Southern Souls Page 18

  PB’s eyes shimmered. He started to move, perhaps make a run for it, but the follower standing behind him clamped down on his shoulders.

  “Careful. You should put your focus on that trigger.” As he spoke, the rest of the cloaked followers backed away several feet, still maintaining a circle. PB was guided into the center of the pentagram. Isaac continued, “I’m sure you had the thought of letting go in an attempt to kill us all. Take us with you. That won’t work. This is not a terrorist’s vest intended to cause as much destruction as possible. The explosives here are small and directed so that most of the blast will go inward. At this distance from you, we will all be quite safe.”

  “Not safe from me,” Max said as he stepped away from the generator and rushed straight in.

  Chapter 29

  WITH A CARTOONISH SNEER, Isaac Brown said, “I can’t say I’m surprised. Heck, I would’ve been disappointed if you hadn’t shown.”

  Max clenched his fists as he stormed forward. Isaac snapped a finger at one of his followers, and the cloaked figure broke away from the circle to intercept. Rolling his head, Max raised his fists. He expected no less.

  The figure flipped back the hood and revealed a thick-necked, flat-nosed bruiser of a man. The way he thumped toward Max with all the grace of a clumsy giant, Max thought the man did not have much fighting experience. At least, not good fighting. He probably relied on his bulk to end conflicts with only a couple of punches.

  But Max had continued his Tae Kwon Do training and knew how to move. When the big fellow stepped in and hauled off a haymaker, it was over. For the big guy.

  Max ducked the punch, stayed low, and thrust his palm right into the man’s solar plexus. Twisting at the waist as he delivered the blow, Max sent all of his force into that one small section of the chest like a metal piston blasting forth.

  The big guy crashed to his knees, gasping for breath, clutching his chest. Max straightened and walked on, his eyes zeroing in on Isaac.

  “Well, well,” Isaac said, still cocky, still confident. “Looks like we have a fighter.” Another flick of his finger sent another one of his followers.

  This time when the hood fell back, Max discovered a hard-looking woman. Real barfly type. If either she or Isaac thought Max would not hit a woman, then they seriously misread the situation. Because nothing would stop him from getting PB back.

  The woman, however, did have a few surprises. She began her attack further away than he expected, running forward and growling like a rabid dog. He set his foot back in a fighting stance, watched her approach, and wondered why she would telegraph her attack with such blatant abandon. Turned out, at the last moment, she dove forward, somersaulted, and popped up with a low punch aiming for the groin.

  Muscle memory saved Max. Before he could consciously act, his body moved. He blocked, shoving her fist off course and into his thigh. A dull throb raced up his leg, promising a thick cloud of purple and black bruising to be with him for at least a week.

  For a half-second, the woman stared at Max and Max stared back. Then he clocked her in the jaw. Before she could reset her legs, he kicked at the side of the nearest knee. It bent at a funny angle and she screamed as she went down.

  Max resumed his steady stride. Seeing the doubt ripple across Isaac’s brow, Max allowed himself one arrogant breath — all of that martial arts training had finally paid off big. But then Isaac flicked his hand twice, and two burly men remove their hoods.

  The one on the left looked to be middle-aged, probably a banker or a lawyer, but he held himself in a balanced stance with tight fists — he had some training, too. The man on the right was young, pushing thirty, and if he lacked anything in skill, he would make up for it with youthful energy.

  Max settled once again into a fighting stance, once again raised his fists, once again readied for a fight. But in the back of his mind, he knew that taking on more than one person at a time went beyond any of his training. He would do his best, but he only had a few tricks up his sleeve.

  “It’s not looking too good,” Isaac said. “If it will help you give up sooner, I can throw in a third person. Or maybe I’ll join.”

  “I think I can help,” Sandra said as she stepped out from behind the generator. With her hands splayed open, a red ball of energy formed. It glowed beneath her face casting stark shadows up into her hair.

  All of the Soro Group — those revealed and those still hiding beneath their hoods — stepped back.

