I poured myself a cup of coffee, and spent the morning on chores that had nothing to do with haunted objects. I caught up on doing the bookwork, and then I rearranged the front window display, something that always feels more like play than work. Then to cap it off, I added some new really nice pieces to the Trifles and Folly web site.
By lunchtime I was feeling pretty good about things, so I didn’t protest when Teag offered to watch the store while I grabbed lunch and ran a few errands. It was a beautiful day, and even though it was hot and muggy, the air seemed to carry the scent of flowers wherever I went. For a while, I managed to put strange ghosts, unsolved murders and old tragedies completely out of my mind as I went for a walk down King Street.
Valerie passed me with a carriage load of tourists. I waved to her and all of her passengers waved back. A trip to the post office went off without a hitch. I made a quick call to the work crew about my floor as I walked, and was thrilled to discover that despite the muggy weather, the floors were done and almost dry, so Baxter and I should be able to move home the next day. We might have to keep the windows open to deal with the smell, but at least we’d be home.
That last news gave my mood a huge boost, and I decided to celebrate with a walk through the Charleston City Market. It’s a top tourist attraction in Charleston, filled with lovely crafts and art, as well as fresh produce and baked goods, and I feel lucky to have it within easy walking distance. It’s a wonderful place to people watch. I found myself smiling as I mingled with the locals and tourists, making my way through the rows of crowded stalls. Fresh vegetables tempted me on one side, while hand made soaps and lotions seduced from the other. The smell of sweetgrass from the basket weavers at the entrance mingled with the scent of freshly baked cookies.
“How are things going, Niella?” I asked one of the women with the sweetgrass baskets.
Niella and her mother were a fixture at the market, setting up their spot by the outside of the lower doorway in the shade every morning just after dawn for nearly twenty years. Watching their fingers fly as they twisted and wove the narrow strands of grass made it look easy, but I knew it was a craft passed down from parent to child for generations within the Gullah people, and that Niella and her mom were two of the best.
Niella gave an expressive shrug. “Today won’t be scorching hot, so there should be more tourists. That makes me happy.” Her fingers never stopped moving, and I knew it took decades of practice to be able to weave the complicated designs without looking.
I knew what she meant about tourists making her happy. More tourists equaled more income for most of Charleston. If the weather became stifling hot, even by Charleston standards, people stayed in air conditioned hotels or went to tour historic homes and plantations instead of wandering the Market and the downtown streets.
“You get your floors done yet?” Niella’s mother asked. I had to think for a moment, because I didn’t remember telling Niella or her mom about the refinishing. Then again, Mrs. Teller was a root woman with a way of knowing things. I was pleased that something as trivial as my floors popped up on her sixth sense radar.
“They’ll be done tomorrow. Thanks for asking,” I said. “I’ve had to put Baxter in a dog spa and I miss him.” In the evenings, I often brought Baxter for a walk along the outside stalls of the Market, and he was a favorite of both Niella and her mother.
Mrs. Teller nodded. “Good. Good you’re not staying long. Nice place for other people, not so nice for you.” She was looking down at her basket, so she didn’t see me startle. “But last night, you were safe.
Very safe.” Her voice was thick as roux and sweet as cane syrup, heavy with the song-like Gullah accent.
Sorren had made sure of that I was safe, but how Mrs. Teller knew, I wasn’t going to ask.
“Yes, I slept well,” I stammered.
Mrs. Teller nodded. “Good.”
Niella rolled her eyes. “Mama’s telling stories out of school again, isn’t she?” she chided, but her voice was fond.
Mrs. Teller gave her daughter a dismissive look. “When the Good Lord and the Old Ones speak to me, I gotta say something,” she said, as her fingers moved at lightning speed.
“Thank you,” I said. I’d had enough dealings with Mrs. Teller that I trusted her instincts. And if she suspected what kind of business I really ran and who my ‘night watchman’ really was, it didn’t seem to run afoul for her by either the Old Ones or the Good Lord, for which I was grateful.
“I’m playing hooky,” I said with a conspiratorial grin. “But I’d better make my rounds and get back to the shop before Teag figures out I’m truant.”
Niella laughed. “I hear you, girlfriend. Get going. Time’s a wastin’.” I waved good-bye and headed into the market.
Over the time since I’d moved back to Charleston, I’d been such a regular at the Market that I counted many of the vendors as friends. That meant that a visit wasn’t just about shopping, it was a time to catch up on news, gossip and the latest jokes. It made for a very pleasant outing.
I lingered for a moment at a stall selling silver jewelry, and stopped to finger a nice pashmina shawl in another booth. Ruth, one of the produce vendors, recognized me as a regular customer and let me know what she had brought fresh today. A quick glance at my watch told me I needed to pick up the pace, and I scouted the rest of the market in record time, managing not to get snarled in other conversations. I had one more stop before I headed back to the shop, and I didn’t want anything to get in the way of a fresh latte at Honeysuckle Café.
“See you soon!” I called to Niella and her mother as I walked out of the market.
I walked down the street and turned the corner, looking forward to my coffee. I was about halfway down the block before I realized that the alley was unusually quiet for this time of day. I caught a glimpse of a reflection in an office building window and spun on my heel. Coming up fast behind me was the man with the withered face. Corban Moran?
“Stop following me!” My voice had more bravado than I felt. It was daylight, but there was no one around, no one to interfere.
His broad-brimmed hat shaded most of his features, but even at a distance, my magic was screaming warnings, telling me to run. I glanced around. This side street was flanked by office buildings whose front doors faced the main thoroughfare. Short of running through a plate glass window, there was no doorway to duck into.
I crossed the street, putting a patch of torn up sidewalk between us, using the barricades and rocky patch of dirt as a buffer zone. “Who are you?” I asked. “What do you want?”
He didn’t answer me, but the cold smile told me more than I wanted to know. I eyed the distance to the next main street. I might be able to make it if I ran, but that depended on whether my pursuer was fast, or not quite human. One hand went to the agate necklace, but I didn’t know whether man with the withered-skin was supernatural. Creepy as hell, yes.
Hat Man was closing fast. I decided to swallow my pride and run. He hurdled the sidewalk barrier, ran through the mud and caught up to me in the shadow of a tall office building, grabbing me by the arm. I swung around, ready with an arm block and a low kick, but he didn’t flinch. I shoved him, hard with the flat of my right hand, getting a staggering mental image from the touch.
“Stay out of my business,” he warned.
“Let go of me!” I was still reeling from the brief vision I’d gotten from touching his clothing, but I was scared and angry enough to fight. My training should have enabled me to take down someone bigger and stronger than I am, and that told me something I didn’t want to know. Moran wasn’t entirely mortal.