Southern Belle (16 page)

"That's the problem. I don't like putting the woman I love in danger all the time."

"Well, when you stop playing hero and realize that I'm the one who knows the code and which church to go to, you'll realize that you're stuck with me."

Max paused, his brow crinkling and releasing along with a slew of emotions. Then he wrenched open the door. "Can we go?"

"Of course." Sandra walked out with a perky jaunt to her step.

Drummond followed behind and shared a commiserating look with Max. "All good women can be a pain in the ass sometimes."

"I heard that," Sandra called from the stairs.

* * * *

In the back of his mind, Max knew Winston-Salem had a lot of churches. All the biggies — Baptist, Protestant, Catholic. Some of the more niche — Korean, Unitarian, Quaker. There was even one synagogue with a fantastic little bagel shop up the block. And, of course, there were the Moravian churches.

These tended to be smaller, less ostentatious affairs. In some of the rural areas surrounding the city, the churches were straight out of horror movie — a one-room building, low ceiling, peeling white paint on the wooden exterior.

"So what's the address?" Max said as he pulled the car into traffic.

Sandra typed away on her laptop. She frowned and typed some more. "It's not showing up on the map. I've tried Google, Bing, Mapquest."

"What's the name of the place?" Drummond asked from the backseat.

"The Moravian Hope Church. You ever hear of it?"

Drummond's casual demeanor dropped. "Oh, yeah. I know that one."

"That doesn't sound good."

"It's not going to be on any map, but I'll get us there. Get on 40 West, like you're going back to Tanglewood, and I'll let you know where to get off."

The day had slipped away from Max, and as he drove, the sun blinded him. Squinting, he said, "How much longer?"

"Don't be in such a hurry. This isn't the kind of place you want to go to anyway. Even back in my day, this place had been an old wreck. It's off in the woods. People used it in the early 1800s. For all I know, Tucker Hull prayed there. But for whatever reason, they stopped attending it. Maybe they built a bigger place, maybe it went with Hull when he split, or maybe the rumors are true."

"Rumors?"

"It's said to be haunted. Back when I was alive, I didn't give much credence to the idea. The stories about it sounded more like tall tales rather than authentic ghost behavior. Until I met with Ernest and Leed. Then I believed the stories wholesale. But now — I'm not so sure. We best be extra careful."

"What stories?" Sandra asked.

Drummond exhaled slowly. "They said a witch coven would sneak in at night and perform their ceremonies. Of course the stories added sensational details — naked dancing, drinking of blood, baby sacrifices, that kind of thing. That's what made me doubt it all to start. But maybe something was going on back then. Maybe with the same coven we're after."

"With that kind of story, no wonder Ernest buried his witch out here."

Max followed Drummond's directions off the highway and deeper into the countryside. He turned off the paved roads and proceeded along gravel and then dirt until he reached a yellow, metal bar gate. "Guess we walk from here."

"It's not far," Drummond said as he passed through the car door.

Max retrieved two flashlights from the trunk of the car and handed one to Sandra. He then grabbed a shovel and headed out. Though the sun had not quite hit the horizon, under the canopy of trees, blue darkness prevailed. Max shivered. He had grown comfortable at seeing Drummond's pale visage, but watching the ghost float through the woods surrounded by the night and hearing the night's sounds proved eerier than he had expected.

Within five minutes, the church poked out of the darkness like another ghost. Max, Sandra, and Drummond all stood silent before the ruined building's front porch — two steps leading to a warped platform before a double door. Max moved forward, his flashlight drawing freakish shadows upon the building's old white walls.

"Hon." Sandra reached out as if to yank him back. "Maybe we should check around the area first. In case Dr. Ernest buried the witch out here."

Drummond clapped his hands, the noise echoing around them. "Excellent idea."

Max doubted the body had been buried outside the church, but like his companions, he needed more time to build his courage. "Let's stick together."

As a group, the three worked their way around the perimeter of the church. They saw no signs to indicate any sort of ritual burial nor did they see anything to suggest the ground had been disturbed in recent days. They startled a rat, but Max felt confident the rat had startled them worse.

When they came around to where they had begun, Max knew the time for stalling had ended. He marched straight to the front porch, and not wanting to give Sandra a chance to talk him into turning back, he opened the door. The ancient hinges creaked.

He pointed his flashlight through the door. The open space had little in it anymore but graffiti and layers of dust. On the left side, a closed door had been painted with a crude pentagram. A handful of pews faced the back wall like tombstones. Stepping in, Max's footfalls filled the emptiness with a hollow sound.

While Sandra moved off to the right, Drummond remained in the doorway. "I'm glad I'm already dead."

"Gee, thanks for the confidence booster," Sandra said.

Max tried hard to ignore the feeling of an unseen weight pressing on him from all sides. He had never been the type to get claustrophobic, but he'd rather that be the explanation than anything else. He leaned the shovel against a pew and approached the door with the pentagram. Supernatural possibilities filled his head.

He put his hand against the door as if he might feel a fire burning on the other side. Of course, he only felt wood — rough and cold. Better to keep pushing forward than let his mind play out the endless list of horrific scenarios. He grabbed the knob and opened the door.

An office. Even a small church needed some place for the leaders to work. Pastors needed to write sermons. What little money they received had to be accounted for. Bake sales had to be planned. And then there were the private conversations — the troubled youth, the cheating spouse, the doubting intellectual. They all needed that one-on-one time with their spiritual leader, and this tiny office had to be the cramped quarters for just such conversations.

Max stepped back into the church proper and noticed Drummond hesitating to enter. "Come on. I want you to check the walls, the floors, and the ceiling — all the places we can't get to. See if Dr. Ernest put her anywhere like that."