  Isaac glowered. “Don’t be cowards. She’s one lady putting on a light show. We have the power of true magic with us.”

  Sandra could not hold back her mocking life. To Max, she said, “Duck.”

  Max dropped to the dirt as Sandra unleashed the energy she had gathered. It spread out like a crimson fan, expanding the further it traveled. Slapping into the members of the Soro Group, the energy lifted them into the air and threw them back several feet. Max knew the blast had not been intended to harm anybody, certainly not to kill anybody, but part of him wished she had been willing to do more damage.

  Helping Max back to his feet, she took his hand and pulled him in a rush to get to PB. The boy sat in the center of the circle with his back to them. His head hung low.

  “Are you hurt?” Max had missed if the energy blast went over PB’s head or not.

  “It’s us, sweetie,” Sandra said. “We’re here to take you home.”

  She put her hand on PB’s back, but he shucked it off. “Go away,” he said.

  Max stepped around and knelt in front of PB. “Don’t worry. We’re going to figure out how to get you out of this safely.”

  Lifting his tear-stained face, PB said, “Leave me alone. Go back to J. He’s worth saving.”

  “Don’t say that. You’re worth every bit as much to us as J.”

  “I rejected you. I did the stupid thing. I always do the stupid thing. I deserve to be sitting here like this.”

  “No,” Max said. The word sounded weak to his ears but not because he agreed with PB — he clearly didn’t — but because he had no idea how to respond.

  “Max!”

  Looking up, Max saw a startled expression on Sandra’s face. He knew without doubt that one of the Soro Group would be attacking him from behind. He knew this because he saw the barfly coming up behind Sandra.

  The blow to his head sent the world spinning. He saw the faces of the Soro Group whipping by. He saw the construction equipment in the distance. He saw the hollow look in PB’s eyes. Worst of all — he saw PB’s hand shaking as the boy tried to keep a tight grip on a dead man’s trigger.

  Chapter 30

  ALTHOUGH MAX AND SANDRA NEVER BLACKED OUT, they were dazed enough to be easily controlled. By the time Max’s head began to clear, he and Sandra had been tied back-to-back and thrown into the center of the circle. PB stayed at their side, unwilling to look at either of them. He sat on the ground, stared at the trigger in his hand, and shuddered.

  Up to this point, Max’s attention had been so focused on rescuing PB, he had taken little notice of basic matters — like the heat. But now, under this bridge with his body tied, he became exceedingly aware of the sweat streaming from his brow, of the salty taste in his mouth as it slipped between his lips, of the burn from coarse rope rubbing against his slick wrists. If they didn’t die from blowing up next to PB, Max thought they had a good chance of dying from dehydration.

  The Soro Group huddled several feet away. Isaac Brown stood off by himself. At length, he walked back and motioned for the group to return. They filed in to form a large circle around their victims. Max smirked. It was hot enough for him — those poor bastards had to wear heavy cloaks.

  Isaac Brown paused to gather the full attention of his followers. “I know some of you might be troubled by what you’ve seen, but we cannot stop now. We have come right up to the end. The things we seek stand before us, waiting to be taken. I know some of you look at these two people and think No, that’s too much.”

  “I’m one of them
,” Max said. Anything to distract them, stall them, buy every possible second he could. He had no plan, but experience had taught him that extra time often made all the difference.

  “My friends,” Isaac continued with a warming gesture. “I understand that this woman’s display may have caused you to second-guess yourselves. But I implore you — take control of your way of thinking.”

  “You should second-guess yourselves,” Max went on. “This man is a liar and you’re all being fooled.” He knew the odds of changing the mind of a cult follower were slim, but better to throw all his ideas out than regret holding back. If he could get even one person to slow the proceedings by asking a question or two, then it would be worthwhile.

  But Isaac knew his audience well. “The fact that this woman, this insignificant and powerless fool, was able to use magic is proof that magic exists. It is proof that we have the power right here, right in our grasp, to fulfill all my years of study and training. All that you have done will provide wealth for each of us in time. When my riches rain down upon me, you will know that the sacrifices you have been called upon to make will be worth it. You will know that fortune awaits you.”

