Southern Belle (28 page)

Modesto spread his arms as if presenting his vast treasure to a commoner. "This room, Mr. Porter, is going to be the most valuable room in all mankind. Here, we shall return Tucker Hull to the living so that he may continue his important work. And we owe it all to you."

"Pay me back now by releasing my wife and friend."

Chuckling, though he showed no amusement in his face, Modesto said, "Let's begin the evening with proper introductions. This diminutive yet powerful witch is Kalon. Born to a German family with a long history in the dark arts, Kalon will not only bring Tucker Hull back, but she will serve him better than any witch has before. She makes our former witch look like a peasant, don't you think?"

"Dr. Connor looks like a corpse now."

Modesto ignored the comment. To Kalon, he said, "This annoying man is Mr. Maxwell Porter. He is a pest, and I look forward to the day the Hull family allows me to crush him under my sole. Until then, we must put up with his inability to perform his duties properly."

"Hey, don't soft-sell me. I try hard to be a pain in your ass." Max wished he felt half as a brazen as he sounded, but he had to keep pushing. As long as Modesto appeared to be driving this night, he would be looser with his mouth, and Max needed that stuck-up prick to talk as much as possible.

"You often succeed," Modesto said. "Still, despite your innumerable flaws, we do have to thank you for acquiring all the necessary pieces to this complex spell."

The black-draped witch moved like a graceful ballerina as she drew small chalk circles in front of the large ones that contained Drummond and Patricia. Modesto pointed to the first circle. "Here we have the Hull family journal which you stumbled upon for us." Kalon placed the beaten book into the circle.

"Hardly stumbled," Max said, recalling his first case for the Hulls. He had a ghost stick its hand straight into his skull in order to find that book — an agonizing pain he never wanted to experience again.

Kalon placed a small bowl in the second circle. In the bowl, lay a single hair. Modesto said, "This is, of course, one of the last hairs that belonged to Edward Teach, otherwise known as Blackbeard the Pirate. I believe you found this by accident when you were hired to locate a painting by the granddaughter of a dead art forger."

"You're quite good at revisionist history." Max had been hired by the ghost of a man betrayed by the Hull family which led to a cursed art forger, his mad granddaughter, and their twisted plan involving Blackbeard's ghost.

"And last, we have the handbell which you generously provided this evening. All three key elements, all brought to us by you, and all this time you've thought you were working against us, when in fact, we could not be here without you."

Kalon dashed a white, gritty substance into the bowl containing Blackbeard's hair. With a pestle she produced from a black bag, she ground into the bowl, turning the hair and the white grit into a fine powder. As she worked, Modesto's eyes fired up and he said, "It's begun now. Soon the essence of Tucker Hull locked in his journal will be freed, soon he will rise again."

Max looked at Sandra — her body, but where was the rest of her? She had to be inside there. If he could reach her, get her to fight back. Stupid, Max chided himself. Of course she fought back. In fact, Patricia must have had to work three times as hard to keep hold of that body. No way would Sandra take a backseat. Patricia might be barely holding on.

However, Drummond was the one that looked closest to losing control. That dark mist surrounded him like an aura of night. There would be no help from him at the moment. Max was on his own. He only had his original plan, and that sounded awfully weak to his ears.

Still, a weak plan worked better than no plan. Max pushed aside all his concerns for Sandra and Drummond. He had to focus, now. Clear his thoughts because the next few minutes would be a verbal chess game against an agile and sadistic opponent.

"I'm impressed," Max said. "The way you've orchestrated this whole thing shows a high level of skill at the manipulation of powerful people."

Modesto cocked his head, pleased but cautious. "I don't know what you're referring to."

"Of course you do. It takes a good mind to plan several steps ahead, but this ... this takes a special level of creativity and foresight most people can only dream of acquiring. I may not agree with your goals, but I'm always willing to acknowledge the presence of a great thinker."

