Chapter Ten
The speaker box chimes as the door swings open. I peer up from the desk and wonder briefly if the smartly dressed woman is in the wrong place. It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask when she scans the room. Her gold and green elephant print dress and rose covered sunglasses are obviously designers. The two things alone could pay rent on the office for months, and that’s before I add in the leather purse at her side. Her plump lips are not ones that occur in nature. The deep maroon lip color contrasts with her perfectly highlighted golden-blonde locks, which tumble around her shoulders like she’s about to audition for a Herbal Essence commercial.
“Can we help you, ma’am?” Fel asks.
“I hope so. I have a …” She peers behind her like she anticipates being followed. Stepping inside, she closes and locks the door. “Problem with the new home my husband purchased. He may be in denial, as he travels for business and is rarely home, but I can no longer afford to ignore the incidents.” She clears her throat, and peers down at her French manicured fingernails. Her voice is cool, but I can detect the undercurrent of fear. “Before I say anything more, I need to be assured you can be discreet.”
“Of course, Mrs.?” Fel stands and moves toward her.
I lean back in my chair, content to observe, and let her take point. Of the three of us, Fel has the best people skills.
“Charlotte Addington.”
I bet you think that last name means something to us, don’t you?
“Please let me get you settled, Mrs. Addington.” Fel guides her over to the suede charcoal couch in our receiving area. “Can I get you anything to drink? Coffee, tea, or water, perhaps?”
I glance over at Sacha and arch an eyebrow. Is this chick for real, or are we being pranked? She shrugs her shoulder and shakes her head. We get all kinds. Half of them have problems we can explain with science. Hauntings and paranormal issues are rarer than most people believe.
Mrs. Addington has yet to remove her sunglasses. If the scandalized and the shamed expression on her slender, oval-shaped face―with impossibly perfect, asymmetrical features―is anything to go by, she wishes she was anywhere but here.
“I’m fine. Thank you.” Mrs. Addington’s voice is sugary sweet. A proper southern belle knows how to maintain impeccable manners in any situation, regardless of how awkward it is.
“Here at W.F.H., we work as a team to produce the best results. I’m Felicite, and I’ll be taking the lead in your case. These are my associates and co-owners, Sacha and Louella.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” Sacha says. I echo her statement as we join them both in the receiving area. I want to see her eyes. You can tell a lot about a person by merely locking gazes and watching their response. Everyone has tells, and body language is only altered by the consummate liar.
“Please, call me Charlotte,” she offers like an olive branch. “I must seem silly to you, showing up here in oversized sunglasses, but people in my neighborhood live for gossip. A person in my situation does not dabble in the occult. I can’t risk damaging my husband’s good name. Surely you understand that?”
We’re being insulted and asked for help in the same breath. It’s not the first time, and it won’t be the last. I grit my teeth and hold my tongue.
“Of course, Charlotte. We know these things can be scary and hard to believe if you’ve never experienced a paranormal event. So, we understand your concerns about people possibly misinterpreting things. I assure you we are well-versed in the art of subtlety. We never reveal our clientele list.”
Thank God, Fel’s taken the lead on this case. She handles the blonde bombshell with warmth and professionalism.
“Can you tell us what brought you here today?” Sacha asks, gently steering them toward the main event.
Charlotte takes a deep breath. “It started off small. Things going missing, odd noises. While it’s a new home for us, the building itself is hundreds of years old. I thought it was a matter of acclimating myself to a new property. When the strange occurrences continue, strange smells, sounds, and the feeling of being watched. I thought maybe we had a ghost or two. It’s a plantation home. We all know the ugly history tied to such locations.”
Ugly history. Years of mistreatment and inhuman living conditions, demoralization, and inhuman atrocities can be wrapped up in a proper sentence. I sneer.
“What changed your mind?” Sacha asks.
“The tone changed. I started to be afraid of being alone in the house. The knocking grew louder, more agitated, if you will, rattling doorknobs and shaking beds. Then I started to see them.”
I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “Them?” I ask.
“The shadow people,” she whispers.
Chills run down my spine. “Can you describe them?” I ask, skeptically.
“They’re not black. Not in the way we normally understand the color. They’re darkness. A shape no light can penetrate. They’re all long limbs, reaching to the ceiling and bending in ways no human could ever manage. They stand at the end of my bed, moving closer with every blink. I catch them out of the corners of my eyes in other rooms. They whisper to me.”
