Vendetta (Deadly Curiosities Book 2) (23 page)

“I need to run my errands,” Mrs. Butler replied. “If I don’t get groceries, there won’t be dinner tonight.” I wondered which decade of her life her memory had skipped tracks to land on. It made me think of all the time travel movies I’d watched, where people hop from one era to another in the blink of an eye. On TV, it looks exciting and adventurous. Here at the Meadows, there was a glitch in the switch, so that you never knew where your personal time-addling machine was taking you, how long you’d stay, or where you’d go next. And for most of the residents, that time machine went mostly to the past, with brief, sporadic stops in the here and now.

I’d learned after my first couple of visits that it was better to just disappear than to say good-bye, so Baxter and I sidled to the door by the nurses’ station and motioned for Judy to buzz us through. Memory Support units have alarmed doors and restricted access so residents don’t go wandering. But now, knowing that Mr. Thompson – and possibly other residents – had magic that might put them at risk, I felt better knowing they had another layer of security protecting them.

Something made me glance back as Baxter and I started toward the car. Mr. Thompson sat framed in one of the big glass windows. He was watching us, and his gaze was lucid and sharp. Across his lap was a wooden cane. Mr. Thompson saw me, and nodded. A shiver went down my spine. I knew what my magic could do with a spoon and a walking stick. I wondered whether anyone at Palmetto Meadows realized that Mr. Thompson could likely do a lot more than walk with that cane of his. I just hoped that, if I ever found out exactly what he could do, we were on the same side.

I took Baxter home and gave him a treat, then headed back to the shop. The afternoon was busy with a busload of tourists from Canada. Even though we were into what passes for cooler Fall weather, every person who came in remarked on how warm it was. The tour seemed to have a lot of retired schoolteachers, and they loved our estate jewelry.

“Nine rings, seven pairs of earrings, four bracelets, two old watches, and a necklace!” I tallied up triumphantly when we finally closed for the day. “I think that’s the best jewelry day we’ve had in a long time.”

“That should pay the rent,” Teag said with a grin. He knew as well as I did that my family had owned the building for centuries, and that because of our work for the Alliance, Sorren would underwrite the shop, even if it didn’t pay its own way. Since we spent so much of our time being ‘supernatural vigilantes’, Sorren paid us very well for the risks we took. But I was happiest when Trifles and Folly actually turned a profit, because aside from all our ghost-busting and demon ass-kicking, I really did love all the marvelous old treasures that came into the store – at least, the ones that didn’t try to kill us.

“Well, you can add one more ring and a bracelet to the tally,” Maggie said, pulling out her wallet. “One of the reasons I was keen on coming in today – aside from seeing the two of you and getting back to my job, of course – was that I wanted to buy that onyx ring and matching necklace that came in last week.”

I knew just the set she was talking about, an art deco onyx and silver combination that looked just as stylish now as it would have done years ago. Since Maggie had commented before on liking it, I had made sure to handle it, assuring myself there were no hidden surprises. The onyx and silver had protective qualities and whoever had owned the pieces before must have been pretty happy, because the impressions I received were positive and energetic.

Teag rang Maggie up. With her employee discount, she got a good deal, and it was worth it to see the smile on her face as she tried the pieces on. “I feel so pretty in these I could just twirl!” Maggie declared, then sighed as she glanced down at her crutches. “But not today,” she added ruefully.

“Save the twirling for when you’re all patched up,” I said.

Maggie gathered her things, then preened at her reflection in the window for a moment as she left the store. I flipped the sign to closed and let out a long breath.

“Wow. What a week.”

“No kidding,” Teag said. “Oh, and there was one other transaction today while you were out, but I didn’t want to bring it up while Maggie was here.”

“Sell something?”

“No, but we bought something,” he said walking over to the counter. “A sweet pair of dueling pistols.”

“Please tell me that the owner wasn’t suddenly having bad dreams.”

“Not that he mentioned,” Teag answered. He pulled out a box from below the counter and opened the top. Inside was a pair of expertly-crafted pistols that would have been beautiful if it weren’t for the fact they were made to kill. Charleston had a big problem with dueling back in the 1800s, and a lot of young men died. These pistols looked like they had seen plenty of use.

“What made him sell the pistols?” I asked.

“Said he needed the money because his son’s going to college.”

I frowned. “How did you set a price? Normally, we’d have the gun appraiser take a look at them.”

Teag shrugged. “He told me what he wanted for them, and at that amount, we’d make a profit even if they turn out to be reproductions.”

I’m always in favor of an honest bargain, but something about the man’s story didn’t add up. If the buyer were anybody but Teag, I’d be concerned that the pistols might have been stolen, but Teag was good at running a check for something like that. Then I let my right hand hover over the box, and drew back right away.

“They’re Spookies, all right,” I said, using our term for an item that was magically dangerous. Even that brief contact gave me a single, searing image of a man in a long dark coat fighting for his life, flares of sickly green light that could only have been magic, and an awful sense of finality that told me the original owner of the guns had not survived the battle.

“Let’s put them back in the office,” I said, rattled a little from what I had seen. “Were you able to get any provenance on the pistols?” I asked, as Teag closed up the box and carried it to the back.

“A little,” he replied. “He said they belonged to a man named Josiah Winfield, back in the 1850s. I got the feeling from what he said that Winfield was kinda like a private investigator, hired to look into problems. Anyhow, the seller claimed that a lot of tall tales got told about Winfield, like stories about him fighting off warlocks and vampires.” Teag raised an eyebrow.

