Southern Bound - A Paranormal-Mystery (Max Porter Mysteries Book 1) (15 page)

In the desk, he found three books. Each looked very old and had been covered in thin, tanned hides. Sandra peeked over his shoulder and said, "You don't want to touch that."

"Why?" Max said as he picked one up. The covering felt smooth yet stuck on the book when rubbed.

"That's human skin."

With a gasp, he dropped it to the desk, the smooth feel of the cover still tingling his fingers like the remnants of an electric jolt. "A little warning next time would be appreciated."

"There's nothing on the bookshelf that fits the bill."

"What about these?" he asked, pointing to the rolltop.

"No. Human skin is used for very sacred texts. This is just a binding spell. From what you and Drummond said, this should be rather ordinary like a notebook or a journal or even a diary. Something easy to overlook."

Max glanced at the skin-covered books. Before his flashlight could play with the books shadows, he moved the beam to the floor. "Maybe she has a hiding space," he said. "A wall safe or a loose floorboard."

"I doubt it. Not if she's as powerful a witch as Drummond says. She has no need to hide a book, especially a minor binding book. If anything, she would have hidden those books you were looking at. No, if that book was here, it would have been in plain sight."

"Look here." Max pointed to a red, hardcover book with black lettering. "
Cruor Teneo.
That's on my office floor. Could this be it?"

"It means 'Blood Hold' and it's not what we want. That's more of an instruction book on various binding curses."

"Damn," Max said and slouched against the wall. "Without that book, I can't do anything for Drummond."

"Keep looking then."

"Why? You've made it clear that she doesn't have it here. It would be in plain sight and it's not. And for that matter, when I visited her the other night, she was trying to encourage me to find it. Why would she do that if she knew where it was?"

"If she has it, she obviously doesn't want you to know."

"Then why not dissuade me from even searching? I don't get it. I don't get a lot of what's going on. And you know what else? That book isn't here. So why should we keep looking?"

"Because what else can you do?"

"Leave here, for starters. If we were to get caught —"

The unmistakable sound of the front door opening echoed through the office. Without a word, Max and Sandra started scouring the room with their flashlights, each looking for a good hiding spot. Snapping his fingers at Sandra, Max indicated a door on the far wall. Light danced across the desk, the chairs, and the books, as they rushed to the door making as little noise as possible. With a gentle touch, Max turned the doorknob. The click it produced screamed in Max's ears.

"Kim?" Dr. Connor's voice called from the lobby. "Are you still here?"

"Go," Max whispered, following Sandra down a corridor that turned to the right. At the far end was an emergency door. The closer to the door, the faster they moved until Sandra pushed hard on the press bar, banging the door open. Max halted.

"What is it?" Sandra asked.

Max gazed up at her — his face pale, his eyes wide. "Stay here," he said and closed the door on her, leaving Sandra stuck in the rain.

As he hurried back up the corridor, he hoped he had not imagined the piece of paper. He had caught sight of it as they left the office. Amongst the books and shadows and odd-shaped statues, he had seen a paper with the Hull letterhead.

When he reached the door, he opened it with slow, careful motions. He peeked in after turning his flashlight off.

Nobody.

Flicking on the flashlight, he scanned the floor. As he moved into the office, the door behind him closed making a clear sound. Max heard approaching footsteps and Dr. Connor calling, "Hello?"

The flashlight's beam jittered across the room as the footsteps grew louder. "Whoever is in my office, you've made a big mistake."

Max edged backward toward the door, but still he searched. Had he just imagined it? The next sound came from right behind the inner door — the witch chanting.

Spinning around, ready to race toward Sandra, Max saw the paper near the wall just to the left of the exit door. He grabbed it and another and dashed down the corridor. The chanting grew louder, and though he could never prove it, Max felt the air behind him pulling away — not a breeze or a wind but as if the air had a rope tied around it and was forced in a direction it did not wish to go.

When he burst outside, Sandra let out a yelp. He grabbed her hand and never stopped running. They went straight into the darkness of the night, never looking back, just pumping their legs until they both grew tired and cold in the rain.

Chapter 16

By the time they returned to their car, drove home, and dried off, the clock read quarter-to-three and Max could not think clearly enough to deal with the papers he had stolen. Making sense of the word
stolen
in relation to himself was another matter entirely. Had he really become a thief?
It's just paper,
he thought. However, he dismissed such a weak response as the ramblings of his tired mind. Then he tried to dismiss all responses — clear his cluttered brain so that he might rest. Besides, unless he wanted to be haunted forever and pursued by Hull for-close-to-ever, this appeared to be his best option at the moment.

Sandra slumped on the couch with one paper in hand while Max looked at the other. With a yawn and a groan, Max leaned to read over Sandra's shoulder yet again.

SINGLE

VOGLER

SHULTZ

MIKSH

WINKLER

HORTON

BLUM

ACRE

SISTERS

"Names," Max said.

"Of who, though?"

"None of them stand out to me, but then, we haven't lived here that long. If the name were Reynolds, Hanes, or Hull, I'd know it, but these don't mean much of anything."

"Those marks can't be good."

Of the nine names, the last five had little dots in red ink. "Probably not," Max said. "Then again, maybe it's good to have the mark and bad not to — it could mean anything."

"It's not usually good to have a mark by your name." Sandra placed the paper into a tan file folder. "We should ask Drummond in the morning."

"You've done enough. I'll deal with Drummond."

"I'm not stopping now. I want to be a part of this."

