Southern Belle (20 page)

She pouted. "I don't know why you always resist. I'm young, able, and willing to do all those nasty things a proper wife would never dream of doing. We'd have a great time together."

"For one, I love my wife and actually meant my vows when I gave them. For another, you're a witch, and I don't trust you."

"But you want my help."

"I'm offering to help you out, too, don't forget. My problem appears to be yours."

Fixing her strap, Dr. Connor said, "Don't put your faith in appearances."

Drummond laughed. "She shouldn't be talking, looking like she does."

Dr. Connor opened a low drawer in her desk and pulled out a large book. In any other office, Max would have thought he looked upon an atlas from centuries ago. In Dr. Connor's office, he fought the bile roiling in his gut because he knew that the book's lovely brown hide cover was made of human skin. Having touched one of those books before, he had no desire to ever to do so again.

"In this book," she said, caressing the cover with the tips of her fingers, "is the answer you seek."

Max paused. "I have to say I'm surprised but pleased. Thank you for making this so easy. If you'll tell me what page to look —"

"Bless your heart, aren't you the sweetest thing. I'm not giving you this book, and this won't be easy. What kind of businesswoman would I be if I simply gave everything away?"

"Then what do you want?"

Sliding the book back into the drawer with one hand, Dr. Connor raised her other hand. "Not so fast. You've only just gotten here, and there's so much to discuss. I wonder — how much do you really know about Patricia Welling?"

"Max, get out of there." Drummond pounded his fist against the barrier. "Don't play her games. Come on, now. Leave and we'll find some other way to deal with all this."

"I know enough," Max said. "She's the ghost of a witch, and she's killing off those connected with her coven's curse. We know where she's buried, so all we have to do is destroy her body. Beyond that, the details don't really matter much."

Running her index finger across the other, she tutted. "Naughty, naughty. You shouldn't be lying. Especially to yourself. You know very well that details always matter. For instance, wouldn't you agree that it makes a huge difference, perhaps even an insurmountable difference, if your dear Drummond knew all along that Patricia was a witch?"

"She's lying," Drummond yelled. "Don't believe anything she says."

"What if he had been by that tree with the odd branch on purpose all those years ago? What if he had sought out dear Patricia with the intent of seducing her? And if he did that, why? Why seduce a witch?"

Max glowered at Dr. Connor. "If he did that, then I'm sure he planned to kill her all along."

"Except he hadn't met Matthew Ernest or Joshua Leed yet. That happened after he had begun his relationship with Patricia. I wonder what he wanted from her. After all, he hadn't sought out any old witch of that coven. He targeted her, specifically. Of course, I would, too, if I had been him. I mean, if you want to gain control over a witch's power, you might as well go for the High Priestess."

"What?" Max couldn't help himself. He turned toward Drummond.

"It's not true," Drummond said. "She's lying. I mean maybe Patricia was the High Priestess, I don't know. That's my point. I don't know."

Dr. Connor chuckled. "I see your partner neglected to tell you that little fact. Well then, I suppose you two have plenty to discuss. And I should be getting back to my patients."

"Wait," Max put his hand on her desk. He wanted to grab her wrist but didn't dare. "You still haven't told me what the price for your help will be."

"Oh. That."

"A case of whiskey? Information? What do you want?"

The pleasure that filled her eyes could not be mistaken. She thrilled at the words dangling on her tongue. The longer she waited to speak them, the worse Max felt — this was going to be bad. Really bad.

"You want my help in a very serious matter. There isn't enough whiskey in all of North Carolina to buy this kind of help — and that's a lot of whiskey."

"Then what?"

She placed a glass vial on the table. "Blood."

"Excuse me?"

"Specifically, your wife's blood."

"You leave her out of this."

"I can't do that. Either you give me her blood or we have no deal."

Max jumped to his feet. "You can go to Hell."

As he turned to leave, Dr. Connor tapped the glass with her finger. "There isn't another witch in all of North Carolina that can help you. Not when your time is so limited." She tilted her head. "By the way, before you go, tell me, how many times has Mr. Modesto pressured you to find the Hull's handbell?"

Drummond tried to reach Max, to pull him out of the office, but he couldn't get through the barrier. "She's poison, Max. Leave now. We'll go see Sandra, take her to a doctor. Come on."

Max didn't move. He stood rock-still. "What do you know about the handbell?"

"You really aren't too bright," Dr. Connor said. She lifted the glass vial. "Your wife's blood. I'll tell you everything you need to know to stop the coven, and I'll even throw in the handbell for free."

"I thought you didn't give anything away for free."

"Oh, he has a little bit of brains after all. Get me the blood and you'll get what you need. It's that simple. It's a non-negotiable deal. Bring it to me tonight. I'll be here."

Max took a long stride toward her desk and pointed his finger at her face. "You won't win this. Whatever's going on — I've beaten you before. I will again."

"Hallelujah." She lifted her hands toward the ceiling. In one hand, she held out the vial. "Tell yourself whatever you have to, but get me the blood."

Looking at the vial, Max wondered if he could do it. He believed that Sandra would resist. She understood witches and their spells better than he did — no way would she give up her blood. Yet she knew what they faced with the coven. Perhaps she would take the risk and volunteer.

He reached for the vial but pulled back before he touched it. He hated the thought that had entered his brain, but he couldn't deny it — what if he didn't tell her? In her current state, she might not be able to make such a decision. He could simply lie to her, tell her it's for a medical test, and she might not even remember it in the morning. Shaking off such a moral betrayal, Max glanced back at Drummond. Even if Max were so villainous as to attempt such a thing, Drummond would stop him.

