Vendetta (Deadly Curiosities Book 2) Page 8

  “Go for it,” I replied. “Just be careful.” On the mundane internet, you might get a computer virus. On the Darke Web, a daemon really is demonic, and it might just follow you home.

  Teag grinned, and gave me a mock bow. “As you wish,” he said. Then he headed out, and I locked the door behind him.

  When I got home, Baxter danced in circles, and when I picked him up to snuggle him, he licked my nose several times, then wiggled to be put down. I knew what he wanted. It was time for a walk.

  Charleston is a walking city. It’s the kind of place where neighbors nod to each other when they pass or say “nice evening” even if they don’t actually know each other. No matter what the season, taking a walk along the old brick garden walls, the beautiful wrought-iron gates and the big old live oak trees brightens my mood.

  Often, I’ll take Baxter down to White Point Gardens on the Battery if I want to get a nice harbor breeze. But tonight, that didn’t sound like such a good idea. White Point Gardens is a beautiful spot now, with a great view of Charleston Harbor. But long ago, that park was where the gallows stood to hang pirates, making it a place where many a soul has been trapped. I had no desire to go looking for more restless ghosts.

  Baxter didn’t care where we went as long as he got to enjoy the fresh air. We were heading home when I heard the clip-clop of hooves and looked up to see Valerie leading one of her carriage tours. I waved, expecting her to wave back and keep moving. To my surprise, she paused beside me.

  “Hi, Cassidy,” she said, and all the passengers, thinking this was part of the tour, echoed her greeting. I grinned and waved again.

  “I’m trying out a new route tomorrow evening, and I was hoping you’d go through it with me. You know so much about Charleston’s history, I’d love to have you help me break it in.”

  Valerie is pretty much an expert on Charleston’s history herself, so I knew that part was total bunk. But I did remember what Drea had told me, about Valerie being worried about something she saw on a ghost tour, and I figured she really wanted me to ride supernatural shotgun. And despite the potential danger, it sounded like fun.

  “Count me in,” I said. “Just give me a call and let me know when.”

  After Valerie and her carriage had moved on, Baxter and I continued on our way. Up ahead, I saw another Ghost Bike with its memorial photo and plaque. I was going to go around it when I noticed a man on the other side of the street who seemed to be more interested in Bax and me than he was in just taking a walk on a nice night. I stayed on the sidewalk, and picked up my pace.

  If someone gets hurt on the ghost hunts, it’s because you weren’t on top of things, I found myself thinking. I had been in a pretty good mood before, but now my thoughts circled the drain. You’re supposed to be protecting Charleston, and you’re failing. People are going to die, and it’s all going to be your fault. I felt such a sudden flood of guilt that I teared up and stumbled. I put my hand out to catch myself, and steadied myself on the white painted frame of the Ghost Bike.

  That’s when Baxter lowered his head and began to growl. All of a sudden, the Ghost Bike shuddered so violently that it felt like it was going to break away from the fasteners that held it to the light pole. The wheels spun like they were caught in a hurricane, and the chain securing the bike whipped back and forth. Baxter was barking his ‘stranger danger’ bark, doing his best impersonation of a Doberman. All of that seemed far away. Steadying myself against the Ghost Bike plunged me into darkness.

  A beautiful day, sun on my shoulders, wind against my face. Then a car swerved too close. By the time I heard the crunch of gravel, it was too late. I felt myself flying through the air, landing on the road, almost unconscious but still aware enough to see the grill of the car and the undercarriage coming right for me… pain… then darkness.

  I wasn’t alone in the dark. There was something in the shadows, some new dark terror. It stalked me, after so long alone. Predator. Before I knew it, the Darkness had its claws or its teeth into me, ripping, tearing. Tried to pull free, tried to push it away…

  My left hand found the agate spindle whorl in my jeans pocket and closed around it. That old Norse magic anchor sent a jolt of power through me. I felt magic radiate from me, separating me from the spirit of the dead bicyclist. In another heartbeat, within wherever-it-was the ghost and its stalker existed, my magic formed a wall of flame in between the bike’s ghost rider and the supernatural predator. The predator drew back with an ear-splitting screech and the ghostly rider retreated, injured but still himself.

