Southern Haunts (10 page)

“I know. Don’t worry.”

“And above all else, don’t you dare promise her anything. You understand? Don’t make any promises.”

“All I want is for her to check out this bottle. That’s it. I’m not going to let our conversation go down any other avenue. And if she won’t help me out, then so be it. I’ll thank her for her time, get back on the road, and come home. It’ll —”

Drummond snapped out a finger and pointed at Max’s face. “Don’t you dare say it’ll be easy.”

“I wasn’t going to.”

Of course, Max had lied.

Chapter 12

Standing in the shadow
of the brick and granite O. Henry Hotel, Max tried to shuck off the sense of dread driving down his shoulders. Hard to do when the last time he had stepped foot in this place, he nearly lost his life.

“You sure there isn’t another witch?” Max muttered to the parking lot. When no answer came, he trudged up to the lobby.

The place had not changed. The dark wood walls, high ceilings, and overwhelming smell of a fireplace gave the hotel a dignified and stuffy aura as if at any moment, British gentlemen from the 19th century would enter smoking cigars and swirling cognac. The brass elevators on his right and the classy reception desk on his left broke the illusion but not by much.

A short walk ahead, the wide lobby opened into a large sitting room. Thick, heavy furniture created a miniature labyrinth and classical music swept around the area, floating up to the ceiling two stories above. And, of course, the most important part of the hotel rested near that ceiling — O. Henry’s famous short story,
The Gift of the Magi
, had been painstakingly painted in one long spiraling path covering all four walls. It looked like an artistic homage of the hotel to its namesake, but Max knew better. Those words acted as runes to a spell that formed a protective barrier around the building. Not protecting Max, of course, but rather the witch he intended to see.

Since nobody bothered to greet him, Max approached the reception desk. A man and a woman worked at the desk. The woman busied herself with her computer while the man picked up a phone and spoke in a low tone. Neither smiled at him or welcomed him or even offered to help him. The suspicious way they eyed him suggested all he needed to know.

Instead of talking with them, Max turned toward the lounge area and plunked down on an overstuffed couch. And he waited. His eyes felt heavy. He had been up for over twenty-four hours, and the idea of a quick rest pushed him deeper into the couch.

He knew they watched him. Even with his eyes closed, he could feel it. But even if that detective’s sense for danger hadn’t been improving, simple logic told him that the Magi group would never allow their leader and witch to be anywhere that wasn’t under surveillance. Only a short time later, he heard footsteps approaching. He forced his eyes open and saw two broad-chested men wearing ill-fitting suits.

With a low groan, Max got to his feet. “If you two aren’t the muscle around here, I’ll have to go buy a hat just so I can eat it.”

One of the men had a pencil-thin goatee. His square head blocked out his partner. “Is there something we can help you with?”

“I’m here to see Mother Hope.”

“Concerning what?”

“That’s for Mother Hope.”

Square-head grinned as if Max’s stubbornness would make his day. “Nobody gets to see her without declaring their intentions.”

“My intentions? Gentlemen, I’m not interesting in marrying the woman. I simply have a question for her. I’m sure if you let her know that Max Porter is here, she’ll see me.”

To his partner, Square-head said, “Everybody thinks they’re special.” The partner snickered.

“I’m not saying I’m special. It’s simply that Mother Hope and I have had some past dealings. She knows who I am and will, at least, hear me out.”

Square-head’s voice turned grim. “About what?”

“About none of your damn business. Now, I understand you’ve got a job to do, but you need to understand that your boss deals with sensitive information and I’m not about to tell just anyone —”

Square-head grabbed Max’s hand and twisted it in such a way that Max spun around. His wrist burned and his elbow locked. Square-head’s partner chuckled as Square-head continued to speak in a calm but menacing tone. “We understand our jobs perfectly. You want to see her? Then come with us.”

With a push of the arm, Max had no choice but to stumble forward. Trying to stand his ground would only result in breaking his arm. “I’m moving. Let me go and I’ll keep moving.”

Square-head maintained his control of Max’s arm. He turned Max down a hall and into a private elevator. If anybody witnessed this assault, they chose not to offer help. At least, Square-head released Max’s arm once the elevator started to descend.

To avoid making eye contact with either thug, Max watched the display above the door. When the elevator eased to a stop, the display read B4. On the floor selection panel, there were buttons for the Lobby (L) and the floor below (B1), but none other after that. No B2 or B3, and certainly no B4.

The elevator doors slid open, revealing a dismal hall with a wood-slat door on each side — one close to the elevator, the second about halfway down the corridor — and one metal door at the end. They stopped at the second wood-slat door. Square-head shoved Max inside.

Max had expected the sparse room to have a two-way mirror much like a police interrogation room, and the Magi group did not disappoint. However, he did not expect the absence of a table and chairs. Most certainly, he had no inkling that the wall opposite the mirror would bear two thick, metal rings — the kind used for prisoners in medieval dungeons.

“Perhaps we’ve got off on the wrong foot,” Max said.

As he broke for the door, his gut met with Square-head’s solid fist. The air rushed out of Max’s lungs as his stomach slammed up against its neighboring organs. With his legs weakening, Max groped for the wall to keep from falling over. Square-head’s friend, the one who kept chuckling, rushed in and smashed his shoulder against Max’s.

“Don’t break his bones,” Square-head said.

Chuckles hocked up in his mouth and spit on the floor. “You gotta let me do more than that. C’mon. I been waiting for this.”

“Tie him up for now.”

Chuckles knotted one meaty hand in Max’s shirt and thrust him against the wall. “I’d love for me a reason to pound your skull, so give me a hard time. Please.”

Max opted to put his energy into standing. As his legs regained their strength — at least, a modicum of strength — he noticed Square-head locking the door. Chuckles continued to earn his name as he used coarse rope to tie Max’s wrists to the iron rings in the wall.