Though preening and flush with excitement, Modesto said, "Flattery will do nothing to enhance your position. The fact remains that we have already won this battle."

"That's my point. You've been thinking years in advance of where Drummond and Sandra and I traipsed through. The journal, Blackbeard's hair, the handbell — each case, each element, carefully sent our way so that we would take all the risks in finding them for you, that we would have no recourse but to see you take them from us, that we would not even understand their value, even after we had been warned, until it was too late. Until now."

Kalon dug out an eagle's talon from a pocket in her dress. Gnarled and black with pieces of rotten flesh on the end, the talon clinked against the bowl as Kalon dropped it in. Without pause, she began grinding it into the powder she had made.

"This had to be meticulously planned," Max went on. "I can't think of a better person than you to do such a thing. Not only the long term vision, but thinking of this last piece, the way you manipulated us all is amazing."

Modesto could barely contain himself, yet still he said, "I did no such thing."

"Here's what really impressed me: The fact that you murdered Dr. Ernest and staged it to look like the curse. That was brilliant."

"Excuse me?"

"Oh, don't be coy. When we deciphered Dr. Ernest's notes, we found his witch's corpse in an old church. But here's the thing — the corpse was undisturbed. That bothered me but I couldn't figure it out. After all, the whole reason Joshua Leed came to us was that Dr. Ernest had died at the hands of a coven ghost. Except the body was undisturbed. That can only mean that Dr. Ernest had not touched the corpse at all — after all, nobody else knew where it was to begin with. Especially you."

"You have an intriguing hypothesis going, but I doubt you understand the full ramifications."

"I most certainly do. I wouldn't be praising you, if I didn't. Because you have to look at the whole thing in context, don't you? Here you are with the journal and the hair in hand. All you need to finish your spell is something one of these ghost-witches can do for you. But you have a major problem. Back in the '40s, the coven was cursed and their bodies hidden. You had no clue how to find them. But you did know who was responsible. You couldn't go to Drummond. You cursed that poor man. He'd never help you. Joshua Leed's loyalty to Dr. Ernest meant he'd never betray the man. And, in fact, Dr. Ernest was too, well, earnest to be bribed or coerced."

Kalon added what looked like rat pellets to the concoction. Tension seized Max's muscles. How much time did he have left before she would be ready? He had to hurry. But he had to stay calm, too. Act as if he had all the time he could want.

"So what do you do?" Max said, resisting the urge to walk around the room and tap his chin as he laid this out. "You devised a genius plan. You would have the very people responsible for hiding the bodies uncover them for you by killing Dr. Ernest and leaving hints that only someone knowledgeable in witchcraft, covens, and ghosts would notice. The police would treat this as any old murder, but the person with that special knowledge would see something different in the evidence. Of course, that special person was Joshua Leed. When he hired me, the coven was still intact in the original curse that Drummond, Leed, and Dr. Ernest performed. In fact, it wasn't until Leed contacted me and then went off to destroy the witches he had hidden, only then were the corpses actually disturbed. That's why they were able to attack us at the church, why the corpse in the church was untouched, and why you are standing here with Patricia Welling in my wife's body when that witch should be stuck in the walls of the Federal Building downtown. You created a situation on the gamble that it would result in this outcome. Did I miss anything?"

"Well, I hardly think it was gamble," Modesto said. Max fought to hold back a triumphant smile — he had that uptight bastard hooked. Modesto peered over Kalon's shoulder, nodded, and continued. "I've been studying you for years now. I know you better than you know yourself."

"Maybe so, but you couldn't know how Leed would react."

"A simpleton like that? Honestly, he was the easiest to predict. Of course, there were several variables I had to stay atop of, but when you're a thinker, a man who understands tactics and strategy, juggling variables and adjusting outcomes is not terribly strenuous. For example, I could not know with any degree of certainty who the High Priestess would choose to possess. She could have picked a stranger off the street. However, I knew the more I pushed you to find that bell, the more you would resist. That would, in turn, push you deeper into the mess that Dr. Ernest had created. It was my calculated risk that a person as attune to the paranormal as your wife would be an easier target for the High Priestess."

