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  Built in Winston's West End, the Hotel had been the brainchild of R. J. Reynolds and other community leaders. It was an enormous structure, reminding Max of a Disney castle made of wood. As a gift to the Hotel, an anonymous source donated a beautiful set of thirteen handbells — white with a red stripe and curious markings on the inside lip. They were prominently displayed in the lobby entrance. It was hoped this resort hotel would help make Winston a business and vacation center for the region.

  That night in 1892, however, the hopes were in Ellen's heart. She wore a dark calico skirt and a light-colored blouse, and she bought a new, yellow handkerchief, perhaps as a gift. She then headed off to the Hotel.

  The following morning, a hotel employee came upon a gruesome scene. As reported in the Union Republican: "A white apron was found hanging upon a bush near the body, which was that of Ellen Smith, which was lying face downward, bloody, and the body swollen and disfigured and a prey to flies."

  "The old journalists sure could paint a picture," Max said.

  What followed went beyond the scope of Max's research but in the end, after much drama and several years, Peter DeGraff was convicted of the murder and hanged. This unfortunate and ghastly murder became one of the biggest stories and trials in all of Winston-Salem history. For Max, however, the most astonishing aspect to the tale came when he learned of the ill-fated hotel.

  On Thanksgiving Day 1892, the same year as the Smith murder, a fire broke out in the wooden hotel. It spread fast, and in no time became uncontrollable. Guests and staff rushed to safety in the distance, bringing with them whatever possessions they could manage. A photographer took advantage of the tragedy and made a picture of the event.

  Max's heart stopped as he stared at the familiar photo. The massive building awash in flames and smoke while a crowd of onlookers gawked from their chairs and boxes. It was the same photograph Joshua Leed had died trying to give him.

  Max picked up the picture and stared at it. There had to be something more to see than just the fact that the hotel had a connection to the Bells of the Damned. Leed could have told him that much. Instead, the man risked and lost his life for the photo.

  "What am I supposed to see?"

  Using the magnifier on his smartphone, Max searched the image starting in the top left corner and working his way methodically across and down. There were strange images within the thick smoke pouring out of the hotel, but Max thought that might only be his imagination seeing things much like recognizing objects in the shapes of clouds. Whatever Leed wanted him to see had to be more substantial than that.

  When he reached the crowds, he found that most of the people had their backs to the camera. A young child stared at the camera, the body blurred a bit but the eyes glowing bright. Was this it? Max couldn't be sure. The figure had a definite supernatural feel to it, but calling it as such made Max feel like he had found Big Foot in a shadow on blurry film.

  Then he saw it, and he knew right away Leed had wanted to show him this. He knew it from the way his hands tingled and the way he had to remember to breathe. Sitting behind the blurred figure, clear as the fire itself, Max spotted a young woman, her profile showing enough detail that he knew the face. Without a doubt, he looked upon the same woman as in the photo Dr. Ernest had saved. The same photo Drummond hid from. Strangest of all, the woman in Ernest's photo was no older than the woman at the Zinzendorf Hotel fire — but they were taken almost fifty years apart.

  Chapter 13

  When Max entered his office, he found Sandra on her computer working on the code and Drummond floating around the ceiling humming the theme to the '80s television show Mike Hammer. The old ghost had tightened his face like a child throwing a tantrum. When he saw Max, he swooped down.

  "It's not that great a life being a ghost, and your wife is making it worse."

  Sandra ignored the commotion, so Max headed to his desk.

  Drummond grabbed his hat and threw it on the ground, but it vanished and reappeared upon his head. "You know, you ought to be nicer to me. I do nothing but help you."

  Max snapped his eyes upon Drummond, silencing the ghost. "Sandra." She didn't answer. Louder, Max called again. "Sandra!"

  She jumped and whirled around, her eyes wide with fear. When she saw her husband, she relaxed and pulled her mp3 player's buds out of her ears. Despite his anger at Drummond, Max had to laugh.

