Southern Charm Read online

  "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.

  Melinda held the brush over Howard's body. In a bright flash, the hairs on the brush ignited, burning hotter and higher than should have been possible. Max squinted against the light, but he could still see what happened.

  Howard Corkille's arms jerked to the side. Then his legs. Then his entire body spasmed on the floor as if suffering seiz
ures.

  "By the blood of those surrounding," Melinda said, "Free this man from that which binds him."

  Max couldn't say what he expected to occur, but there was no huge light show, no swirling of spirits, no cracking of the curse. Instead, the air stopped shimmering and the flaming brush lowered to a burning ember. Howard's body settled.

  The old man lifted his hand toward Melinda, and his mouth opened into a toothy grin. "I'm free," he said. And his hand flopped to floor. His body empty. Howard Corkille was dead.

  Max looked up from the body and saw his wife staring back at him. His eyes glistened as she blew him a kiss. But a frown took over her expression as her eyes focused just above Melinda's head.

  "Can you see this?" she asked.

  He peered in the same direction, but he saw nothing.

  "He can't see it," Drummond said.

  "There's an energy above her. It's not like a ghost. It's something strange," Sandra said.

  A soft pop of air startled Melinda as the brush ignited once more. The flame no longer hurt to see but it had an odd tinge of purple and blue inside it. It flickered in the air and lit Melinda's face from beneath creating harsh, ugly shadows.

  "By the soul of Edward Teach, Blackbeard the Pirate," Melinda said, raising her hands toward the invisible force above her. "By the infinite powers of the great voodoo priestesses of old, I call upon you to take this broken curse, consume its energy, consume its centuries of power, all that it was which now rests in this token of your power —" She shook the brush as if the power would dash from it and sprinkle down.

  To the side, Max saw Dr. Connor moving her head. It took a lot of effort but she managed to look right at Max. Her mouth moved but Max couldn't hear her above Melinda's spell casting.

  "Dump the bowl!" Sandra said. "Connor says to dump the bowl."

  Max nodded and moved his foot toward the bowl of his own blood. Though he stretched as far as his sore limbs would permit, the bowl remained out of reach. Melinda had been careful.

  "— take it all from here and release it back unto me. Come into me, spirits of the past, so I may rule as you would once have wanted to rule."

  Pointing at Melinda with his free hand, Drummond said, "That woman is nuts."

  "Come into me. Come into me," Melinda chanted.

  Sandra's face paled, and at first Max thought Drummond had put his ghostly touch on her for too long. Then she said, "Max ... I don't believe it. I think I'm seeing Blackbeard's ghost."

  Chapter 23

  "Come into me," Melinda said. "I am an open vessel."

  Max pulled down on the cuffs, but he knew nothing would come of it. He needed to do something, though. He looked around the room, hoping to find some miracle item that he hadn't noticed before.

  He saw Dr. Connor, head hung low, her body devoid of any energy. Modesto watched the circle with an expression equal parts disdain and defeat. Sandra stared at an empty space which, no doubt, contained the apparition of Blackbeard. Drummond, holding Sandra's wrist, also looked upon the pirate ghost.

  We're a sorry bunch, Max thought.

  "Come," Melinda continued, and waved the smoldering brush in front of her like incense. She reached out with her free hand, and though Max could not see Blackbeard, he pictured the pirate taking her hand like a gentleman asking to dance. But then her body jolted and her twisted face grimaced.

  "He's got her," Sandra said. "He's got her."

  Whatever pain Melinda had felt, sifted away. Her face softened with a blissful calm. She lifted her eyes toward Max, and looking more sadistic than Max had ever encountered before, she picked up the dagger. "Not enough blood," she said, her voice having dropped an octave. She was no longer Melinda. Blackbeard had control.

  She looked down at Howard Corkille and cut open his wrist. Like a vampire, she brought the wrist to her mouth. A little blood pooled but without his heart pumping, there was no flow.

  She threw Howard's wrist to the floor and let out an angry grunt. "Need more," she said, and it occurred to Max that the second part of this spell, the part intended to give Melinda such great power, may not have worked entirely. She had said that life fluids were important, but she never said just how important.

  Max looked at Howard's corpse. That blood was no good. Howard only provided dead fluids now. So why wasn't Blackbeard/Melinda coming after them, the living, cutting them open?

  Max's lips turned up in a devilish grin. Blackbeard may be in Melinda's body, but for now, he was still a ghost. He couldn't get out of the circle any more than Drummond could get in.

  Thinking of Drummond and his ghostliness brought another thought to Max like a shining sun bursting through a terrible storm. Knowing his throat would hate him for more talking, Max braced himself for the pain that would come, and said, "Honey, trust me."

  Sandra looked right at Max, straight into his heart. "Always."

