Southern Charm (20 page)

Melinda stepped between them. "Aw, isn't that sweet. But so stupid, too. You should've slept with me when I had offered. Then this would've been avoidable. See, Blackbeard's hair may be infused with that voodoo priestess's spell, but it needs a catalyst to get hold of all that power. That catalyst is the life essence. Perhaps Dr. Connor would explain what that is?"

Dr. Connor snarled. "Rot in Hell."

"She's a bit out of sorts," Melinda said, shrugging one shoulder. "Oh well, I've had to do it all myself this long, might as well keep going." She stepped closer to Max, the tips of her breasts brushing his chest. "The life essence is simply any bodily fluid that carries your life. Had you slept with me, I would already have your fluids and you wouldn't be here."

Max looked beyond toward Sandra. "Happy to disappoint."

Melinda's hand moved fast, slapping Max's cheek with surprising force. "Pay attention. Just because you turned away from what would have been the best lay of your life doesn't mean I don't win. You could have had a wonderful afternoon of pleasures your wife can't even begin to imagine. She probably hasn't even heard of half the techniques I know. Instead, you get this. Because there are other life essence fluids in the body. Blood, for example."

Her words died against the low ceiling, leaving the room in cold silence. She stepped back, offering Max one final view of her tone body before pulling the cloak back over. "Let's start proper," she said and faced Mr. Modesto. "No one is more proper than you. At least, no one pretends to be more proper, especially when serving out the most despicable orders."

Despite his bruised cheek and bleeding lip, Modesto raised his chin and managed to exude a small portion of dignity. "It is no wonder that Mr. Porter declined your advances. You're a hideous person."

In a flash, Melinda snatched a simple, wooden bowl and an elaborate dagger from a recess in the wall. She cracked Modesto across his proud chin with the blade's hilt. Max saw Modesto's eyes roll but he came back a moment later. Just in time to watch as Melinda sliced a line open on his chest.

She didn't bother opening his shirt. She let the sharp blade do all the work. Shirt and skin cut open with ease, and a patch of blood spread.

After setting the dagger down, she ripped the cut shirt off. The bowl came next. She placed it against Modesto's chest and pushed on the wound to release more blood. As it collected in the bowl, slowly dribbling like syrup, Melinda whispered foreign words. Max tried to hear her, but he couldn't make sense of it.

He looked everywhere, twisting his wrists around the handcuffs only to find the block wall behind him. Melinda lowered the bowl on the circle's edge, dipped her finger in the blood, and traced the chalk symbols she had drawn earlier. With his foot, Max rubbed an opening in the circle, and while he did disturb the chalk, he uncovered lines that had been painted on the floor. As Melinda rose with the bowl and dagger and headed toward Dr. Connor, Max tried to clear his mind, not to panic, and to find a way out.

"Your usefulness to the Hull family has long since run its course," Melinda said as Dr. Connor glared at her in defiance, "and I can guarantee that I'll have no use for you when the Corkille family takes over. But, if it gives you any comfort, you'll have one final use, and it'll be for this spell."

Snarling, Melinda jabbed the dagger into Dr. Connor's stomach and placed the bowl underneath to catch the blood. The witch grunted and sweat beaded on her forehead, but she managed not to scream.

"Stop this," Modesto said, his voice weakening. "I'm sure we can make a deal."

"Is that right?" Melinda shook her head. "You have some great pull with the Hulls that I don't know about? Even if you did, why would the Hulls deal with me — the woman who will usurp them? Oh, look, I think Dr. Connor is trying to be brave."

To Max's utter shock, Dr. Connor maintained her firm glare on Melinda as if to say,
You'll never beat me.
Melinda jabbed the dagger into the witch once more. Dr. Connor barely reacted. She held her witch's gaze until her eyes lost focus and her head slumped forward.

Modesto let out a whimper while as before, Melinda whispered odd words and then knelt on the circle. She traced the chalk symbols with blood as she continued this strange rite. Max saw Modesto lose control. The once-dignified man kicked and screamed and cried. He tried to free himself but without success.

