Southern Belle (23 page)

"He's probably staking out the office."

"So we go to my house, take a close look at this book, and see if we can't save Sandra, stop this coven, and prevent Tucker Hull from being resurrected."

"Sounds like a lovely evening."

Chapter 22

As they zipped along the highway, the night's lights danced along Max's face. His stern expression cut through the reds, yellows, and whites leaving only the dark. They had been in dire situations before, but this time, he had no idea if he could ever get his wife back. It wasn't a calculated risk. What he had in mind would be a step into a world he wanted less and less to do with.

Stay strong. Stay focused. Only one thing matters — get Sandra back.

When Max neared his house, Drummond leaned forward, squinting as he looked out the windshield. "Keep driving," he said. "Don't slow down."

"What's wrong?"

"Do it."

Max drove by the house and turned at the end of the street. Drummond waved him onward while watching the road behind them.

"Get back on the highway."

"What's going on? Did you see Modesto?"

Drummond settled back. "Worse. The FBI."

Slapping the steering wheel, Max said, "Damn. Now what?"

"You got a lot of people interested in you. I'd say even if you wanted to, the office is definitely out, now. We could go back to Connor's place."

"And get picked up for her murder?"

"Well, there's that, of course."

Max glanced up at the oversized green signs passing by on the highway. One read — LEXINGTON. "I think I know where to go."

"I'm listening."

"You know what's near Lexington? Thomasville."

Drummond shook his head. "Leed's house? The cops'll have that place taped off."

"That hasn't stopped us before. I doubt anybody's going to be out there tonight. Why would they? It's not a pressing murder for the local cops, and the FBI are involved, so the locals may not even have authority to be out there. We know the FBI are out at my house."

"They might be at both locations."

"You really think the FBI is going to put that much manpower onto this little case?"

"I suppose not."

"Something else bothering you then?"

Drummond shifted uncomfortably. "Leed died there ... in a bad way."

"You afraid his ghost might be hanging around?"

"I'm not afraid of him. But I don't necessarily want to see him either. Especially if he's not quite himself."

"You think he turned?"

"From what you said, he had a pretty violent death. I'd think that might push a guy toward the evil side a lot quicker. Don't you?"

"Well, we don't have many options, and I'm not wasting the night searching for a place to sit down while we work this out. Sandra needs us. It's that simple. If Leed is there, you'll either make friends or you'll suck it up and deal."

Drummond tugged at his bottom lip. "I figured you might say that."

* * * *

The saying goes
Third times the charm,
but Max felt nothing charming about seeing Leed's house again. Cast in the dim moonlight, the old place had died along with Leed. The porch which had seemed quaint, now looked disheveled. The charisma of the warped wood floors and peeling white paint had turned ugly and dilapidated. Instead of the charming old farmhouse on the hill, Leed's place had taken on the air of a haunted house that children hurried by, afraid they might stir something in the shadows. Worst of all, Max thought they might be right.

Drummond floated into the living room, his eyes roving every corner, every hiding place, every darkened nook. "Looks okay."

Max let the witch's book fall to the floor, leaned his back against the wall, and slid down with an exhausted exhalation. He stared at the furniture but couldn't bring himself to sit on anything in the house. Drummond may not have found anything, but somewhere in the house, Leed's ghost had to be hanging around. He had seen that horrible death. No way did Leed peacefully move on to wherever the moving on go.

While rolling his neck and stretching his arms, Max said, "Let's look at the book and figure this all out. I don't want to spend any more time here than I have to."

Drummond's focus turned toward the kitchen — the place Leed had died. "I think something's in there."

"Help me with the book."

"It's like a miniature ghost that's not all there. Like a little bit of ghost but nothing more. I've never seen that before."

"Ignore it."

Drummond entered the kitchen while Max leafed through the spell book. "It can't be bigger than my hand, and — oh. It's Leed. At least, I think it is. But he's not fully formed. Or ..."

"Do I want to hear the rest of that sentence?"

"Probably not. I think Patricia, when she killed Leed, I think she cut apart his soul. There isn't enough left to make a ghost."

"All the more reason to help me out here. Last thing you want is your old girlfriend to shred your soul to pieces."

But Drummond stayed in the kitchen. Max could hear him cooing to Leed like a little girl taking in an injured bunny. If the whole thing weren't so disturbing, Max would have marveled at this unexpected side of Drummond. But things were disturbing. And they wouldn't get any better on their own.

Max turned page after page, the dried pages crinkling as they moved. A rich, pleasant smell rose from the book, but when he remembered what made the book's cover, he shuddered at what might produce that aroma. From then on, he turned the pages by pinching them with the tips of his forefinger and thumb. He knew he looked prissy and foolish, but nobody was looking — and even Hull couldn't pay him enough to dig his hands into a book made of human beings.

"Poor little Leed," Drummond said from the kitchen. "You're really lost. Don't worry. It's confusing, I know. But I won't abandon you."

The next page Max turned brought him to a section marked
Location Spells
. Though the text had been handwritten, Max's experience deciphering the scripts of people writing from centuries ago made reading this relatively easy.

All Location spells are easy to cast, entry level magiks which can be used, as the name would imply, to acquire the location of an object, emotion, or soul. Because of its simplicity, any Location magik can divine if the caster has any basic skill or inner-power. One who fails at this task will never rise amongst those of our Order.

