“Maybe,” Teag replied. “But she has to come home sometime, and I doubt she’s skipped town just because of you. In the meantime, I’ll check the Darke Web.”
Teag’s gift with information makes most hackers look like newbies. If it’s anywhere online, no matter how well hidden, he’ll find it. That goes beyond the Dark Web, used by mortal criminals, and into the currents of information shared by the supernatural, magical, and immortal communities, the Darke Web. Law enforcement can’t break the enchantments, and Teag wanders those digital pathways like a native son. If it was out there, I knew he’d find it.
I’d felt like skipping town after what happened, but I figured it would blow over faster if I just faced the music. Although the physical effects were gone, the embarrassment lingered on. Even now, two days later, I’d settled for toast and peanut butter at home instead of my usual muffin at the bakery down the block, not quite willing to answer questions yet or dodge curious gazes.
The front door opened and the bells clanged against the glass. “Cassidy? Teag?”
Andrea Andrews, owner of Andrews Carriage Rides, was one of my best friends, and one of the most connected business owners in Charleston. I took a swig of my coffee for sustenance, and squared my shoulders. “Hi, Drea,” I called.
Drea gave me the once-over when I stepped up front. She was a dark-haired whirlwind, a petite bundle of energy who could rival a hurricane for sheer force of nature. She had built her family’s carriage ride company from one carriage to a fleet of twelve, and expanded into specialty tours, including one of the top ghost tours in the city.
Clutched in her hand was a bag from the Honeysuckle Cafe, my favorite bakery. I could smell the fresh blueberry muffin, my usual breakfast selection, all the way across the store. “I brought you something,”
she said with a grin. “Somehow, I figured you’d skip your morning muffin.”
“You’re an angel,” I said as she handed off the bag and I could feel the still-warm muffin through the paper.
“Trina said today’s muffin was on the house,” Drea said, watching with a satisfied smile as I took a bite of blueberry-packed goodness and closed my eyes, savoring the taste. “She thought it might cheer you up.”
“You two are fantastic,” I said, and I meant every word. Not only were Drea and Trina good friends, but we also referred a lot of customers to each other.
“So let me guess,” Drea drawled. “You had a problem with one of your latest acquisitions.”
Drea didn’t know the full truth about what we did at Trifles and Folly. She didn’t know about the Alliance, or that Sorren was an immortal. But she did know about my ability to read objects by handling them, and she believed in my gift, and me, without reservation. Drea didn’t have any clairvoyant abilities of her own, but she accepted that there were things in this world that operated outside conventional wisdom, and truth be told, she thought what I could do was kinda cool. Right now, I didn’t share her sentiment.
“Yeah. I decided to try out a new piece I got.” I gave a wry, self-conscious smile. “It didn’t go as well as I had hoped.”
Drea’s snort confirmed my opinion. “Ya think? Fortunately, everyone who mentioned it to me thinks you had the flu, except for Mrs. Monroe, who wondered if you were pregnant.”
I almost choked on my muffin. “Did you tell her I’d need a boyfriend for that to even be a possibility?”
Drea grinned. “I didn’t think it was any of her business, so I just told her that I was pretty sure it was just the flu.”
I had wolfed the muffin in record time, proof of just how stressed I still felt over the incident. “How many people make up ‘everyone’?” I asked.
Drea’s fingers moved as she made a mental count. “Four or five,” she said. “Most of those were in the bakery and Valerie asked about you when she came in to pick up her paycheck.” Valerie was Drea’s leading ghost tour guide, and another good friend.
Out of the dozens of people who ran shops and restaurants in historic downtown Charleston, I guess four or five wasn’t as bad as it could have been. “Do you think they’ll lose interest any time soon?” I asked.
“In the flu?” Drea chuckled. “They might avoid you for a week to keep from catching anything, but that’s about it. You won’t be ostracized.”
That was a relief. “So how’s business?” I asked, eager to change the subject. Drea’s carriages were beautiful and her horses were pampered. Her tour guides shared interesting information on their rounds, as well as legends, scandals and unsolved mysteries. It was a profitable combination.
Drea made a face. “We’ve been booked solid with conventions and tourists. But if the news people keep talking up those murders, I’m afraid visitors will stop coming out at night.”
I frowned. “You mean the homeless men?” Charleston’s temperate climate attracted tourists, conventioneers and retirees, as well as some folks who were down on their luck.
She nodded. “The body they found makes two so far,” she said, and shivered. “I don’t know why anyone would do something like that; robbery certainly isn’t the motive.” She dropped her voice. “The police aren’t saying, but there’s a rumor that both of the dead men were torn apart.”
“Ugh,” I replied. Her description pinged a warning in my mind. That kind of killing could be mundane, but the brutality of it made magic suspect as well. “Anything else?”
Drea browsed the shelves where Teag had put out new stock. “Actually, yes. Valerie took a tour past Gardenia Landing two nights ago, and she got a little more than she bargained for.”
“Oh?” I asked. “Spill.”
Drea grinned. “It was one of the late night ghost tours. You know what they’re like.”
I did. Charleston is a marvelously atmospheric city, and even more so after dark in the Historic District.
Ghost tour guests ride in a horse-drawn carriage listening to Valerie spin tales of murder, mayhem and unrequited love, all ending in death – the more gruesome, the better.
“Valerie was filling them in on all the duels and suicides and star-crossed trysts and it all went well until they came to Gardenia Landing.”
“And?”
“When they came up in front of the B&B, she noticed that the shadows near the building seemed strange. At first, she thought that maybe someone was hiding there, so she made sure she kept the carriage in the light.” She shook her head. “She swears that she saw men come out of the darkness toward the carriage, but there were only shadows – no real people.”
“Did anyone else see them?”
“Just one guest, and it turns out that person has seen ghosts before.” Drea said with a ‘how about that’ expression. “Valerie said she left as fast as she could, and was afraid to look back.”
“Wow,” I replied. “Has Valerie ever had anything like that happen on her other tours?”
Drea shook her head. “Not with Gardenia Landing. She’s had enough encounters with strange things down by the Old Jail that she won’t do a late night tour there unless Mrs. Teller rides along.” Mrs. Teller was well-known in Charleston as a sweetgrass basket weaver and also as a ‘root’ woman, someone with powerful magic.
“The shadows Valerie saw seemed to glide rather than walk,” Drea added. “And they vanished in plain sight.” She met my gaze. “And you know how hot it was last night? Valerie said that the street felt colder than a winter night.”
Valerie, like many Charlestonians, felt rather possessive about our neighborhood ghosts. After all, they were part of the lore that brought crowds of tourists to the Holy City season after season. But more than that, Charleston’s many ghosts were the warp and the woof of the city’s history, and their tragic stories felt like family heirlooms, handed down from generation to generation. I had never known her to make up a story about a sighting.