Each burst of energy lessened in strength from the previous one. It was a strange thing to watch. Max could actually see the moment that Modesto gave up. It held for just a second. One moment, Modesto railed against his bonds and spitted out his hatred for Melinda. Then, for a flashing instant, he froze. Max saw it in his eyes — the acceptance of fate. The next moment, Modesto let his body hang as he wept in silence.

Melinda ignored Modesto as if he were a child acting up for a parent's attention. When she had finished her blood tracings, she rose with the dagger and bowl in hand and turned toward Sandra.

"No," Max said, his body flushing with cold fear.

Melinda watched Max from the corner of her eye as she crossed the room. "It's too bad your sweetheart isn't more awake. I guess I drugged her a bit too much. It would've been fun to listen to her scream. And you, too."

Though tears streamed down his face, Max held his tongue. He looked around the room again, desperate to find anything useful. But he saw nothing that he could reach. Not with his hands cuffed to the pipe above him.

"Still," Melinda continued, "I don't need her to be awake. I simply need to take her blood."

"No!" Max cried out.

"Don't worry. I'll slit her wrists so the blood drains slowly. That way you can watch her death for a long, painful time."

Max yanked against the pipe. With every muscle, every bit of strength he could summon, he let out a garbled cry, his damaged throat scalding pain straight up to his teeth, and he pulled down hard. The pipe didn't appear to budge, but he continued to pull.

"Say goodbye to your love," Melinda said and slashed the dagger across Sandra's wrist.

"Ouch," Sandra said in a distant voice.

Max's eyes widened and he doubled his efforts. Dust sifted off the pipe, drifting onto his face. Melinda raised her bowl to gather the blood and whisper her words.

Furiously, Max yanked down. Over and over. Each time the pipe shook but did not break loose.

When Melinda knelt on the circle and began her tracings, Max screamed out and gave all he could into breaking that pipe. Still, it remained intact.

Melinda stood, gathered her bowl and dagger, and looked upon Max like a lover finally getting her man. Panting, Max looked back with such hatred, Melinda hesitated.

"Oh, now," she said, "don't be that way." She opened her cloak once more and sauntered toward him. Biting her bottom lip, she traced her breast with the tip of the dagger leaving behind a dotted trail of blood. "It's not too late, you know. Mmmm. I think we could have a good time." She placed a hand on his chest and licked his neck. Her hand slid down until it rested between his legs. "Maybe I should coax that other fluid from you while you watch your wife dying across the room."

Max spit on her. "There's a fluid for you."

Rage flashed in Melinda's eyes. Her mouth turned down and she stabbed the dagger at his groin. She looked down. "I missed," she said, pulling the blade from his thigh. "Guess it's your lucky day. You might even get to die before your wife."

While Melinda let Max's blood fill her bowl, she kept her eyes locked on his face. Max felt his blood flow out but he refused to look down. He just watched her and waited. He knew what was about to happen. He waited for it. His only chance.

With the bowl filled, Melinda kissed Max's cheek and turned around to face the circle. This was it. Max pulled himself upward on the pipe and lifted his legs toward her shoulders. He had hoped to wrap his legs around her neck, but he was too weak now to get his legs high enough. He did manage to kick her in the back, sending her stumbling into the circle.

Melinda let out a screech of surprise as she fell to one knee. All her focus shifted to keeping the blood from spilling out of the bowl. Her body shook as she gently placed the bowl on the floor. Then she let out a huge sigh.

"That's why I like you," she said, turning to Max. "You don't give up, do you? But you failed. Not a drop spilled."

"Come back and I'll try again."

Melinda picked up the bowl and stood straight. "I am coming back, and I'm going to finish this spell. If you try anything again, I'll walk over to your beloved Sandra and slit her neck. You understand? She's dying right now, but she's not dead yet. Who knows? Maybe when I'm done with this, I'll let her live. But if you do anything more to disrupt me, you'll be responsible for her guaranteed death. Am I clear?"