  The blast of magic broke me out of the vision of the Ghost Bike spirit, just in time to see that the man who had been watching us was now striding closer. Something about the way he moved made me think he wasn’t coming to help.

  I didn’t want to summon Bo’s ghost. I didn’t want whatever had taken a bite out of the Ghost Rider – and Tad – to get its spectral claws into Bo. And I didn’t know who or what the guy headed my way was, but he looked like trouble. My wooden athame slid down from my sleeve into my hand. Steadying myself against the light pole, I focused my power into my athame, and let loose with an icy white blast of power that caught the stranger in the chest and knocked him back across the street, against a fence and flat on his ass.

  Baxter was still barking his head off, and I hoped that someone would get annoyed and come out to see what was going on. I didn’t plan to wait around. While my would-be stalker was climbing to his feet, I grabbed Baxter and ran.

  The street was strangely deserted. Normally, I’d have passed a half dozen people by this time. I wondered if there was something about the weird guy which drove the other pedestrians away. I wondered, but I didn’t slow down. I was afraid to look over my shoulder to see if he was getting closer. It wasn’t until Baxter and I burst through the wardings inside my piazza doorway that I stopped running. I collapsed onto the porch, heaving for breath, while Baxter tried to cheer me up by licking my nose.

  For a little while, Bax and I sat on the piazza – that’s what Charlestonians call the side porches on single houses. My phone buzzed and I saw the text from Sorren, Be there as soon as it’s dark. Then Baxter and I went inside and I got dinner for both of us. Shortly after sunset, Baxter began to bark when a knock came at the door.

  “Glad you could make it,” I said, opening the door. I’d given Sorren permission to enter long ago. He swore permission was a technicality that could be gotten around, and as a former jewel thief, I figured he would know.

  “Such a good dog,” Sorren said in a calm, smooth voice as he knelt down and scratched behind Baxter’s ears. And just like that, Baxter stopped barking and sat down with a goofy expression. I sighed. Sorren’s ability to glamour the pup came in handy, but it always seemed like cheating.

  “If you hadn’t already figured it out, something dangerous is brewing,” Sorren said.

  Thank you, Captain Obvious. I didn’t say anything, but I did give him a look. “Come on in.”

  Sorren had fed recently, which brought normal color to his skin. He doesn’t talk about how he feeds, and I don’t ask, but he did tell me once that he no longer needed or wanted to kill in order to eat, and that he was blood-sworn never to cause harm to me or my family. I assumed that included Baxter, and Teag by extension.

  “You left me a rather cryptic message,” he said, settling onto the couch.

  “A guy came looking for you. He was a real jerk.”

  Sorren looked as if he would have let out a long sigh, if he had needed to breathe. “Daniel.”

  “Yeah. Where do you dig these folks up?” I asked.

  Sorren chuckled. “In this case, no digging was required. Daniel is indeed a Hunter. And if there is a Hunter in Charleston, then we’re right to be concerned. They don’t waste their time on rumors.”

  “What’s a Watcher?” I asked.

  Sorren frowned. “Where did you hear that term?”

  “Daniel Hunter said to tell you there was a Watcher in town.”

 
Sorren’s frown deepened, and he looked lost in thought. “That is worrisome,” he said, in a tone that made me guess his comment was a gross understatement. “Watchers are supernatural creatures that judge – and eat – beings they believe to be flawed. That’s bad enough, but someone – a powerful wizard – has to bring the Watchers through from the Other Side.”

  “But wait,” I said, doing my best imitation of a television commercial voice-over, “there’s more.” I filled him in on what had happened to Maggie over at Craig’s store. He listened intently as I told him about the missing assistant, and about what I had learned from Mrs. Teller and Lucinda. I finished up by telling him about the incident with the Ghost Bike and the weird guy.

  “Did you feel odd before the incident happened?” Sorren asked.

  “Odd how?”

  Sorren shrugged. “Did you have any unnatural emotions that seemed to just come out of nowhere?”

  I thought of the strange, crippling guilt that I had felt right before I stumbled into the Ghost Bike, and how it had happened before with Coffee Guy. “Yeah,” I replied. “If suddenly feeling like the worst person in the world and a total failure counts.”