  To Sandra, Max whispered, “What can we do? How do we stop this spell?”

  “If we weren’t stuck together, I’d say we should do what always works — break the circle, kick down the candles. Anything like that.”

  “That’ll do it?”

  “Sometimes. Sometimes not. It depends on the spell. Madame Yan created this to be a tough one. I’m not making any promises.”

  Max looked to PB. Perhaps he could encourage the boy to disrupt the spell. But PB’s entire brain focused on keeping that vest from exploding. From what Max could see, PB had not even heard anything being said. He had shut down into his own world. It was completely understandable, but not very helpful.

  Like a magician, Isaac pulled a piece of paper from his sleeve. He unfolded the paper and read the phonetic spellings of the archaic words. Those of his group who were not frightened before, no doubt became nervous right away. The moment he started his recitation, the air shifted.

  Max felt the hairs on his arms rise as if a cold front had moved in. His mouth dried, and he heard a ringing in his ears, too. Should he start smelling burnt toast, he would fear a stroke. But he knew exactly what was happening.

  With frustrated impatience, Sandra groaned. “Don’t do this. You’ll regret it. You really think a witch will play fair?”

  Isaac nodded to Big Guy. The man clumped forward toward the red candle. Licking his fingers, he bent over and snuffed out the flame. As the smoke trailed into the air like a gray snake dancing towards the sky, Big Guy rejoined the circle.

  Sandra said, “Madame Yan is using you.”

  “Of course she’s using me,” Isaac said, his face flushed at the interruption. “You really think after all these years I would simply walk into something like this without learning about it? Do you really think I would have gone through all the trouble, all the sacrifice, all the pains I have endured and simply accept a witch at her word? But she’s made a mistake — her arrogance blinds her to the fact that I’m the one using her.”

  With another motion of his head, Isaac sent the banker forward to snuff out the blue candle.

  Leaning closer to PB, Max said, “I know it’s hard right now. I know everything is a confusing mess. I know it’s even difficult to believe what’s real and what isn’t, who’s lying to you and who’s telling the truth, all of it. But I promise you this — life is worth pushing through. Don’t give up. You keep holding that trigger. You hold it as long as you can. We’re working to find some way out of this.”

  He hoped he told the truth. It all came down to flipping the order of his intended plan. Instead of saving PB and then destroying the spell, it appeared they had to do it the other way around. Once the spell was destroyed, they would be able to break free of this group and do what they could to save PB.

  At least, Sandra had played upon Isaac’s ego. He had stopped reciting the spell while he made sure everybody knew how brilliant he was in orchestrating this moment. He went on, “That wretched, filthy hag thinks she is smarter than me? She really thinks she’s pulling one over on me? It’s ridiculous. The Soro Group has been working with her kind for generations. We’re not novices. We’re not little wide-eyed, gullible fools who are amazed by the awesome power of a witch. Not one bit. In fact, we are so much smarter than any witch. After all, the witches sold their souls to gain all their power. We merely use them. We remain intact.”

  Max felt Sandra’s hands rubbing against his wrists. A noble effort, but he did not think they had enough time to cut through the ropes. She said, “A witch as smart as Madame Yan knows full well what you’re trying to do. I have no doubt she’s accounted for it.”

  Isaac read more of the spell and indicated for Barfly to snuff out the white candle. “Let me tell you something about Madame Yan. She hides out underground thinking she is some master puppeteer controlling all of us. She thinks that this spell will grant her untold power and make whatever I want pointless. But that’s because she thinks so low of man. She thinks all I want is money. She thinks all men only want money or power or sex.”

  “Isn’t that true?”