"That's not a good idea," Drummond said.

Max shined the flashlight on Drummond to get a better look at his face, but the bright light and white walls washed out the ghost's image. "For crying out loud, get in here so we can be done with this. I don't know what's got you spooked, but I'm not eager to hang around here either."

"This is a church," Drummond said, thrusting his hands wide open. "We should have some respect for the place."

"It's not a church anymore. It's an old, rotting building. That's all."

"Buildings like this, ones used for a holy purpose, they hold on to what they were. They don't forget. Aw, heck, I can't expect you to understand. Trust me, okay? I've had experience with this before."

"That's right. Your mother ..."

Drummond's eyes flared as he soared straight at Max. "How do you know anything about my mother?" he asked, putting his cold hand inches from Max's face.

"I ... kind of ... well, you were lying to us and I realized how little we knew about you —"

"You researched me?"

Sandra whirled on Max. "I told you not to do that."

"Thanks, hon." But Sandra turned away, walking toward the front door.

Drummond kicked at the pew and sailed straight through it. "Of all the low, rotten things you could do. You had no right."

"I'm sorry. I am. I was worried about you and afraid and I made a stupid call." Max tried to speak in a soothing voice even as he saw Drummond getting angrier. He knew he should be most concerned with what he had done but he could only think about Drummond losing control and turning. "I know you must be mad, but please, let's focus on why we're here. When we go back to the office you can yell at me all you want. But not here."

Sandra stood in the doorway. "Max?"

Max turned his head toward her but Drummond whisked in to block his view. "What's the matter, Max ol' boy? Afraid I might snap right here, right now? Maybe you should go research that one."

"Max? Do you see headlights coming closer?"

Both Max and Drummond stopped their argument to look at Sandra. Moving to her side, Max said, "It's pitch black out there. I don't see anything."

Sandra swallowed hard. "I was afraid of that." She nodded to the darkness. "Ghosts are coming."

"Ghosts. Wait, what ghosts? Why?"

Drummond moved to the other side of Sandra. "It must be the witches. Those that haven't been destroyed yet. Nobody else would know or care that we're here. They're coming to stop us."

Max stepped backward, his mind racing to keep up with events. "The ghosts of the witches in the coven. If they're coming that means we're in the right place. A witch has to be buried here somewhere." He turned his trembling body toward Drummond. "It also means Patricia Welling will be with them. Listen to me. I'm terribly sorry for what I did. I don't know how to make that up to you, but right now, I need you to put that aside. I need you to stay calm or you risk turning."

"You're the one that needs to relax. I'm fine. And trust me, I'll find some way for you to make things up. And then some."

Sandra gasped. "They're all here. It looks the whole coven. We're surrounded."

Chapter 16

Nobody moved. Sandra squinted as she looked out the doorway, raising a hand to shield her eyes. Max followed her gaze but saw only darkness. He could imagine it, though, plenty clear. Bright, pale women forming a circle around the church, their faces twisted in pain, their necks slit open and bodies baring the brutal scars of the curse Drummond had participated in casting.

Like a summer shower opening up without warning, Max heard a steady rat-a-tat striking the walls. "What's happening out there?"

Keeping her eyes on the witches, Sandra said, "They're throwing rocks at us."

Since any contact with the corporeal world caused ghosts sharp pain, repeatedly picking up and throwing rocks would not be pleasant for them. It might not be excruciating but it certainly signaled to Max that these witches were more than ticked off.

"Wait a second." Max scrunched his face, puzzled. "Why aren't they coming in here?"

"I noticed, too." Sandra walked back to Max and sat on one of the remaining pews. "It's a good thing. It means that one of the lessons I learned growing up was true — that evil and good are natural forces like the opposite sides of a magnet. They repel each other."

"See that," Drummond said. "That means that this isn't just an old building. It still has its church mojo, and that's what is protecting us."

"He's right. Whatever the history of this place, I have no doubt that when it was built, it served an honest, good sort of people."

Max sat next to Sandra. "This means we have time to find that body, right? They can't get in, so we don't really have to worry about them."

"Until we want to leave."

"It's not like that." Sandra hurried back to the doorway. "Most places in the world hold a mixture of the good and evil, so some turned ghosts can manage to get inside. But this church appears to be filled with a lot of good energy. Enough to hold them back for the moment, until they break through the barrier. That's why they're throwing rocks — rocks handled by evil witches. They're looking for weaknesses, some spot that isn't as holy as the rest."

Max planted his head in his hand. "You mean all they have to do is find the one spot where somebody had an illicit kiss or an evil thought or something and they can break through that?"

"Pretty much."

Without lifting his head, Max stretched out his arm and indicated the office door. "You mean like that pentagram over there?"

Before she could respond, Sandra dropped to the ground, covering her ears and wincing. Banging his hip into the pew, Max rushed to her side. Tears leaked from her eyes, and she clasped her ears ever tighter. She groaned and curled into a fetal position.

Max looked to Drummond for help, but he had fallen to the ground, too. "What's going on?"

Through gritted teeth, Drummond said, "The witches — they're screaming."

The wood floorboards rattled and the walls shook. Puffs of dust exploded from every crevice choking the air. Max coughed as he covered Sandra with his body. She twitched and shook as if having a seizure. Wood creaked and snapped. The shovel fell with a clang. One of the last standing pews toppled over.

The wind rose, howling as it whipped around the building's corners. Through the open doorway, rocks and pebbles, twigs and sticks spewed into the room. Max rolled to his side, placing his back between the doorway and Sandra. One pinprick attack amounted to little, but thousands of tiny strikes added up. He felt his blood soaking his shirt.