Whoever kept the duty log noted that the storm seemed to come out of nowhere and dissipate just as quickly. They logged that they tried to find survivors, but only found a few floating crates after the storm passed.”
“Magic,” I said quietly. Teag nodded. “And it ties back to what Rebecca said about Harrison’s ship – the Lady Jane.”
He leaned back again and laced his fingers behind his head, wincing as he touched a sore place from last night’s fight. “What if our theory is right, and one of the artifacts that sank with the Cristobal could strengthen a man’s hold over a demon?” he asked. “What if that’s why Jeremiah Abernathy wanted it so badly – badly enough to hire pirates to bring it to him?”
“If it’s true that he raised a demon – and Sorren was in Charleston back then, so I’m betting he’s got the story right – then I’d say that if Abernathy thought his grip over the demon was slipping, he’d be willing to do anything to hold onto it.”
Teag stared at his screen as if he could will it to provide the answer. “I’ll keep digging,” he said. “Both on Abernathy and on the crew of the Privateer. The salvage crew wasn’t based in Charleston, but they did a lot of business here. Maybe someone who knew them has a piece of the puzzle.”
“Come to think of it, Mrs. Morrissey mentioned Jeremiah Abernathy when I told her I was going to stay at Gardenia Landing,” I said. “I think it’s time I go pay the Historical Association a visit.”
Just then, Baxter came tearing out of his bed under the desk, snarling and yapping like a hell hound. Teag set the laptop aside and we both got to our feet warily. Alard’s walking stick and Grandma Sarah’s mixing spoon were on the counter where I’d left them this morning. I grabbed both of them, hoping I didn’t need to use the cane. I had no desire to burn down my own house.
“See anything?” I asked. Teag had gone around the left side of the downstairs, looking out windows, while I circled on the right.
Teag shook his head. “Nothing out of place,” he said. Baxter barked frantically, baring his teeth.
“Someone’s out there,” I said, spotting a movement in the shadows.
“If it’s Moran, he’s not wearing his hat,” Teag replied.
I put my hand to the agate necklace, and felt nothing. Damn. Last night had probably drained it of all its protective mojo, and we had gotten home just before dawn, so cleansing it in the moonlight wasn’t possible, even if I had been awake enough to think about it.
Sorren was in no shape to rescue us. Lucinda was out of town. We were on our own.
The lights went out.
Lucinda had warded the house, and Sorren assured me it was strong magic. Maybe so, but the warding apparently didn’t include the power lines. We waited, listening. Baxter was giving a deep throated growl. Too deep, in fact, for it to be Baxter. I looked up, and saw that he had been joined by Bo’s ghost, who was barking like a rabid guard dog. Oddly enough, Baxter didn’t seem to be fazed at all by the spectral ghost dog, and the two of them staked out positions watching the front door.
Outside, I heard the wind begin to howl on what had been a quiet evening. I moved over to the window, keeping myself out of the sight of anyone outside, and saw that despite the noise, none of the shrubs close to the house were bending, and none of the shutters banged. The air about six feet out from the house had an odd iridescence, and I wondered again just how Lucinda had placed her magical protections.
What will the neighbors think of my glowing house? I wondered, then debated whether they would even be aware of the magical struggle going on.
“Do we call the police?” Teag asked.
“And tell them what?” I asked.
As I watched, opaque darkness rose on the other side of the opalescent protective field. It warred with Lucinda’s warding, making it impossible for us to see the garden or the street. The darkness seemed to absorb light, and it was clear that Lucinda’s magic was fighting against it. If the shroud of darkness could snuff out her protections, I didn’t want to know what it would do to us.
This was a lot more excitement than I ever wanted. Teag felt his way down the wall and back into the kitchen to where he had left his jacket and messenger bag, then dug out the lantern and its blue-black candle along with his lighter. Its cleansing light flooded the room, out of proportion to the size of the candle.
“Are you crazy?” I shouted. “He’ll see us!”
Teag shot me a grin. “Yes, I am. No, I don’t think so.” With that, Teag rushed toward the front door and flung it open. I was a step behind him, walking stick in my right hand, wooden spoon in my left.
Teag’s lantern shone a brilliant glare that made the garden and the entire side street bright as day.
Alard’s walking stick remained dark, but the same coruscating light that had shone from the spoon turned-athame rolled out from the piazza, past the brick garden wall and beyond, a protective, powerful surge of power.
Teag’s magic candle and my white light strengthened Lucinda’s warding, and the opaque darkness began to flake away, like paint off a crystal ball. The wind died abruptly, and the electricity came back on. The opalescent light faded, and Teag’s candle was just an unremarkable flickering flame. Baxter sat on his haunches, looking confused. Bo’s ghost was gone.
“Do you think whoever it is will come back?” I whispered, afraid to trust the apparent victory. Teag shrugged. “Who knows? I mean, we don’t even know who sent that. Moran? The demon?”
I’d reached my limit for the night. Teag looked worried, peering out through the night to where his Volvo was parked. He would have to go outside of Lucinda’s warding to get to his car, and drive a mile or two before he got back to his own warded space. Too risky, in my opinion.
“Come on,” I said. “You can sleep on the couch tonight. Let’s do some more digging online. I’ll pour us both another glass of wine.”
Chapter Eighteen
“CASSIDY, DEAR! SO good to see you! And how is that adorable little Baxter?” Mrs. Morrissey looked up when I entered the Charleston Historical Archive the next morning, and gave me a big smile.
“Baxter’s doing fine,” I told her. “Thanks for asking.”
She glanced at me over her glasses. “What brings you over here early in the morning? Did you come to find out more about the B&B?”
“Not today,” I said. “Got something else to look up. And I brought you a hazelnut latte,” I added, holding out my good-will gift. I happened to know Mrs. Morrissey had a weakness for good java.
“That’s so sweet of you!” she said. “Thank you!”
I marked my name on the sign-in sheet. Just for good measure, I signed Teag in, too. The Archive liked to be able to document how many people used its services. That information came in handy when it was time to ask for grants and donations, and Mrs. Morrissey listed Trifles and Folly among their staunch supporters on a prominent plaque on the wall. Teag had been known to use his Weaver talent from time to time to help Mrs. Morrissey hunt down odd bits of local history, so we ranked high on her list.
The Charleston Historical Archive was housed in a beautiful home South of Broad. Families with names like Rutledge, Calhoun, and Gadsden had called the house home at some point in their lives, signers of the Declaration of Independence, governors, senators, pivotal figures in the run-up to Civil War, wealthy land owners, and politicians.
The home’s final private owner, Claudia Drayton, had been an heiress whose family tree mingled the bluest blood in South Carolina. Claudia’s will left her beloved home and its furnishings to the City of Charleston on the provision that it become the city’s permanent historical archive. Mrs. Morrissey was Claudia Drayton’s granddaughter. She was also one of many dowagers in her social circle who volunteered time and donations to further the Archive’s work.