“That’s why you bought them,” I said. “Winfield was probably working for the Alliance. Want to bet he knew my ancestors?”

“I figured Sorren would know something about Winfield, probably even worked with him if Winfield was legitimate.”

“I’m still wondering about the timing,” I said. “It seems like too much of a coincidence for the pistols to suddenly show up now.” I texted Sorren a quick message about the pistols and Winfield, curious to see what he would say.

“I thought the same thing, but the old guy who brought them in never let on if something had spooked him into selling,” Teag said. Most people who sell magically-charged objects to us don’t say what makes them so anxious to strike a deal. Maybe they’re afraid that being haunted will hurt the price. We generally pay well enough for ‘unusual’ items that the owners make the sale on the spot. I’ve heard it’s whispered that Trifles and Folly is the best place to get rid of ‘problem’ pieces. Good for business, and good for the Alliance.

Just then my phone let me know I’d gotten a text message. “It’s from Sorren,” I said. That was odd. It was a few hours before sunset, and Sorren was usually sleeping. He’s old enough to be able to stay awake during daylight – so long as he’s in a completely dark place – but doing so drains him, so I’ve heard him say that he avoids it unless absolutely necessary. The fact that he was up now told me he was really worried about everything that was going on.

“And?” Teag asked, watching as I read the message.

“He asked if we could bring the pistols out to his house. He’ll look at them later tonight.” I paused. “Uh oh. He said to be very careful. ‘Make sure you’re protected.’” I looked up and met Teag’s gaze.

“He sounds worried.”

“Yeah. So am I. I think all of the things that are going on are related, I’m just not sure how. But if someone is out to get Sorren, we’re bound to be in the crosshairs, too.”

I
HAD ONLY
been out to Sorren’s house a few times. It was out in the country, not terribly far from Charleston, but far enough to feel separate from the bustle of the city. The house was just a bit newer than antebellum, small by former plantation standards. The barns held thoroughbred horses, not farm equipment, and the home itself was tastefully decorated. Sorren had told me that the house was one of several he kept around the world, managed through third parties to hide his longevity, and staffed by a handful of loyal and discreet long-time servants.

“Any word from Sorren on the trouble with the other locations?” Teag asked as we headed up the long driveway.

I shook my head. “No, but he may have more to tell us when we see him. Whoever’s been targeting Sorren’s connections isn’t likely to let up until he gets what he wants.” Sorren was fairly closed-mouth about the extent of the Alliance’s operations. Part of me was curious, but I figured that it was Sorren’s way of protecting us. Knowledge was a dangerous thing in our business.

The home at the end of the road was framed by an allée of live oak trees, with white pillars, large windows and a wide front porch. Carefully tended gardens graced both sides of the entrance. “Those flowers are gorgeous,” Teag noted. “It’s too bad Sorren never gets to see them in sunlight.”

I knew from experience that Sorren’s home was protected by several types of magical wardings, even more elaborate than the ones Lucinda had placed around Teag and my homes and the store. That was in addition to a modern security system. The wardings were tuned to keep out magical threats and supernatural predators, and while I could feel a shimmer of energy as we crossed the protective barriers, I saw nothing out of the ordinary.

A droning buzz made me look up. Through the canopy of live oak branches, I glimpsed a dark shape in the sky. We were heading for the house not long before sundown. I figured that by the time we got settled in, Sorren would be rising for the night.

“That helicopter looks awfully low,” Teag said, squinting.

“And it’s coming in at the wrong angle to land,” I said, worried as the chopper headed straight for Sorren’s house.

“It’s not going to land – it’s going to crash!” Teag slammed on the brakes. The helicopter slammed into the antebellum house. I threw my arms up over my face to protect myself and huddled in a crash position, eyes squeezed shut.

The explosion rocked our car although we were still half a mile away, and the fireball was so bright it flared red through my closed eyelids. When I dared to raise my head, the whole building was on fire. Its roof was gone, the windows were blown out, and flames leaped into the sky.

“Come on!” I said, unfastening my seatbelt and opening my door. “Sorren’s in there – or at least his staff are!”

Teag was right behind me as we jogged closer to the site of the explosion. “There’s no way a regular helicopter would cause that big of an explosion,” Teag said as we surveyed the damage.

“You think it was a bomb?”

Teag nodded. “Yeah. And flying in got around Sorren’s wardings since it wasn’t magic.”

“A suicide pilot?” The heat kept us from getting anywhere near the remains of the house, but I hoped that if anyone had escaped, we might be able to help get the injured clear of the blast zone.

“Maybe,” Teag said. “Or it could have been remote controlled. No way to tell until the fire stops burning.”

Fortunately, the wind was taking the smoke away from us as we circled the house. Around back, we found a dazed woman lying in the yard. Teag and I rushed over. Her face was red with the heat and her clothing was scorched in places from the blast, but she was breathing, and her eyes fluttered open as we knelt next to her.

“Can you move?” I asked, eyeing how close we were to the house. It was hot enough that sweat was pouring down my face and my skin felt sunburned. Burning embers floated down all around us, and I flinched as one sizzled against my skin.

The woman nodded, and I got under her shoulder, helping her limp far enough away to be out of the range of the embers and upwind of the smoke. A few moments later, Teag joined us. He was supporting a dazed-looking man with a bloody gash on his forehead.