Southern Gothic (18 page)

Even as he heard Sandra’s warnings repeating in his mind, he saw the horned-beast floating before him. Flashes of gold and trains blended with images of Sebastian and magic circles. He felt like he sat in an electric chair at a multiplex playing all its films at once.

The horned-beast lifted a clawed hand and dug into Max’s head. No blood, no sense of tearing skin, but he sure knew the creature peered inside. Max’s right arm flailed backward, smacking the tall candlestick. The black candle banged onto the floor and rolled toward the wall. The horned-beast never paused or even noticed the disruption. It simply continued to dig in Max’s brain.

But it wasn’t ripping up his gray matter. Rather, it seemed to be plugging into Max’s memories. Every time it moved, old memories popped up before Max’s eyes.

He saw his eighth birthday party — a pool party with kids running around at the YMCA, cake in their hands, sugar highs glazing over everyone’s eyes. He saw an afternoon in high school — a bully who had followed him home one day, cornered him behind a church, and pummeled Max in the belly before sauntering off with a mean snicker. He saw his wedding — Sandra radiating love and beauty with every wide smile.

His memories shifted to more recent times — Korner’s Folly, the witch coven, the Hull family, and even the German POW work camps set up in Butner. Then he saw the detective that had changed his life.

“Drummond,” Max whispered. Though he would never admit it, a tear dribbled down the side of his face as he recalled meeting Drummond for the first time and all the difficulties they went through in order to free him from his curse.

The pain disappeared. The horned-beast flew back. Its eyes stared at Max for a moment, and Max swore he saw a hopeful look in that creature’s expression.

It nodded at him, and Max passed out.

Chapter 19

“How dare you,” Sandra said,
her face so tight it looked as if it might fold in on itself. “After all we have been through, after all we have seen and done, you want to go off on your own to do such a stupid, reckless thing — dealing with magic like that.”

“I was trying to protect you from —”

“Stop trying to protect me.”

“I’m your husband and I love you. Of course I’m going to try to protect you.”

“That’s an excuse. You knew I would be against you doing this. I’m sure Drummond would be against you doing this. You weren’t trying to protect me as much as you wanted to avoid having me stop you.”

Max had no more to say. After all, she was right.

When he had awoken, his body had been moved from the secret room back into the study. He had gasped for air as if bursting from the ocean after nearly drowning. It took him ten minutes before he had enough control over his body to phone Sandra for help. To her credit, she didn’t question him. She merely drove over and picked him up. But now that they had been home for an hour, now that they were safe, she wanted answers.

Unfortunately, caught up in her rage of the situation and his defense, neither of them gained any ground in finding answers — until Drummond entered the trailer and said, “I don’t mean to pry but I’ve been floating above listening to all this, and I got to ask you, Max — was it worth it? Did you learn anything?”

“Well, there’s definitely a ghost in that house, and I’m guessing it’s Cal Baxter.” With a deep breath, Max unloaded the whole story. He told of looking up the spell on the Internet, the weird voices he heard in his head, the images he saw, and the way it took him over, luring him into the circle. When he finished, he looked to Sandra and said, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done it.”

Sandra held his hand against her chest, her eyes watering. “You are more important to me than anything. Don’t do this again. I can’t have you leaving me.”

Max leaned over and kissed her. “I promise.” He knew things were far from perfect between them, but this simple exchange eased their tensions for the moment. Most married couples he had known had something similar — a gesture, a phrase, something that said
We still love each other and we’ll be genuinely nice right now, but later, this argument will have to be finished.
Often, when they found the time to finish the fight, one or both of them had figured out a simple, calm solution, and they never had to argue further. Max’s kiss and promise gave them both enough room to turn their attention back on the things threatening them — Hull, Rolson, magic, witches, murder. The usual.

“Okay, okay,” Drummond said. “The important thing here is that Cal Baxter is in that house, and it sounds like he’s been bound.”

Sandra let go of Max’s hand and straightened her posture — all business. “I don’t think so.”

“You don’t think it’s Cal Baxter, or you don’t think he’s bound?”

“Both. First off, we were all in that room, we all saw that circle. That thing did not look like any binding curse I’ve ever seen.”

“No offense, Doll, but there’s more binding curses than probably anybody’s seen.”

“True, but this didn’t share anything with being a binding curse — other than a circle.”

Max said, “Okay. I’ll buy it. But why don’t you think it’s Cal Baxter?”

“Because of the images you saw. If this had been Cal Baxter, why didn’t you see anything that looked like Cal Baxter?”

“I don’t really know what he looks like.”

“I’m pretty sure he doesn’t look like some horned-creature. And if it was Cal Baxter, why wouldn’t he communicate easier with you? We had no problem with Drummond when he was bound, or any other ghosts we’ve seen.”

“So what are you saying?”

Sandra paused, letting the weight of her coming words to press fully on Max and Drummond. “I think it’s a summoned spirit. I think it is a creature that has been pulled into our world unwillingly and is stuck in that circle. When you touched the circle, you connected to it, and it’s been trying to strengthen that connection ever since. I think it was trying, perhaps, to possess you, to take over your body, to somehow get out of the trap it’s in.”

Drummond pursed his lips in thought. “You’re saying this is some kind of summoned spirit, trapped in the Baxter House, and you’re getting all this because Max saw an image of a horned-beast?”

“Admittedly, it’s a lot of speculation, but whatever is in that house, I’m sure it is not the bound ghost of Cal Baxter.”

Max’s face paled. “Is it a demon?”

Sandra shrugged. “I don’t know if there’s a Heaven or Hell, Angels or Demons, or any of that. I only know that these images are from something that doesn’t want to be where it is, and it’s trying desperately to communicate. Perhaps with good intentions, perhaps not.”