  "What's going on?" she asked.

  Drummond wagged his finger at them both. "Some days, you two are in cahoots against me. It's not fair. I had to spend decades alone here and now that I've got some company, you guys keep trying to shut me out."

  This brought Max right back to the problem. "You're the one shutting us out. You've been lying to us ever since you saw that article about Dr. Ernest's murder."

  "You better watch it with the accusations."

  Max opened his notebook and slapped down the photograph of the Zinzendorf Hotel fire.

  "You're getting good at that," Drummond said.

  "I'm not in a joking mood."

  "Fine, fine. What's the big deal. It's a photo of the big Zinzendorf fire. Pretty famous photo, locally. Not exactly that big of a find."

  Max pulled out his smartphone and brought up the snapshot he took of the magnified portion. "Look familiar?"

  Drummond's sarcastic expression dropped away. His chin quivered a moment before he locked up his jaw in a tight clench. Narrowing his eyes, he flew to the back corner of the office.

  "Come on," Max said. "I'm not an idiot. You've lied to us repeatedly, afraid we would find out about this woman. We've got murders and witch covens and these cursed handbells, and I know you have information for us."

  "The handbells are cursed?"

  "They're called the Bells of the Damned, and I'm pretty sure they had something to do with this fire as well as quite a lot of deaths for more than a century."

  "They're cursed."

  "That's right. I want to know how that's connected to your girl here."

  With a bewildered gaze, Drummond looked across the room to Max. "And that's really her? Sitting there, watching the fire in 1892?"

  "I think so."

  "Then I was wrong." Drummond lowered his head and shuddered. Max swore Drummond sounded relieved. A moment later, the ghost returned to the desk, sniffling and dabbing at his eyes. "I'm truly sorry that I caused the two of you trouble and worry and all. I didn't know I was wrong all this time. I thought ..."

  Mimicking her husband's usual behavior, Sandra leaned back in her chair and kicked her feet up to the desk. "Care to explain what you're rambling on about?"

  Max tried to maintain a serious face, but he knew Sandra had the right idea. Something had changed, had eased, in the room. He sat at his desk. "Please. Tell us what's going on. Maybe we can help."

  Drummond looked from Sandra to Max. "If anybody can help now, it'd be you two. Before I say anything, though, I ask one favor. Meet me out at Tanglewood Park. I'd rather not talk of this here where I've spent so many years cursed. I'd rather be where this all began."

  "Of course," Sandra said. "It's the least we could do."

  * * * *

  Tanglewood Park contained sprawling acres upon acres of wooded trails, a pool, homes from the 1700s, stables, tennis courts, an arboretum, and even an old locomotive engine. Families loved the place as did wedding and event planners. It also sat far west of the city which meant Max and Sandra had plenty of time in the car.

  "Of course?" Max said. "Why would you agree to go all the way out here? We don't have time for this. You should be working on that code."

  "Honey, sometimes you've got to give a ghost a little slack. Clearly there's something emotional involved with this woman. You could see how choked up he got. Letting him tell it his own way will make it easier on him."

  "I don't care if it's easy for him. He lied to us."

  "All the more reason to go to the place that is connected to this strong emotion. He'll be so consumed with the memory, he won't realize how
much he's telling us."

  "Wait, wait. This is going to be a strong emotion for him? Isn't that what we're trying to avoid? Y'know, so he doesn't go evil on us."

  Sandra shrugged. "I made a tough call."

  "Are you crazy?"

  "We need to know what he knows. At this point, I think it's worth the risk. What else are we going to do? Sit around and wait to be murdered like Ernest and Leed?"

  Max had nothing else to say. She was right, as usual, and he figured he would be better off planning ahead rather than arguing a moot point. Except that his brain had no plan in mind. He drove in a blank daze, trying to make sense of the numerous bits of information he juggled, but made no progress.