Not that I'm seriously considering it anyway
. Having the thought was despicable enough. But no matter how desperate he became, he would never stoop so low.

Perhaps the witch could sense the change within him, perhaps she could read his face better than he thought. Whichever the case, she thrust out her hand and said, "Take the vial, go to your pretty wife, and ask her a personal question. I promise you that's all it will take for you to bring me what I want. One intimate, personal question. After that, if I'm wrong, toss the vial and never bother me again. I'm sure you wouldn't object to that."

"Never seeing you again. That would be wonderful."

"One intimate, personal question. That's all."

Snatching the glass vial from her hand, Max whirled around and left the office. To Drummond, he raised his hand. "Don't say a word."

Chapter 19

Running the windshield wipers to clean off the layer of pollen, Max grumbled in his mind at the inconvenience of city sprawl. He had spent too much time in the last few days stuck in his car. And now, as he headed back to the office, back to Sandra, he could either stew in his own fears or argue with Drummond. Floating above the passenger seat, his ghost partner made the decision easy.

"You got a problem with this?" Max prodded.

"Don't you?"

"I'd rather swipe a bit of my wife's blood than let her die at the hands of a witch coven of ghosts. You got another way out of this? Oh, wait, there's a simple way, isn't there? You could man up and go take care of Patricia's body yourself."

Picking at his lips, Drummond kept his eyes looking out the window. "For the sake of helping Sandra, I'm not taking your bait. And I know you want to help her, too. I only ask that you think through this some more before you do anything you can't undo."

"Sandra'll understand."

"I'm not worried about her in all this. She loves you. And we've all had to make tough choices when dealing with the Hulls. Of course, she'll understand. But giving her blood to Dr. Connor — that's insane. You can't do that."

Max drove on for two minutes without another word. Finally, he said, "I know."

And he did. Beyond his brain and his gut and his love, he knew it straight through to his soul. It reverberated deep inside him like an adrenaline rush that never died. His heart plummeted at the thought of what would happen if he let Dr. Connor have his wife's blood — they both would be slaves to that witch until they died. Perhaps even beyond that.

But at least they would be alive. If he failed to stop the coven, he and Sandra would be lucky if death was the worst result. More likely, they would learn a slew of ancient curses as each witch carved a new one into their skin.

That's why I took the vial.

"Listen," Drummond said, "I know this is a tough situation, but we need to focus on how to proceed. Forget about the dead ends and find something new."

Max wanted to smack Drummond hard on the back of the head, but the act would hardly satisfy considering his hand would go through Drummond and hit the dashboard instead. Besides, as Sandra had often pointed out — with the Hulls, the best way through was barreling straight on. Before he could do that, however, one last matter needed clearing up.

"Connor said Patricia's the High Priestess."

"I heard her," Drummond said.

"And she said that you knew Patricia was a witch long before —"

"I was there. I heard her."

"Well?"

"Well, nothing. Dr. Connor's a witch. Witches lie to fracture a partnership. You ever heard of divide and conquer? That's all she's up to. Telling you lies to make you doubt me and drive a deeper wedge between us."

"She also mentioned the handbell. Knew all about Modesto bugging us for it."

"You do remember that I was right outside the door? I heard everything."

"My point is that if she's so careful with her words, using them in an attempt to splinter us apart, then what does it mean that she mentioned the handbell?"

Drummond rubbed his chin. "It means we better find that damn handbell."

"It sure is sounding like a lot more than a family heirloom. Maybe they really can pull off this spell. But if that were true, then why would they —"

"Go find it, then. That's a smart move. Stop analyzing and go find it."

Max's face pinched as he bit back his anger. "You've got no idea what you're doing."

"About what?"

"You have any clue what I've got to build myself up to do here? With this vial?"

"I thought we were done with that."

"If I don't give Sandra's blood to that bitch, you know —"

"Okay, okay." Drummond kicked at the dashboard, his leg going straight through and his foot sticking out of the car's hood. "I'll do it. I'll take care of Patricia's corpse."

"You will?"

"I can't let anything happen to that doll of yours. I hoped maybe we'd have some way out of this that I wouldn't have to deal with my past, but the moment Matt Ernest died, I had no choice. I'm sorry. I should've told you from the start. Then there'd be no way for Connor to split us apart."

Max sat up, lighter and excited. "You're right. She wants to split us up, so that's what we'll do. We'll go on separate paths, and if she's watching, her arrogance will make her think she's winning. It'll give us a slight advantage when we see her tonight."

"What? You're still going through with the blood thing? There's no need. I'm going to do the job. We don't need Connor and her blood price anymore."

"I guess not. I just thought —"

"You thought you'd fill it with what? Pig's blood? Chicken? She'd see through it. After casting all the spells she's done in the past, I'm sure she knows her blood."

"I suppose. I want to see Sandra. Make sure she's okay."

"Of course. I'll go do what I have to. You check on your wife."

"After you're done, I want you to search for that handbell. Start at Reynolda House. They had the rest of the set on display a long time ago. Perhaps you can find something to help us. If that's a bust, go to a graveyard or to the Other and talk to the ghosts, or use some of those old detective skills of yours. Do whatever you need to do to find that handbell. When we meet Modesto tomorrow night, I've got to have it in hand."

"You can count on me."

"I know I can. Meet me back at the office by ten tonight. I'll look after Sandra and then do research on my end."