"We've got something big here," Max called out.

Drummond came back in, his face blank. "Hm? What did you find?"

Max glanced quizzically at the kitchen but decided to let it go. There would be time to ask about Leed later — if they survived. "Well, first, this book isn't a generic spellbook. It's a coven's Grimoire. It's got references to an order and a hierarchy."

"You think it's Patricia's coven?"

"How many covens do you think there are around here? Wait. Don't answer that."

"You're probably right. Why else would Connor point us to this book?"

A disturbing thought struck Max. "Does this mean Connor is part of Patricia's old coven? That it might still be active?"

"Connor and her mother were never the kind of witches to join up with anyone. They worked for hire, and they enjoyed being amongst the most powerful in the area. Covens are formed by witches seeking companions, friendship, access to knowledge, and most of all, they want to strengthen their power through numbers."

"Like a gang."

"And what need does Connor have for joining a gang? My hunch is that she got hold of this Grimoire through one piece of nasty business or another, and the witch ghosts didn't like it too much. That's why they ripped her apart. That's also why she wanted us to take the book."

"So the coven will come after us?"

"They're already after us. But I didn't see any other ghosts at Connor's office. And they obviously didn't find the Grimoire or didn't have time to look or something, because we've got it. Maybe Connor planned to cast some of the spells in it against them. She did want that blood, after all."

"Well, that's the second thing. There's a few location spells in here. I'm thinking we could use one to find the handbell."

Drummond's face dropped. "There's a spell in that book to find the handbell?"

"I think so."

"Then why the hell didn't anybody use it?"

Max read over the spell — its ingredients and procedure. "Maybe it's more dangerous than it looks. Maybe Modesto didn't want Connor knowing what he was up to."

"She already knew. She's been warning you about it for awhile now."

"I don't have an answer. And, frankly, I don't care. Not while my wife is in trouble."

Drummond said nothing more. He simply glanced at the list of ingredients and began searching through the house. Max followed suit, checking out each room of the house carefully. They needed four blue candles, a goblet filled with water, and lotus incense.

As they rummaged through the house, Max noticed that Drummond repeatedly patted his left coat pocket and murmured softly to it. Max had a suspicion about that, especially since all mention of the unformed ghost of Leed had disappeared, but things were creepy enough without adding a new dimension to his understanding of the ghost world. If they made it through all this, if Sandra made it through, he would ask. Sandra knew so much more about it all, and she could explain it in a way that wouldn't disturb him, that might actually make the whole thing logical and benign.

In the dining room, Max located a silver goblet with Roman lettering around the lip. Drummond indicated where several packs of incense had been stashed in the bedroom. And finally, in Leed's office, where Drummond could not enter, Max found two plastic tubs filled with candles — red, black, green, white, and a blue nub.

Max picked up a red candle. "Will any one of these do?"

"Spells are very specific. I don't know why the color matters, but it does. Probably has something to do with whatever's inside them to give them the color."

He glanced at the candle, thought for a second about the deep red color, the blood red color. He shot open his hand, letting the candle bang on the floor. "No candles we can use." Wiping his palm against his shirt, Max stepped out of Leed's office. "We've got to find something. There's no way I'm waiting until morning to pick up blue candles at a store. Who knows what your girlfriend will have done with my wife by then."

"She's not my girlfriend. She's not my anything." Drummond cocked his head toward his coat pocket. "Not a bad idea," he whispered.

"What idea?"

Trying to look casual, Drummond said, "We know one place that's filled with the ingredients a witch would need for spells."

"Really?" Max shook his head as he gathered his things. "I hate that place."

But he knew Drummond was right. Despite the late hour, despite the weariness in his muscles and bones, Max trudged back to his car and headed back towards Winston-Salem, towards Dr. Connor's office. The drive would take an hour — a long time to be stuck worrying for Sandra with nothing active to do — but at least Drummond remained quiet throughout the trip. Any talk with that ghost would have led to the thing in his coat pocket, and Max wanted nothing to do with that at the moment. Not that he feared the little thing might be Leed. More that Max feared it might not be — that Drummond's mounting emotions in this case were pushing him towards insanity and turning him into an evil specter.

At length, they turned onto Westgate Center Drive, passed by Home Depot, and drove into the section of doctor's offices, local accounting firms, and small legal practices. Max had traveled this route more times than he had ever wanted. The quiet darkness of a late night visit to the witch had become too familiar. Except this time, the darkness filled up with flashing lights of red and blue.

Three police cars blocked off the parking lot while detectives walked in and out of Connor's office. A WXII News van sat as close to the action as the police would allow, while a reporter taped her story in front of the bright lights provided by the cameraman.

Before Drummond could say anything, Max said, "I know, I know. Keep driving."

They passed by in time to see a covered body wheeled out the front door. Up ahead, Max turned the car back toward Hanes Mall, figuring they could park on the far side away from this action and plan their next step.

Drummond had a different idea. "Go to Matt Ernest's house."

"What?"

"He's got all sorts of magic-related items there. You know it. There's a good chance he'll have the candles. They're fairly common amongst those who dabble in magic. Considering all the candles Leed had, Ernest would probably have more. And besides —"

"Enough. This isn't a court trial. You don't have to lay out all the evidence. If you think we can get the candles there, then that's what we'll do. But if I get caught and sent to jail, you're doing time with me. I don't know how, but I'll make sure you're there."