  Sorren nodded. “It counts. That’s exactly what I meant. And I’m afraid it means Daniel Hunter is correct. Watchers feed on guilt and judgment. When they’re around, people feel overwhelmed by negative emotions, and it’s worse if you’re paranormally sensitive.”

  “What about the wraiths? The thing that attacked Tad’s ghost and the shadow that took a bite out of the ghost rider?”

  “If Daniel is right about Watchers, if what you saw was really a Watcher, then the wraiths were Reapers, supernatural creatures that prey on ghosts. I’m inclined to believe that’s the case, but there are other monsters that can do similar things, and if we want to fight them, we have to be sure.” He leaned back and closed his eyes. “Have you heard it said that animals can sense a storm coming?”

  “Baxter certainly can,” I said. “Bo could, too.”

  “All of this activity, it’s a storm warning. The ghosts feel it. Anyone with a hint – or more than a hint – of power feels it. And the only problem is, we don’t know yet whether it’s a hurricane, a tornado or a volcanic eruption, so to speak. Until we have a better idea of what’s coming for us, we don’t know who’s behind it or how to fight it.” He paused. “But I’m certain of one thing. Someone with a lot of magic power is gunning for me. This isn’t random. It’s personal.”

  I sat with that sobering observation for a moment without saying anything. “Other than Daniel Hunter showing up and the attack in Boston, what makes you think someone’s after you?”

  Sorren looked more worried than I had ever seen him. “The Boston store was the second Alliance outpost I opened when America was still a colony. I thought it was protected. Obviously, I was wrong.” I could hear recrimination heavy in his voice. “Like with Trifles and Folly, that store has been in my partner’s family for centuries. Your counterpart is still in the hospital. Teag’s counterpart died from his injuries earlier today.”

  I swallowed hard, and saw in Sorren’s face how much the failure to protect his people had hurt him.

  “There have been scattered attacks at other locations. Antwerp. Vancouver. Some at the offices that hide other parts of the Alliance’s business. And something very personal.” He met my gaze. Looking into a vampire’s eyes will glamour most people, but I’m immune. “Three houses that I once owned have all burned down, just in the last month. Too many to be a coincidence.”

  When I had given Sorren my recap, I left out meeting up with old Mr. Thompson at the nursing home, and the part about Chuck Pettis using some of his military-issue anti-supernatural equipment. That would require admitting that I had been at Palmetto Meadows when Sorren was there, and I didn’t want to let on, at least, not yet. I hadn’t meant to pry when I saw him with Mrs. Butler. And although I was dying of curiosity, if their relationship was as I suspected, it was decidedly none of my business. The nursing home was warded, so at least we didn’t have to worry about that.

  “I know that look, Cassidy,” Sorren said. “Is there something else?”

  I sighed and shook my head. “Just a lot going on. Even things like the Ghost Bikes that don’t usually pull me into a vision seem turbo-charged with energy. Now maybe I know why.”

  “And those kinds of things are going to keep happening until we stop the storm,” Sorren replied.

  “Do you know who’s behind this?”

  He shook his head. “I’ve existed for almost six hundred years, Cassidy, and five hundred of those I’ve worked with the Alliance. I’ve made a lot of enemies in that time. Believe me, the Alliance is on the case, using their resources to figure out who and why. Right now we’ve got theories, but nothing solid. Too many possibilities, not enough facts to narrow things down. I’ve got calls in, but longer-lived people in the supernatural community have a very different sense of time. Urgency isn’t really part of their world.”

  He paused. “I can only stay here in Charleston briefly. I need to help in Boston, and there are things I have to track down that might make a difference. I’m going to look into what – who – could bring a Watcher here and why, and see if there’s another explanation. But I wanted to warn you and Teag. There may be more attacks – especially if I’m right about this being a vendetta.” He got up to leave. “Until I get back, keep your eyes open and watch out for anything unusual. I’ll return as soon as I can.”

  It wasn’t until he was gone that I realized I hadn’t mentioned the guy in the café.

  You know, most people – female and male – would feel pretty lucky to have a guy that looks like that trying to start a conversation, I told myself. You look at him and decide he’s some kind of scary stalker. Maybe you’re just paranoid.