“What’s that?” Square-head stepped across the room to where Max had fallen. From the floor, he lifted the blue bottle. He pressed the bottle against Max’s cheek. “What’s with this? You got poison in here or something?”

“Poison? There’s no top on the bottle.” Max knew Chuckles would punch him for being snide, but he couldn’t stop himself.

“Answer my partner,” Chuckles said and did as expected.

Max clamped down his jaw, hoping to avoid throwing up. Not only would that signal weakness to his captors, but he feared what they might do should he accidentally hit them with his vomit.

Square-head pushed the bottle harder into Max’s face. “Not poison. Perhaps a spell, then?”

Seeing Chuckles ready to punch again, Max’s body dropped in defeat. No point in going on when these two would clearly keep beating him for nothing. “Rein in your dog.”

“He talking about me?” Chuckles said.

“Easy. I think he’s ready. That right? You going to tell me what this bottle is about?”

“I don’t know. Really. I came here to show that bottle to Mother Hope. I think there’s a spell around it or connected to it or something, and I want her help to discover what’s so special about it. That’s it. That’s why I’m here.”

Square-head hesitated. Max could see the dismay on the man’s face. He may have been counting on a more serious threat to Mother Hope. Perhaps saving her life from a sneaky assassin would have garnered him great praise or a promotion. But Max’s words must have sounded true — not only because they were true but because Max’s emphatic tones suggested the real panic that threatened to set in. Max was scared and Square-head knew it.

To Chuckles, he said, “Come on. Let’s check this out.”

Square-head left with the bottle in hand. Chuckles glanced back. “Stay here,” he said, snickering as he walked out.

Max didn’t bother straining against his bonds. He already knew they were tight. Instead, he flexed his fingers, hoping to keep some circulation going through.

When the door opened, he braced for another beating. Leon entered and closed the door with a soft touch. The dim lighting of the room made it hard to see all of Leon’s features, but Max could see enough — pity mixed with worry. Neither emotion appeared to be on Max’s behalf.

Standing with his back to the mirror, Leon said, “I told you not to come here, that you would only cause trouble.”

“I thought you people looked into me. Don’t you know I’m always causing trouble?”

“There’s nothing for you to gain here. When they come back, apologize and get the hell out of here.”

Max clicked his tongue. “I think I’ll stay.”

“They might hurt you more.”

“Been my experience that when the beatings start, I’m usually on the right track.”

“
Usually
is the operative word. This time, you’re wrong.”

Something in Max’s side dug hard. He hoped they hadn’t broken one of his ribs. “Look, I’m not trying to screw you over. If I had an alternative, I wouldn’t have come here. Untie me, and I’m sure we can work this out.”

“You think I’m here to help you? I was helping you when I told you not to come.”

“Bullshit,” Max said — if Leon wouldn’t help him, at least the guy would be stuck with a guilty conscience. “You said that for yourself. You pawned this case off on me, cut out the only witch who I’d dare to ask for help, and now you don’t want to be held responsible.”

Leon stormed to the door and stopped with his hand on the knob. “I’m going to tell you what to do. You listen and do what I say, and you’ll get out of here alive — bruised but breathing, and definitely not cursed. You ignore me, and I won’t be responsible. Not for any of it.”

“Whatever makes you sleep at night.”

Leon glowered at Max. He gripped the knob tighter as if strangling Max instead of a piece of metal. “Mother Hope will agree to see you. When she does, you ask her only what you really came here for. Don’t let the conversation wander off. She’ll try. You keep things focused. Get your answer and get out as fast as possible. Whatever you do, do not promise her anything.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s enough. Do what I said and you’ll be fine.”

“Piece of advice in return — you shouldn’t be involved with people you’re this scared of.”

“Mother Hope does good work. We’re fighting the Hulls and that’s worth a bit of fear on my part. Besides, I know how to handle myself with her. My being scared — that’s for you.”

Leon left. Alone and feeling the bite of rope against his wrists, Max swore the room darkened and grew colder. His brave face peeled away. A tremble worked its way up from his legs.

He waited.

For how long, he had no idea. Could have been fifteen minutes. Could have been an hour or two. He only knew that, despite his efforts, his hands had gone numb, and his back ached from being stuck in the same position. Only that pain kept him awake.

When the door finally opened again, Chuckles entered with a hunting knife — any bigger and the thing would have been a machete. The lug moved in, licking his lips as he waved the knife under Max’s throat.

Max had hoped to keep a stoic face — give nothing to this brute. But the way Chuckles laughed told Max he had failed. Then he felt his jaw quivering.

“Don’t wet yourself,” Chuckles said. “I ain’t gonna kill you. I’d like to, but Mother Hope wants to see you.” With the knife, he cut the ropes binding Max’s hands. “You do anything stupid, and maybe afterwards I’ll get a chance.”

With a rough hand, Chuckles gripped Max by the upper arm and pushed him out of the room. Square-head waited in the hall.

Max knew to keep quiet, but his mouth opened anyway. “Told you she’d want to see me.”

Square-head ignored Max’s cocky look and gestured toward the elevators. Chuckles, however, smacked the back of Max’s head. “Shut up and walk.”

Max obeyed.

The elevator rode all the way to the top floor. Only the fifth floor, but the penthouse suite nonetheless. The entire trip up, Chuckles squeezed tighter. Max knew he’d have finger-shaped bruises on his arm for the next week. Hopefully, it wouldn’t get any worse.

Growing up, Max had learned not to make too many assumptions about people. His time with Drummond had taught him that often a detective had to make assumptions. As they entered the suite, Max drew some pretty quick assumptions that he had to gamble would be correct.