  When they reached the park and paid the two dollar fee at the gatehouse, they headed slowly along the narrow drive until they passed the stables. A twelve-year-old girl rode her palomino inside a fenced paddock filled with jumps for her to practice on. Two women, Max guessed her mother and a trainer, watched with tense excitement. As they receded in the rearview mirror, Max marveled at how much he had learned to read off of people's body language.

  "Over there," Sandra said, pointing to the open field on the left. They parked and walked over to where Drummond floated, staring at a tree.

  "I think she knew," Drummond said as they approached. "I don't know how, but she had to have known that the witch hunters were coming and that they would contact me for local help."

  "Who was she?" Max asked.

  "Her name was Patricia Welling. I was out here for a friend's wedding, but you know me, I don't like that kind of thing. So, I went for a stroll and wound up around here. I looked over and saw this exquisite woman by this tree. She wore a blue gown and we shared a cigarette. I never asked her what she was doing out there. I assumed she was there for the wedding, too, since she dressed so fancy. Well, we talked and laughed and while I'm not one to share this kind of thing, you should know that we kissed, too. In fact, we began to see each other most every night."

  Max looked at the tree so he didn't have to meet Drummond's eye. "When you say that you saw each other, do you mean ..."

  "Okay, yes. We were like rabbits. You really don't believe in subtlety, do you?"

  "Just trying to be clear."

  "I know how this sounds, but the truth is that we had fallen in love. Even looking back at it all, knowing that she had arranged the relationship, I know she loved me. She probably had not intended to fall for me, but it happened."

  Sandra laced her fingers between Max's. "Is that when Dr. Ernest showed up?"

  "We had two incredible weeks together. The kind of time that changes a man, makes him think about packing it in, giving up a dangerous life, settling down, maybe even some kids. I even turned away cases so I could spend more time with her. For those two weeks, I swear I thought nothing could change. Then I walked into my office one morning and there's this professor from up North with his tales of witch covens and special rituals. He came with two names to follow up on. Jane Bitter and Patricia. I sent him and Leed after Bitter. I figured they'd come up with more information from her and I could avoid having to approach Patricia about any of it. Except right then, I don't know if I recognized it at the time but I know it now, that was the moment a darkness began to form inside me."

  "You poor thing," Sandra said.

  "Turned out Jane was the real deal. A full witch and part of the coven he and Leed had been hunting down. They destroyed her that night but not before getting her to confess a list of six more members. Right away I saw that Patricia was on the list. We each took two names, and since I had supposedly made contact with Patricia already, they let me have her name. We agreed on a night for the job to be done, and I had two days to figure out if she was really a witch or if Jane Bitter had lied."

  As Drummond spoke, Max watched him carefully while trying not to be obvious. Sandra appeared to be lost in the romantic nature of the story which worried Max even more. As his resident ghost expert, he needed her to be looking for any sign that Drummond's story might be turning him.

  "The evidence Matt had compiled in a file gave me little to help. In fact, the two days passed quickly, and I still had no idea what to believe." Drummond's fingers curled into fists.

  Max said, "This is a painful memory. Why don't we take a break, let us process everything you've said, and then we'll come back —"

  "No." Drummond barked. "I've got to get this out."

  Sandra looked to Max, lines of worry creasing her forehead.

  "The night came and I had decided to deal with the other witch first. I guess I wanted to avoid the whole thing as long as possible, as if maybe some savior would come in and make that horrible night disappear. I went to the home of Joanna Lee. She lived in a small house on First Street, and I remember thinking that I'd have to be careful about the neighbors hearing anything."

  With a sour chuckle, Drummond moved across the field toward the car. Max wanted to be hopeful that this meant Drummond had calmed down, but the ghosts stern expression left little room for such hopes.

  "I walked in there, and she had been waiting. She attacked me with a carving knife. I don't like hurting women, but in this case, I had no choice. She would've sliced me up, if I had let her. So I fought back, and despite her yelling some foul things, her biting and random kicking, I managed to subdue her long enough to tie up her feet and get her hands behind her back. Then I had to do the cursing ritual.