  “I feel bad for your husband if you think that way. Men don’t care about those things. Not real men.” Isaac had the young man snuff out the yellow candle. “Money, power, sex — those are the goals of a politician. But for a real man they are merely tools. Are you listening, PB? Your father is dispensing some good advice. From the dawn of time, real men used whatever tools were available to reshape the world however he saw fit. To make the world better for his people to live in. This group here — these are my people. And I will use the money and power this spell provides to reshape Winston-Salem and perhaps all of North Carolina so that we few here will have a better world.”

  Isaac spouted out the final words of the spell. With a swagger, he sauntered up to the black candle bent over and pinched out the flame. Backing to his original position, he laughed like a giddy child waiting to open his birthday presents.

  In a blinding flash, all five candles reignited with sharp green firelight. Their unnatural glow reflected around the pentagram and trailed off like a sickness in the air.

  Max’s thigh heated up. At first, he thought it was a reaction to this next stage of the spell. However, as the heat continued to press on one small part of his leg, he had a different idea — Leroy’s little book. While Isaac blabbed on about how powerful and superior he would soon be, Max glanced out toward the generator and construction vehicles. Drummond stood there, anxious to enter.

  With him, Max saw four other ghosts.

  One wore a military outfit and had the tough build to go with it. One was a young man with a panther’s glint in his eyes. One woman wore chainmail from head to foot and held a huge sword. And one woman had to be Miss 1800s.

  “Be ready,” Max whispered.

  Sandra looked up. “Drummond brought friends.”

  “I know. The fact that I can see them means Leroy’s book in my pocket is working again.”

  “Are you controlling it? Can you tell it what to do?”

  “One hundred percent, absolutely not. Just be ready for something to happen.”

  The book continued to grow hotter. Not painful yet, but he worried it might get that way. Though he had no desire to suffer third-degree burns, Max decided that disfiguring his leg would be far better than dying at the hands of a lowly cult leader like Isaac Brown.

  Leaning his head back so that it pressed against Sandra, Max said, “Chicks still dig scars, right?”

  Isaac Brown brought his hands together, clasping them over the green tinted smoke rising from the black candle. His prattling had crescendoed to the point that his voice echoed off the walls, loud and strong. “It is here, my friends. I can feel the power growing around us. This spell, this time, will work. We will have the money. We will have the power. We will cont
rol all the magic. We will control all the witches.”

  The green flames rose, washing every face with its distorting hues. Max smelled burning. He glanced down and saw the pocket of his pant leg smoldering.

  “Whatever’s about to happen,” he said, nudging PB with his shoulder, “whatever you hear or see, you hold on to that trigger. Help is about to come.”

  The charred remains of his pocket fell to the side and smoke rose from the book on his leg.

  “Hey, Isaac.” Max projected his voice so that it stood above all other sounds. “You forget about the ghosts.”

  Isaac frowned. “Ghosts?”

  From the burning against his leg, Max knew the time had arrived. “Drummond, come on in.”

  The candle flames shot up ten feet. They burned as bright as the nighttime worklamps lining the entire construction site. They burned hot — so hot that the candles rapidly melted into colorful puddles of wax. And in doing so, they melted off the wards carved into each colorful candle.

  Drummond and his ghostly friends rushed in.

  Chapter 31

  THE INSTANT THE WARDS WENT DOWN, Drummond’s four ghost friends swept in hungry for a fight. Panther Eyes shot forth as if he had waited centuries for this moment. Enduring the pain of touching the corporeal world, he grabbed the banker by the neck while kicking Big Guy in the knee. Grunts and yelps flavored the air with a haphazard rhythm.

  Military Man worked his way through several still-cloaked figures while the Swordswoman chose to slice across her path, freezing every living thing she touched. And Miss 1800s — she smacked Barfly across the face with an open hand.

  “What’s happening?” PB said, his voice shaking as members of the Soro Group convulsed and spasmed for no apparent reason.

  “What have you done?” The words stretched and warped like the ghost that uttered them. Pulling up from the ground, Wilson Klein emerged — straining against his tether to the cemetery. His face distorted as his cursed soul fought the return to his murder site.