“What do we do about it then?”

Drummond’s face brightened as he clapped his hands, but Sandra spoke first. “I’m not sure. I think we should be cautious about going back to Baxter House until we know how that connects with everything else. Now, I looked into this NGFS — turns out it’s a school called New Garden Friends School. A ‘Friends’ school, or ‘Friends’-anything for that matter, belongs to the Quakers. They’re the ones who founded Greensboro.”

Max winked. “You’re starting to sound like me.”

“Just because I’m not yelling at you doesn’t mean I’m not still ticked off. Save the cutesy stuff for another time.”

Crossing his hands in front of his chest as if to deflect an attack, Max tried to charm Sandra with his smile. When she merely stared at him with one eyebrow raised, he nodded his defeat and gestured for her to continue.

She held her look for a bit longer. “NGFS Upper is a private high school and a middle school. The Lower school — K thru sixth — is near Guilford College, but the Upper school is in that field. They built a gymnasium a few years back. Before that, it was a different private school — might have been a special needs school, that wasn’t exactly clear, and I couldn’t get much more information — and before all that, it was a field.”

“The photographs are of a field. Maybe it was an old farm at some point.”

“Probably. Regardless, it doesn’t seem to connect much to anything.”

Drummond clapped his hands louder this time. “If you let me talk, I might have something to share. You know, something important.”

Max said, “Hold on. Sandra, did you finish?”

She feigned a hurt look at Drummond. “I suppose so.”

Max spread his hands in an expansive movement. “The floor is yours, sir.”

Drummond rolled his eyes. “Well, while you were nearly getting yourself killed and the missus was finding empty fields with schools on them, I went ahead and found the witch. You’re not going to believe this one — she’s on our side.”

“You’re right, I don’t believe it.”

“No, really. She’s a captive. Hull has her trapped there. She’s a prisoner. When you saw her at the fights and she reached out for you, she wasn’t giving you up. She was crying out for help. That symbol on her hand — she belongs to a group called the Magi group. They’re an old organization, secret kind of thing, and get this — they are fighting the Hulls.”

Sandra stood. “Are you serious?”

“Sweets, I would never joke about something like this. I’m telling you, this Magi group has been around for over a hundred years. According to the witch, back in the early days of North Carolina, back when Tucker Hull broke away from the Moravians and started delving into magic, a group of people formed to fight back. Over the centuries they ended up with many allies. She claims one of them was O. Henry. I don’t know if I believe that part, but they certainly named themselves after his story.”

Sandra’s face tightened again. “Where the hell have they been the last few years? We could’ve used some help. Now, they want to show up and screw with our lives like everybody else.”

Wagging his finger, Drummond said, “I knew you’d feel that way, so I made sure to ask her. She told me that shortly before you two moved down here, William Hull had struck them a serious blow. It’s taken them this long to recover. The way she looked when she spoke, I got the sense that this blow was more than financial — they lost the lives of people important to them. Anyway, the point in all this is that we’ve now got the best lead we have to anything. We got magic, we got Hull, and we got Rolson all wrapped up with this witch.”

“Rolson?” Max said. “Is he still with the witch?”

“He’s her guard and he’s moved her to the O. Henry Hotel in Greensboro.”

Max looked to Sandra. They both looked to Drummond. Max shook his head. “That can’t be good.”

Chapter 20

Sandra weaved through
the highway traffic as she soared down Route 40 heading towards Greensboro. The old car shimmied as she pushed seventy-five miles-per-hour. Max reclined in the passenger seat, his head still swirling from his recent experience with the spirit world. Thankfully, Sandra had the sense to send Drummond ahead to watch the witch and perform a little recon. For Max, it meant less talking, less wisecracks. From the glove compartment, Max pulled out a bottle of acetaminophen and took two of the white pills.

Sandra looked over. “You still feeling really bad?”

“I ain’t feeling good, but I’ll survive.”

The way she set her jaw as she continued to drive around traffic told Max everything — he had not only been wrong; he had hurt her. It bothered him that he kept hurting her in his efforts to treat her well or to protect her. Perhaps she was right. Perhaps unilaterally trying to protect people only leads to their pain.

Max raised his seat and placed his hand on the back of Sandra’s neck, stroking her hair and skin at the same time. “I am so sorry. I never meant to harm you.”

“I know you were trying to solve the case in a way you thought was right, but that doesn’t make it so. You have to realize there are more important things than solving a case or fighting the Hulls or any of this stuff. There’s you and me.”

“I do understand that.”

“Really? Because your behavior often makes me think otherwise.”

“Do you remember our third date?”

Sandra’s face relaxed. “Of course I remember our third date. It was the first time we ever had sex.”

“Yes, but do you remember the date itself? I had planned out what I hoped would be a great evening for us, and though it did turn out to be a great evening, the plan never was. I expected to pick you up at six o’clock and take you to that awesome dive in Lansing — Carl’s Corner. We would sit down and eat until the live band started up. Then I’d take you dancing. Afterwards, I figured we would drive around for a little until I got up the courage to invite you back to my place. Not a complicated date, but one that required a little bit of planning.”

Sandra warmed at the memory. “I can hear you calling me on the phone, telling me that you were going to take me out to dinner and dancing. I was really excited.”

“Well, it didn’t quite turn out that way, did it? I picked you up at seven because I had a flat on the way to your house, then got stuck in a traffic jam. When we got to Carl’s Corner, they were locked up and closed — health inspectors had shut the place down.”

“You looked so ridiculous and cute standing by the door, reading the health notice and shaking your head. I think you figured the whole evening had been screwed over.”