  Maybe I was, but for good cause. And even though I still couldn’t figure out why, Coffee Guy made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. Personally, I don’t find that attractive in a man. I wasn’t giving him the benefit of the doubt, not when so many weird things were going on.

  My phone buzzed again, and I startled. It was Kell.

  “What’s up?” I asked.

  “I told you about some of the weird stuff we’ve been seeing,” Kell said. “Then I thought, maybe I should show you. So… our group is going out to take a look at a haunted house that’s giving the real estate agent fits. We’ve been there before and it was active, but apparently not like this. Do you and Teag want to come?”

  “When?”

  Kell chuckled. “Wow. I should use the haunted house bit to get company more often,” he joked. “Day after tomorrow? We generally go after it’s dark enough that the ghosts will move but the neighbors won’t call the cops.”

  “Works for me. And I’ll let Teag know right away.”

  “Great.” He paused. “I really appreciate you taking this seriously. I think there’s something going on, but it’s not anything I can explain.”

  “Let’s see what we can find out,” I said, trying to sound more chipper than I felt. I was afraid there was more at work than jumpy ghosts. “See you then.”

  “DON’T FORGET, I have an appointment at noon with Father Anne,” I said to Teag the next morning. Today was the day she and I were going to free poor Tad’s spirit from the hair wreath necklace.

  He nodded. “I’ll stay with Maggie, in case we do get those busloads of Canadian tourists you were expecting,” he added with a grin.

  Maggie had to keep her swollen ankle elevated, and she looked like she had been in a car wreck, but she insisted on coming in at least for part of the day, and had a doctor’s note to back her up. We were busier than usual, so the morning passed quickly. I sold a vintage tea set to a woman who was delighted to find one just like her grandmother’s. A brass lantern, an old seafarer’s telescope, and more vintage jewelry found new homes, which made for a profitable morning.

  “Are you sure you’re okay meeting Father Anne without extra back-u
p?” Teag asked in a low voice when he followed me into the break room. I knew what he meant. Father Anne and I were both pretty good at watching out for ourselves, but with someone attacking Sorren’s interests, it never hurt to take extra precautions.

  “That’s one reason I suggested she and I meet at noon,” I replied. “It’s a good time for working light magic, but not as good for dark magic.” Everyone thinks of midnight as the witching hour. They forget that noon has also traditionally been believed to be just as friendly for supernatural workings. Both midnight and noon are ‘liminal times’, when the veil between our realm and the next thins and magic becomes easier to work. Most creatures and people who are up to no good don’t like doing their dirty deeds in daylight. Add to that the fact that a number of supernatural creatures are allergic to direct sunlight, and I figured we would be safe.

  “Be careful,” Teag admonished.

  “Don’t worry,” I replied, grabbing my purse. But I knew he would.

  I revved up my little blue Mini Cooper and headed out for Magnolia Cemetery. Magnolia Cemetery is a jewel. It was built on land that had once been a rice plantation, back in the 1850s. Old graves, lots of famous dead people, and beautiful huge live oaks make it a top attraction for visiting historians, tourists, and walkers.

  The cemetery is just outside of town. I wanted to arrive early so that Father Anne could work her blessing exactly at noon. The supernatural can be surprisingly punctual.

  A lot of Charleston’s cemeteries are all located on the same stretch of road, on or near Huguenin Avenue. Magnolia Cemetery is the biggest. The whole street is like a suburb of the dead. On the way out of town, I passed a couple more of the Ghost Bikes, forlornly chained to the fences and posts near where tragedies had occurred.

  Thinking about the Ghost Bikes got me to notice a white cross marker near the corner of Huguenin Avenue and Brigade Street. There’s an overgrown corner that’s thick with brush. Poking out of the high weeds was a homemade cross with a small, sad wreath of faded silk flowers looped over the top. The name on the shrine was too faded to read. Drive along highways in a lot of the South and you’ll see similar memorials, placed by family where a loved one met a tragic end. I’ve always wondered whether the spirits hang around those memorials or whether they move on. Just in case, I always say a blessing for the departed when I pass by.