Though Max shook with anger, though his eyes blazed his frustration, though his fingers curled into fists, he nodded.

"Good," Melinda said, approaching as before. This time, as she turned toward the circle, she paused long enough to send Max a warning glance. He refused to meet her eyes. She knelt on the circle and completed tracing the symbols in blood.

"Now," she said, "it's time." She stepped into the circle and knelt right behind Howard Corkille. Like a seasoned caregiver, she eased him back, reclining his body until his head rested in her lap.

"Thank you," Howard said, his words shaky and cracking. "Thank you all for the sacrifice you are making for me. I'm so tired of this world. But to know that my darling Melinda will benefit in such an enormous way makes this parting all that much better."

"Shhh," Melinda said, stroking Howard's head. "It's time for you to finally rest."

"Yes. Rest. That sounds wonderful."

Howard closed his eyes and Melinda lifted her hands upward. She started to moan in low, drawn-out tones like an ancient monk deep in meditation. The only break came when she drew breath.

"Boy-o-boy, that's horrible," Drummond said as he lowered through the ceiling. "I can hear her through the floorboards."

"Where the hell have you been?" Max said despite the hot pain in his throat and the deep relief he felt the moment he saw the old ghost. Modesto looked up, his brow scrunched, but he said nothing.

Drummond raised his hands. "Sorry. I got lost. Y'know, I think old Jules Korner must've helped design this place. It's a darn maze." After a quick survey of the room, he added, "Doesn't look like things are going all that well for you."

"Shut up and do something," Max said.

"Like what?"

"Like stick your hand into her head and stop all this." Max's face puckered at the pain in his throat.

"Kill her? Doesn't look like things are that bad."

Max's face found enough blood to turn red. "Sandra is dying," he managed. He tasted the bitter copper of blood in his mouth.

Drummond swooped in on Sandra. "Can you hear me?"

Sandra raised an eye. She looked pale and weak.

"Sorry, Max," Drummond said. "I didn't realize it was so serious. I'll take care of everything."

Puffing out his chest, Drummond slid forward, his arms reaching out toward Melinda's head. But when he hit the circle's edge, he screamed out and fell backward. Light tendrils of smoke twined above him.

Melinda paused her moaning chant long enough to laugh. "Sorry. No ghosts allowed."

With one hand rubbing his head, Drummond said, "That hurt."

Melinda watched Max as she rose to her feet. Her eyes widened, her mouth leered, her expression twisted — she was a gargoyle celebrating freedom from its stony prison. "The time has arrived," she said. "I won't be just an obedient little girl anymore. I won't be a caretaker for a fossilized man. Soon, I will have the power to change everything."

She lifted her right hand, and Max saw the paintbrush clenched in her fingers. It was small, pencil thin, the kind of brush used for fine, detailed work. Max marveled at the sight. All this trouble caused over a few hairs on this tiny brush.

"Now," Melinda said turning toward Howard's sleeping body, "you will no longer suffer."

"Drummond," Max whispered softly both to protect his damaged throat and to keep Melinda from hearing. "You have to save Sandra. Nothing else matters to me. Okay?"

For all his sarcasm and foolishness, the core of Marshall Drummond came out when needed the most. The ghost took one look at Max, gave one understanding nod, and whisked across the room. He placed both hands around Sandra's wrist and closed his eyes in concentration.

Her hand turned white as a supernatural cold infiltrated her skin. The blood stopped flowing from her wrist. Sandra's eyes snapped open as the cold shocked her awake. She looked around, confused and desperate to comprehend.

The air inside the circle shimmered and warped around the Corkilles. Max tried to watch Sandra, but the air between them twisted her image as if looking through a glass of water.

"Max," Sandra called out. "Max, I'm okay. Dizzy, but okay."

He wanted to let her know he was fine. He wanted to scream out how much he loved her. But he only had a few more words in him before his throat refused to make any sound until it healed. He thought he should hold on to them.