  "I drew a circle around her with salt and a pulled out an ivory knife that Matt had given me. With it, I had to carve three symbols into her back, deep enough to hit bone. She screamed as I did this, tears soaking the floor. She wanted to wriggle away but the cuts were so deep that movement only caused her more and more pain. And I suspect that she held on to the hope that whatever curse I inflicted on her did not involve her death. But she was wrong. When I finished the last symbol, I grabbed her hair and pulled back her head, and with that ivory knife, I slit her throat."

  They had reached the car, and Max opened the back door for Drummond. "I'm sorry you had to go through that."

  "It got worse. She didn't die. She bled and sputtered, but she didn't die. She wrenched her head around to see me, and I've never seen such a tormented face. Blood pouring out of her neck, down her chest, and her eyes blazing at me in pain and hatred. I didn't know why she was still alive, and I had no clue what to do. This was long before cellphones. I had no way to contact anybody quickly. At least, nobody I wanted to contact. With all the noise we had made and that she continued to make, I figured the police would be showing up any second." Drummond glanced at Max. "Close that damn door. I'm not a fragile little thing you need to escort around."

  Max closed the door and tried not to show his fear.

  "Sorry," Drummond said, but he maintained his intense expression. "Please, let me finish this." He looked back the way they had come. "Blood poured out of her, more than I ever thought a body could hold, but it pooled inside the circle. No matter how saturated the salt became, that curse kept all of her contained. And then I saw it. The middle symbol, the one that cut deepest into her spine, I had missed putting in two lines. I shoved her over and tried to correct the mistake, but she fought back hard. It was all that much harder because I had to make sure not to disturb the salt. I managed to get through it, though, and the second I finished the symbol, she dropped dead. I followed the rest of Matt's instructions, burying the body, covering it with salt, and a page with more symbols that Matt had written for me.

  "I spent an hour walking the downtown area — drinking. I'd seen some strange things before that, but nothing so horrifying. I really didn't know if I could do it again, much less to Patricia. After awhile, I ended up at her doorstep. I don't recall what we said, but I think she knew why I had come. She also knew she could change my mind with a kiss. That kiss — that's when I knew without a doubt that she loved me.

  "We spent the night together. The most passionate night of my life. Everything we had become together poured out
of us, pooled around us, in a desperate, tragic embrace. But then the morning came, and I could only think one thing — the only reason she could possibly have known of the coming tragedy between us was if she had been a witch all along. Otherwise, she would be asking me why I was so intense. What was wrong? Anything like that. But she hadn't. She knew exactly what was wrong because her coven sisters had died that night.

  "Knowing that she was a witch didn't make it any easier. But it did strengthen my resolve, because if I didn't finish the job, the otherworldly revenge would be ghastly. See, we weren't just killing them. That's what we should have done. But Matt and Leed convinced me that cursing them would be better. Maybe that's why the universe saw fit to curse me later." Drummond pointed to the car door. "Just because I'm a ghost doesn't mean you can't be polite. Open the door."

  Max frowned but a warning look from Sandra kept him quiet. He opened the door for Drummond and then got behind the wheel. "Back to the office?"

  "Not yet. I haven't finished the story."

  "Then where?"

  "Get on 40 East. Back into the city."

  As Max drove, Drummond continued his tale. He spoke with such vivid detail, Max had no trouble picturing the scene. Drummond stayed in bed as the morning sun broke through the drab curtains. He listened to Patricia taking a shower as his thoughts tumbled over each other. There had to be a way out of this — some loophole that would both destroy the coven yet somehow let Patricia remain alive and his.

  He slid out of bed and into his clothes. The ivory knife weighed heavy in his coat pocket. Magic. Why did people mess with it? In all his time spent dealing with the supernatural, he had yet to find anybody who had benefited from using magic. Then again, there was one way he could stay with Patricia — join her. Leave this world of violence and sadness and join the coven, learn the dark arts, become a husband far beyond anything she could have expected.