  "Drummond, let go of her wrist and come over here."

  Drummond hesitated. "The cold won't last long without me."

  "I know," Max said.

  "She'll start to bleed again."

  Sandra shook her arms. "Trust him, already."

  Drummond looked from wife to husband and back. "If you start to get light-headed, you yell for me. I'll run right back."

  As Drummond went around the circle to cross the room, Melinda tried to reach out toward Dr. Connor. The circle prevented her from touching the witch. She spotted the blood-traced symbols on the floor, and like a famished wildcat, she dropped on all fours, and licked what hadn't dried yet.

  "What now?" Drummond asked as he approached Max.

  "Put your hands on the chain between my handcuffs. You freeze it like you did Sandra's wrist, only I want you to put everything into it. I want that chain so cold that it's practically ice itself. Can you do that?" Max said, his voice fading into a whisper at the end.

  Drummond nodded. He placed his hand on the chain, closed his eyes, and touched the metal. Max could see the pain this caused. Touching the corporeal world always caused pain. But, if nothing else, Drummond had always been a tough detective. He winced, bared his teeth, and grunted, but he never cried out.

  Melinda scrabbled toward the bloody symbols near Modesto. When she finished there, she moved on to Sandra's symbols. Every so often, she reached toward the circle's edge with one hand. Each time, she pulled it back as if stung. Except Max noticed that each time, she kept her hand against the barrier a little longer. Instinct told Max that when she finished all the blood the symbols had, it would be enough to free her from the circle.

  He yanked downward. "Colder," he said.

  Melinda looked up. Max could tell by her gaze that she now saw Drummond. A benefit of having Blackbeard inside her, he guessed. Understanding crossed her face, and she sped up her ingestion of the blood.

  "Hurry," Max said.

  Drummond put both hands on the chain. "Keep trying," he said.

  As Max pulled down, Melinda rushed across to the bloody symbols at his feet. She lapped it up, laughing at Max's desperation.

  "I'm going to have fun killing you," she said.

  He inhaled deeply and put every ounce of strength he had into one crushing pull. His wrists screamed out as the cuffs dug into his skin, but then he tumbled to the ground and little pieces of frozen metal tinkled on the floor. Drummond floated backward, his eyes closed in relief.

  "Max!" Sandra screamed.

  As he faced her, Melinda stepped out of the circle and backhanded him across the cheek. Not only had Blackbeard giving her the ability to see the dead, but Max learned that she also had gained a lot of his brute strength. The blow to his face sent Max rolling across the floor.

  Max stumbled to his feet just as Melinda rushed him. She grabbed his shirt and shoved him against the wall. She punched him in the gut. He doubled over, his lungs giving up all their air, his eyes watering at the pain. Bile raced up, burning the sore tissue as it coated his throat. He struggled to remain standing.

  Melinda clasped his
chin in her hand and forced his head upward. She gazed down upon him, and Max glimpsed the pirate inside her. He had heard that Blackbeard struck fear in the men he fought against, and Max understood why. The fierce eyes blazing at him lacked compassion, humanity, or even sanity. Had Melinda succeeded, she would have had great power. But with Blackbeard controlling Melinda, her power was vicious.

  She pulled back a fist and slammed it across his temple. Max dropped to the ground. The world spun around him.

  He thought he heard Sandra screaming his name, but her voice sounded muffled and dazed. He turned his head toward her. The floor rushed up to his face, cold and hard.

  He saw a figure stand over him. A dark, shadowed figure. Blackbeard. The pirate raised one, powerful foot.

  "Goodbye, Max Porter," a voice said.

  But that foot never slammed down. The pain never came. Instead, the shadowed figure arched back and toppled over with a surprised yell.

  Max rolled onto his side to see what had happened. The first thing he discerned through his blurred vision was that the fallen figure belonged to Melinda Corkille. That made sense and helped clear his muddled brain. The second thing he saw was Drummond floating above Melinda.

  Drummond turned his head toward Max and nodded. He shouldn't have done so. Melinda's hand shot upward and smashed Drummond toward the ceiling.

  "Idiot," she said. "I am the great Blackbeard. I can see you, and I can touch you, and I most certainly can destroy you."

  Melinda clamored to her feet and swung out with her fists. Drummond moved fast, though, and with the grace of an experienced fighter. He dodged her punches and countered with two strong jabs that popped hard, stumbling her back a few steps. Without Blackbeard coursing thorough her, Max figured Melinda would've been out cold.

  Back and forth Melinda and Drummond traded blows. Max watched from the floor, his body slowly recuperating. He could see one solid image instead of blurred doubles, and he could breathe without hot pokers attacking his lungs. Swallowing still hurt, but then he fully expected to be on an all-liquid diet for the next few weeks.