get stuffed mushrooms and bruschetta to share. Once we had our drinks in front of us, we all relaxed. Anthony slung an arm over Teag’s shoulders, and Teag leaned into him. Kell and I sat hip to hip, and if my hand strayed to his knee, no one was going to mention it.
“So what’s new in your world?” I asked Anthony. He can’t talk about the confidential details of any of his cases, of course, but his work often yielded scuttlebutt from law enforcement agencies and local police that we might not otherwise hear. The longer Teag and Anthony are together; the better Anthony has gotten at listening for the right kinds of things, the type of details that suggest strange goings-on might be our kind of problem.
Anthony sipped his wine and let out a deep breath, rolling his shoulders like he wanted to shuck off the weight of the day’s worries. “You mean, other than that the whole world’s gone crazy?”
I gathered from the way Teag turned to look at Anthony that this tidbit hadn’t been mentioned before. “Oh?” I prompted.
“Arrests are up for everything from bar fights to domestic violence.” Anthony toyed with his wine glass as if he were already thinking about a refill. “There’ve been more murders in the last two weeks than Charleston usually sees in a month. ‘Crimes of passion’—things that people do when their temper’s running high—are through the roof. It’s like everyone’s lost a grip on sanity.”
“Or something’s lowering their inhibitions,” I suggested. I had noticed some of the headlines, but failed to make the connection, in volume or in timing, to realize just how big the problem had become.
“Or feeding on the aggression,” Teag added.
“Or creating a distraction so we aren’t looking at the real problem,” Kell chimed in.
Anthony looked from one of us to the next as if he realized he was outnumbered. “You think there’s something supernatural behind an outbreak of widespread pissiness?”
“Not the strangest thing I’ve heard,” I replied. “There are creatures that feed off strong emotion—love, hate, violence, envy. That whole ‘seven deadly sins’ list keys into primal human urges, and that’s like the smell of fresh cinnamon rolls to some of those beings.”
Anthony mulled that over for a moment, and took another sip of wine. “Honestly, that would make more sense than people just going nuts,” he said. “We’ve had a few clients in our office have a complete personality shift, go from reasonable and pleasant to angry and awful. And as far as anyone knows, there isn’t a reason. No health problems, family issues, pending divorces, or financial trouble.”
Teag laced his fingers with Anthony’s and leaned forward. “The people who’ve been getting arrested—have the police found motives?”
Anthony shook his head. “Under normal circumstances, most motives aren’t rational—at least not to other people. But the comments I’m hearing from the cops we deal with make it sound like even the people involved don’t really understand what made them snap. And they don’t back down easily, not until they’re in custody. Then they’re suddenly back to normal, wondering how the hell they ended up in jail.”
Teag caught my eye. “Hex bags?”
“Maybe. But it’s awfully widespread for a single spell,” I replied. “And that wouldn’t explain the ghosts or some of the other stuff.”
“What’s strong enough to affect the living and the dead—and their spirits?” Kell asked, and a cold feeling of dread settled in my gut. Because anything that strong was going to be a son of a bitch to stop.