"Really? I mean this is not a typical day for me. My work is rarely as nerve-wracking as this."

"I thought it was exciting."

"Most of my time is spent looking up things in books. Exciting is hardly the word for that."

With a look both amused and defiant, she said, "Honey, I'm involved now, and I'll see this thing through. We're in it together. Okay?"

"Then you should see this," he said, handing her the second paper.

"A letter?"

"Read it."

The paper was old and the penmanship hard to read. Sandra squinted and read aloud, "'My dearest Eve, I know you find yourself at a most difficult juncture. Two men vie for your heart and to your loving eyes, we must both seem worthy. Indeed, but a short fortnight ago I would have agreed with the sentiment, and though it would have left me heartbroken should you have chosen T—-, no unbecoming scene would I have made. But the time has passed, and should this letter turn your adoring gaze from me forever, I feel it unforgivable should I let you embark upon marriage with T—- naïve to his true nature. He plans to leave, though you probably know as much, and he claims to seek out a greater church. What you do not know, however, is that he leaves not for love of another theology, not out of outrage toward our own failures, not for any noble or worthy cause, but from a demon's bargain. Hull (there, I have named him) has begun an exploration in the darkest of magics. His soul is most likely lost. Please, fairest Eve, I beg of you, do not lose your way to this power seeker. He will sacrifice your soul and laugh at your foolishness.'"

"There's no date," Max said, "but it sounds old. Maybe William Hull's grandfather. Certainly, the Hull family's been dealing with witches and magic for a long time."

"We have to be more careful than we thought," Sandra said, her eyes wide and frightened.

"We will be."

* * * *

At six a.m. the telephone rang — a shrill sound that promised nothing good. Max and Sandra had fallen asleep on the couch, and both moved into consciousness with aches and groans. Max considered letting the answering machine take care of it, but Sandra shook her head. They both knew this would not be some early-morning drunk calling the wrong number. With a huff, Max reached across the couch to pick up the phone.

"Hello?"

The unmistakable voice of Mr. Modesto said, "Good morning, Mr. Porter. I'd like to have an update report."

"Okay," Max said, running his tongue over the film covering his teeth. "What time?"

"I'm not available for a meeting with you at the moment. I'd like the report now."

"Now?"

"Is that a problem?"

"No," Max said, sitting taller and waving off Sandra's worried frown. "That'll be fine."

"Well, then, where are we?"

"Um ... I've done some preliminary research into the Old Salem area as you requested, and —"

"Preliminary? I expected you to have some viable properties lined up by now."

"I will soon," Max said, wondering how fast he could push something like this through when he had yet to do the most basic research. "Please understand that historic areas require a great amount of subtlety and patience; otherwise, you'll end up with people picketing outside your doorstep. There's always somebody who passionately wants to save every last old building that still stands."

"That is not your concern. We will handle such things, if they occur. You only need to come up with the best historical properties for our purchase."

"Historical? The papers you gave me stated you wanted high-valued locations. That's why I was looking near Old Salem. Now you specifically want historical buildings?"

"You know exactly what we want. Stop wasting my time. Do your job, or I'll see that our employer ends your association with us. Am I understood?"

"Yes, sir."

Modesto hung up. With her hand resting upon Max's shoulder, Sandra asked what happened. Max leaned back and let out a long breath. "I don't really know," he said before detailing the phone call. "Let's get cleaned up and go into the office. We need to talk with Drummond about that list. See if he knows who any of them are."

"We?" Sandra asked.

"You said it yourself — you're involved. Besides, I don't think I can do this on my own, and until Drummond is free, I am on my own."

As Sandra headed toward the bathroom, she looked over her shoulder and said, "You silly boy. You're never on your own."

An hour later, they arrived at the office. Taylor wasted time cleaning the already clean desk. Drummond walked behind him, knocking over papers and books, and chuckling as the young man bumbled about in an attempt to pick things up.

"Take the day off," Max said.

"You know I can't do that, sir," Taylor said as the book he placed on the desktop unbalanced itself and flipped to the floor. "Mr. Modesto told me —"

"I'll make your choice simple. If you stay here, I'm going to hit you."

"Sir?"

Max shoved Taylor. Sandra said, "Young man, you'd best get out of here. Mr. Porter's had a rough night."

Taylor took one clear look at Max and left the office at a brisk clip. Max tried not to laugh, but when Drummond burst into snorting hysterics hard enough to bring tears to his eyes had he been alive, Max let loose his own cackles. "That was fun," Drummond said.

"Unfortunately, the phone call I had this morning wasn't so fun," Max said, sobering as he explained the events of the previous night that concluded with Mr. Modesto's phone call.

Drummond took a seat and listened. His intense focus broke only the two times he glanced at Sandra. When Max had finished, Drummond drifted into the air and said, "This is all good news. Very good, as a matter of fact."

"But we didn't find the book."

"True. But we've found out enough so that Hull's people are getting worried. They came here this morning, as well."

Sandra perked up. "Really?"

"Modesto and Connor. She stood before me and spit out some vile words. Somebody ought to talk to her mother about that. I'm serious. If my mother caught me saying any of those nasty things, I wouldn't have been able to sit for over a week."

"Well, that lifts any doubt about Connor working for Hull. What did they do?" Max asked, scanning the office for any obvious signs of tampering.

"First, they threatened to put a new binding spell on me."

Sandra said, "I didn't think you could put one on top of the other. At least, not of the kind done to you before."