Shit. The woman is one of two things: mentally ill or under siege. Part of our job is determining which is the case.
“Charlotte. We have to ask you a series of questions before we agree to take the case. They may be a bit personal, but we need you to answer them honestly. Please keep in mind, we’re here to help, not judge.”
“No, I’m not on medication, nor do I have a history of mental illness. I’m not a heavy drinker, and I wasn’t under the influence of anything when I had my experiences,” she says haughtily with a smirk. “I did my research. I’ve tried smudging, ignoring, and questioned my sanity a number of times only to come to the same conclusion. This is really happening.”
“How long has this been happening?” Sacha asks.
“Eight months.”
“That’s a long time to deal with what you’re describing,” I state.
“I exhausted all other venues before I came here.”
“Do you have a problem with witches, Mrs. Addington?” I lean back, narrowing my gaze.
“Not personally, but the open association with them would be bad for my husband’s business. I’m a newlywed. It’s too soon to be rocking boats. A girl’s got to look out for number one.” She flashes a faux smile.
“And how do you propose we help you with your issue without ‘rocking the boat’?” I air quote.
“Well, I’m not a saint. I can have friends over for girls’ night.” Her pleased grin has me struggling against eye rolling.
“Clever. We’ll be happy to accommodate your needs.” Fel schmoozed like a socialite, and I grit my teeth and remind myself not everyone is grateful for the help they receive. No. Mrs. Addington apparently feels she’s entitled to it. Thankless jobs are often the ones most necessary.
I continue to take notes as we arrange a time and date to explore her home and see her out the front door.
“You didn’t like Charlotte at all,” Fel remarks a few moments after she leaves.
“I didn’t say a word.” I stir the honey into my rosehip tea and she snorts.
“Like you had to?”
“I was polite.” I shrug.
“Yeah, and nothing else,” Sacha echoes.
“Shut it, Sach. You didn’t like her either.”
“Yeah, but I’m a better bullshitter.” Sacha winks.
“I didn’t have it in me to pretend with another person. I have enough ass to kiss in everyday life. She rubbed me the wrong way.”
“I think she knew it, too,” Fel says.
“Bitch.”
Fel laughs. “Meow. Put away the claws.”
“Do you want us to drop the case?” Sacha asks.
“No. Last time I checked, being a bitch isn’t a crime. Come on, we have another appointment to make,” I say, eager for the road trip to the next site. I need time to shake this.
***
“How the hell could anyone do this?” Sacha asks.
I stare at the old battlement at Fort Pike historical site and shake my head. A massive chunk is missing from the brick and mortar. I crane my neck to peer up the decaying structure initially built in the early eighteen hundreds. The old cannon still rests atop the high wall constructed to see the enemy coming and give a perfect place to fire off from. The old girl’s been breaking down for a while under the strain of hurricanes and aging, and land under the water level. It bore cracks and weak points.
It’s the perfect slices taken out like a slice of cake that screams magical aid.
“Had to be magic. Nothing else could be that precise and go undetected,” I say. There’s no sign of heavy machinery, and short of lasers, I can’t think of a damn thing that could make a clean cut.
“Even if someone figured out a way to remove this section, how would they carry it away, and where would they store it?” Sacha asks.
“Why would they do any of it?” Fel adds.
“To move something this big magically, you’d be expending a large amount of energy. It doesn’t seem worth the effort for a witch.”
“You think it’s the demon again?” Fel says, catching on to my train of thought.
“Yeah.” I nod my head, straining to put the pieces of the puzzle together. Corpse, heart, head, and battlement? They’re all random. If I stretch it’s possible the parapet could be connected to the veteran’s family history, but I don’t know why you’d need both for any spell. At least not that much of it. They took the ground as well as the wall.
“Why? I think we’re letting one case get into our heads. We need to remain more objective,” Sacha argues.
“You think someone else did this?” I ask skeptically.
“Maybe. We’ll never know if we attribute every single thing we came across to one case. Our business is dealing with the strange. Why should we be shocked when we encounter it?” Sacha throws her hands up in the air.
Have I been compromised? My gut says no. I clamp my mouth shut and gesture forward in a sweeping motion with my arms. “You take point, Sach. We’ll follow your lead on this one. You’re right. I’m not able to remain impartial right now.”
Sacha stalks forward, Artemis reborn with her confident strides, intensity, and strength. I trail behind her at a slower slip, observing the area for anything of note. The lack of evidence is sobering.
“What are the locals saying?” Fel asks.