"You set us up even more than I realized. But then you actually needed my help to find that bell."

"I'll admit that was the most challenging part of the endeavor. I had others working on it, but you have proven to be the most successful I've ever hired at finding these items."

"With Sandra possessed, that was all that remained. That's why you gave a final deadline." Max made a show of nodding to Modesto's sage wisdom but a thought suddenly caused an authentic frown.

"Something troubling you?" Modesto asked.

"Dr. Connor. There was no way a ghost killed her — not when she put a ward around her office. I saw firsthand how Drummond struggled to get in there and couldn't. Which means that it was another staged event. So, why did you kill her? It couldn't have been because she told us your plan. She warned me of this back when I dealt with the whole Blackbeard thing. There was no point in killing her now."

"For one, she betrayed me. She showed that she could not be trusted, and just because I didn't dispose of her immediately, hardly meant that I forgave her transgression. For another, there was the matter of the bell."

"That's the real answer. If she got hold of that bell, she gained control of this entire situation, and you did not want her to have that kind of control. That's what you feared."

Modesto bristled. "Fear? Me? Do you have any idea what I have endured to reach this point? Can you comprehend the sacrifices I have made for this?"

"I'm sure you have had —"

"You know nothing." Modesto spit the words hard enough to dislodge a lock of his hair. It spilled over his forehead, yet he never fixed it. "A spell as complex as this one, as important as this one, requires more than mere skillful planning. It rests on the sheer will and courage to see it through. That was where Dr. Connor proved lacking. I killed her like I did Dr. Ernest, and you know what I discovered? They both were surprised I could do such a thing. I saw it on their faces. How could that be? I realize I may appear outwardly like a stuffy butler, but surely Dr. Connor knew the ruthless man I am underneath. You're not surprised. Why were they?"

"They've never been on the receiving end before."

"Perhaps."

"And now you will be, too." Max unbuttoned the top three buttons on his shirt. Unable to hold back a little gloating grin of his own, Max revealed a thin, white wire taped to his chest. "The FBI have been listening all along. You've admitted to two homicides, though I'm pretty sure that all your talk of witches, possession, and magic spells will set you up nicely for an insanity defense. And don't try running. They've got us surrounded."

Modesto's reaction troubled Max more than anything so far. There was no fear. No shock. Not even a hesitation. Just a simple raising of the corner of his lips. "If you're relying on the FBI, you have a problem."

Max's throat tightened. "Oh?"

"Kalon finished the prep work on the spell a while ago. I've merely been waiting for the last crucial ingredient."

"There's another object?"

"The journal is an item closest to the soul we wish to bring back. The hair from Blackbeard is filled with the magic's foundation. When a source of extreme power is applied, Tucker Hull's soul will burst into this room. But if he cannot find a body to occupy, then the whole point is moot. Thus, the bell. We force Patricia out of Sandra's body, and before either woman has the chance to regain control, Tucker Hull enters. But we needed that catalyst, and once again you provided."

"I did?"

"Only one thing is powerful enough to jolt a lost soul back to the living — the rage of another lost soul."

Max's eyes shot to Drummond. The ghost was furious.

Modesto's smarmy, sarcastic tone thickened as he spoke. "And here you thought you had goaded me into revealing everything, when what I needed was time to let Drummond realize how trapped he is, to hear how I slaughtered his friend, to let him understand how you've all been my pawns and how worthless he truly is. Now, he's too far gone. There's no returning him. He is the catalyst, and as I believe I hear the stomping of feet downstairs, I know that I've timed this perfectly. Your FBI friends cannot get up here before we cast the spell because, you see, it's already been cast. All that remains is for Kalon to release it all and bring back Tucker Hull!"