“They’re not saying it’s aliens. But they’re not saying it isn’t.”
Fel laughs. “When in doubt, blame the spacemen who probably have far better things to do than be bothered with us.”
“Come on, cousin. You know humans are the most precious snowflakes in all the universe. We’re the pinnacle in the circle of life,” I say somberly.
“God, I hope not, or we’re screwed.” She draws out the last syllable and rolls her eyes.
The area has been hastily roped off with caution tape, but it’s plainly been explored. Closed in two thousand and twelve after Hurricane Isaac, the state park has been all but abandoned.
“Do we have any clue how long it’s been like this?” Fel asks.
Sacha shrugs. “People come out here so infrequently since it’s been closed to the public, it’s impossible to say.”
“Who called it in?” I ask as we walk toward the opening, and I wonder what’s keeping the rest of the structure from falling in on itself.
“A park worker who patrols here and happens to be a witch.”
“Luckily for us.”
“He said when he first discovered it, the place was swamped with bad juju. His words, not mine.” Sacha raises her hands when we eyeball her.
“Do you feel anything now?” I ask. We pause and tune into our environment. There’s an unsettling sensation that lingers in the air. A disturbance to nature has left a bitter taste in the wind. Chill bumps cover my arm.
“Did the temperature just drop or is it me?” Fel whispers.
“I feel it,” I say.
“Me too,” Sacha adds.
I can feel eyes on me. I slowly turn in a circle, trying to find the source. I rub my arms to ward off the chill. The stench of rotten meat burns the hairs of my nostrils. Fel gags.
“What the hell is that?” Sacha’s voice is muffled by the hand covering her nose and mouth.
“I don’t know.” A shushing noise breaks the cloying silence. I turn my head and freeze as I spot a writhing black mass of slithering bodies making their way across the grass.
“Lou, please tell me this is some mating ritual,” Fel whispers.
“Hell no. Nothing about this is normal,” Sacha hisses as the snakes encircle us. We move to stand back to back. The wind kicks up, rattling the trees in the distance. A crack of thunder has us all jumping. A streak of lightning illuminates the gray clouds, blocking out the sun. Nausea hits me. Gray figures began to rise from the ground. Smoky, humanoid figures, they wait in the distance.
“Lou,” Sacha screams over the roaring winds threatening to blow us over.
“I see them.” I plant my legs and raise my hands in the air. I focus on creating a circle of blazing white light. The figures rush forward. The intense cold they bring burns hot. Pain explodes in my head. Metaphysical claws rip through my mental shield. I scream. Images of Fel and Sacha broken and bleeding fill my mind.
“No.” I choke the words out as I force the foreign entity from my mind. Icy hands wrap around my throat. I’m yanked off my feet and tossed. I land on my back with am umph. With the wind knocked out of me, I’m unable to catch my breath. My vision blurs. I bury my fingers into the soil and pull energy from the ground. I wince as the remnants of the blood-soaked battleground buzz to life, disturbing sleeping ghosts.
This is more than a ghost. We’re under a demonic attack. I roll onto my side and push myself into a sitting position. Weaving back and forth, I focus on my faith and block out the shrill screams of the others. Ancestors, help me.
A surge of strength flows in my veins. I feel the helping hands of ghosts, tired of bloodshed, supporting and lifting me to my feet. I raise shaky hands as the weak barrier I’ve gathered around me holds.
“The light of God surrounds us.” The words come out loud, crisp, and sure. The exact opposite of how I feel. “The love of God enfolds us. The power of God protects us. The presence of God watches over us. Wherever we are, God is. And all is well.” White waves of energy glisten above my head, like a living rainbow. The dome of protection surrounds us. The smoky creatures flicker into nothingness. Sacha sends a bolt of her power out, flinging the snakes back toward the wooded area.
“Let’s get the hell out of here,” Fel whispers. The girls come over and help me to my feet. Their clothes are ripped, soiled with dirt, and their eyes are dilated with fear, but they seem relatively whole.
“You were right. It’s all connected, and that fucker is more powerful than I imagined,” Sacha says.
“It was after you. Why?” Fel asks
“I’m the one it saw at Hal’s.”
“Well, it’s seen all of us now,” Fel says dazedly.
“More reason to get the hell out of here,” Sacha mutters. I grip my side as we quickly depart. We’re battered, and bruised, but walking away. Next time we might not be so lucky.
“We need to learn how to protect ourselves,” Sacha whispers.
“Then that’s our next stop. I don’t know how long it takes this thing to manifest or regain energy. We hurt it. It’s going to be out for our blood.” I swipe at the trickle running down from my split lip. “Or more of it.”
We climb into the car, and I lean back against the leather, inhaling the earthy scent of sage Sacha continually keeps burning in the ashtray. I close my eyes and check in with a concerned Cristobal. “Ran into a demon. Everyone’s okay. Right now, I need to focus.”
“I’ll be monitoring.” The connection between us is muffled. He’s there in the back of my mind, present, but not distracting. What once terrified me has become a comfort. I’m never truly alone. In a world full of enemies and sticky situations, that’s a good thing.
“What do we know about this thing?” Fel asks.
“Nearly nothing. Other than the sigil there’s been nothing we can link to it. I think the demon is old. The kind of power it’s wielding isn’t something that underlings possess. I don’t know if it’s being controlled, or controlling. “
“Because one is better than the other?” Sacha’s voice drips with dark sarcasm.
“No, but it might change our approach to information gathering,” Fel says.
I watch as she types furiously into her cellphone. Organization is the way she deals.
We continue to toss about theory as Sacha drives to a small parish in the middle of nowhere. We pull up in front of a tiny white church that couldn’t hold more than a hundred people max. I arch an eyebrow. She steps from the car, and I’m shocked by the protection surrounding the building.
“These are powerful wards.”
“Faith can work magic all its own, and the man who cares for this place has a deep belief.” She smirks. “He also knows a thing or ten about magic.” She leads us around the side of the steepled structure and knocks at the door. It opens to reveal a man in his late fifties to early sixties. His skin is tan from working in the sun, and his face is a road map of kindness from its crow’s feet in the corner of his eyes to the laugh lines. His green eyes are warm, and his silver hair is threaded with the lingering memories of faded black strands.
“Ms. Sacha. You’ve come to see me again, and you’ve brought friends I see.”
“Father Axson, this is Louella and Felicite Esçhete.”
“The honor is mine, ladies.” He gives a slight bow.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Father.”
“As much as I enjoy your visits, I get the impression from your clothing this is an urgent matter?”
“Yes, sir,” Sacha says.
“Please, step into my office.” He holds the door open as we step inside and leads us through the well-loved interior with wooden pews and floors shined to a high gloss. The building has aged beautifully. There’s a warmth in here that newer churches often lack. I peer up the aisle at the altar and feel the desire to take a moment to pray and reflect. There’s power here in these walls and the man we’re following. We gather in the tiny office, pushing three chairs close together across from the small oak desk with neat stacks of paperwork, a cross, and a gold nameplate with F.R. Axson written on it.
The walls are full of official documents, and photos of him with his parishioners and fellow priests.
“What can I do for you young ladies?” Father Axson asks.
“We’ve got demonic troubles, Father.”
He straightens. “I need to know everything.” He sits quietly while we fill him.
“Do you have the sigil?” he asks.
“No, but I can draw it,” Sacha says.
He opens a drawer in his desk, rustles through the papers, and hands her a blank sheet of loose leaf. She sketches the sigil. Hope blooms in my chest.
“I don’t know this by heart, but I can search the archives. You’ll be targeted now. You have to be dutiful in your faith.”
“What can we do to protect ourselves, Father?” Sacha questions.
“Keep holy water and holy objects near you at all times. They’ll bolster your faith and weaken the demon. The demonic try to break you down. Be aware of your surroundings and moods. They creep in a little at a time, chipping away at our reserves, isolating us, and ultimately devouring our souls.”
“Do you have any idea why they might be collecting these particular items?” I ask.
Father Axon shakes his head. “It’s impossible to say without knowing who we’re dealing with. Many of these demons have their specialties. Certain things can add to their power. For instance, a lust demon will be drawn to places, items, and people centered on lust. Think of it as fuel and batteries.”
The more we learn, the further we feel from solving this case. My head is crowded, and my soul is heavy.
“Thank you for looking into this, Father,” Sacha says.
“As soon as I find anything, I’ll contact you,” he replies.
I’m on autopilot as he walks us to the front and fills three bottles of holy water. “May God be with you as you fight this evil. People like you give an old man past his prime hope.”
“You’re not that old, Padre,” Sacha says.
“We need new blood. Evil is ageless and rampant.”
“Witch for Hire is here to help, Father. If we can ever return the favor, please let us know,” I say.
“I’ll take you up on that, young lady.”