Southern Rites Read online

  In all his years, she had never spoken to him like that. Never shown him such affection, such warmth, such understanding. Or had she? Did he simply ignore those memories because they didn’t fit a narrative he had constructed about his relationship with her?

  With a jolt, Max straightened in his chair. “Oh, man. Am I jealous?”

  Chapter 4

  Max and Sandra usually spent their mornings drinking coffee, eating some toast or bagels, and reading the news on their phones. They might talk a little, but only if they had both slept soundly the night before. When the sun rose that following morning, however, the Porter house rattled with activity.

  Mrs. Porter clattered pans and plates as she nailed off pancakes, toast, and bacon with the expert efficiency of a pro — which Max fully admitted, she was. Coffee brewed while J thumped about the breakfast table, placing plates and silverware with plenty of noise and cheer. Mrs. Porter hummed a tune that Max recognized long before he entered the kitchen — a meandering melody of her own creation that accompanied her whenever she worked around the house.

  “Good morning,” Max said. Sandra had yet to reach the talking stage of waking up. She followed him to the table.

  J handed them each a paper napkin. “We made you breakfast.”

  “Thanks. We could both use some coffee to start.”

  Mrs. Porter carried over a hot pan of eggs. “Sit down, J. Max can get the coffee. You’re a growing boy. You need to eat.”

  J looked at Max and rolled his eyes, but he could not hide his delight in being treated his age. A bit less than his age, Max thought.

  Near the end of the morning meal, Max downed the last of his coffee and said, “Mom, I’m sorry but you’ll be on your own today. I didn’t know you were coming, so we’ve got work that has to be done.”

  “That’s fine.”

  “I’m real sorry. I know you were expecting —”

  “I said it was fine. No need to worry about me. I can entertain myself. I do it all the time back home. Besides, as long as you don’t need this young man, I think we will go to the zoo together.”

  “The zoo?” Max said.

  “The zoo!” J said.

  Mrs. Porter brushed toast crumbs into her napkin. “Why not? It’s not that far. You don’t mind letting us borrow a car, do you?”

  “Sure. Go ahead,” Max said, though a sharp pain formed in his chest.

  Sandra, on the other hand, let out an audible sigh. “I need a shower,” she managed. As she left the kitchen, she added, “Thanks for breakfast.”

  An hour later, Max and Sandra parked on Liberty Street and walked to their downtown office. On the short drive, he brought Sandra up to speed on the case, but before they entered the building, he halted. “Do you mind taking care of the office work this morning? I want to go to the library and check out a few things.”

  Though Sandra said nothing, Max knew that she understood. He would do the research, but he also needed some space. No other place gave him sanctuary like the library — in particular, the Z. Smith Reynolds Library at Wake Forest University.

  The library consisted of two old academic buildings that had been reformed into one. The former alley between them had been walled in and topped with tempered glass that let sunlight fill the area. What would have been outside walls now boasted balconies that looked over this garden-like space, and instead of plants growing, young minds blossomed as they studied at the tables spread out below.

  The Zen quality of any library compounded in this particular place, and Max needed that now. He needed to focus on the case, but his mind refused to quiet. He kept thinking about his mother and J and their budding relationship. Why should she suddenly be doting on this young man? Did she truly have a connection with J or was this some passive-aggressive way to strike at Max? She wanted to be a grandmother. Could this situation be nothing grander than a surrogate?

  Whatever the case, he could not deny how much it bothered him. While part of him wanted to mull over the whole thing, the rest of him knew he had to take advantage of the limited time he had been given. Because no matter what else, Mother Hope had brought this case to them, and that still bothered him more than anything his mother could do.

  Setting up at one of the library’s computer stations, Max began with a search for Archibald Henderson. The first hit surprised him. Brigadier General Archibald Henderson held the distinction of being the longest-serving Commandant of the Marine Corps — from 1820 to 1859. Unfortunately, he was born in January 1783 — well past the Revolution. Not the man they sought.

  After numerous other attempts to find Henderson, Max had to accept the logical result — Archibald Henderson was not a man who made it into the history books. All they had was the man’s journal. A great primary resource, but limited by the man’s infrequent entries.

  “Wait,” Max said. “The entries.”

  Henderson had written about his father’s involvement in the Enfield Riot. Perhaps the father could be found. Max searched the Enfield Riot and dug into his work.

  Over the next few hours, he went through various accounts and reports. Unfortunately, with around five hundred farmers participating, Max could not find the name Henderson. Indeed, most of the names involved had been erased from history, leaving only the major players.

  Max did stumble upon a reference to the Sugar Creek War which occurred six years after the Enfield Riot. Experience taught him to follow this kind of lead. What emerged from his research built a large picture of the situation.

  Governor Tryon had become the leading authority in North Carolina, but he did little to tamp down the corruption that had caused dissent among the back country folk. Though called a “war,” the various protests that comprised these events were often less violent and more about public shaming and humiliation. Even the Enfield Riot was less a riot in the modern sense and more like an intense gathering of a mob. Not to be discounted, but hardly a full-scale riot.

  Several names kept appearing in Max’s research, and he jotted down each one that he found in numerous texts. Edmund Fanning and William Tryon on the English side of things and Herman Husband on the back country side. Husband started out merely as a facilitator for those trying to get land from the old Granville Parcels and ended up being a major player in the group that would be called the Regulators.

  He had heard of the Regulators before — a semi-organized group considered to be precursors to the Revolutionary forces. He also knew that researching them would take most of the afternoon. Max’s stomach grumbled, and he gave it a gentle pat. He decided to listen to his body and grab some food before jumping back in. As he put his things together, he checked out three books — might as well start while he ate.

  From the library, Max cut across the grounds, went by the biology building, through a student parking lot, and onto a walking path through the surrounding woods. This short, well-maintained path led to the Reynolda House shops which included a handful of places to eat. The Village Tavern could be pricey and seating was limited, but Max wanted to treat himself — or, at least, ease his worries with the sensory pleasures of a good steak.

  Nicking a table in the back corner, he ordered a Delmonico and opened one of the three books he had lugged along. Before he could read a word, however, a young man paused long enough to grab Max’s attention. The man had his head cocked to the side as he read the spines of Max’s books.

  “You interested in the Regulators?” the man asked.

  Max smiled. “A bit of a hobby.”

  The man had a distinctive, dark look. His cheeks sunk in a little, and his eyes popped out a little. Dark, shaggy hair softened an angular nose while a lean but strong body gave him an authoritative presence. He reminded Max of the way some movie stars could be seen as intensely attractive despite having unattractive features. Something about the combination of the parts mesmerized the audiences. On some level, this man’s charm had worked on Max because as he sat at the table uninvited, Max cleared a book out of the way.


  “My name is Edward,” the man said, offering his hand. He spoke with a rich North Carolinian accent that drew a person in to whatever he said.

  Max shook the hand and gestured to the books. “You have an interest in this?”

  “Very much so. I’m a history grad student. I love the stuff. But my favorite period is the American Revolution. My dissertation will be on something to do with that time. Once I can lock down what part to focus on.”

  “What about the Regulators? You know much about them?” Might as well mine the kid for information. A researcher always had to take advantage of the sources available.

  Before he answered, Edward’s eye twitched. Nothing more than a slight spasm, yet it changed the shape of the man’s face. Only for a fraction of a second, but Max shivered. Then, Edward’s face returned to a smile.

  “I know a lot about them. They were the kicking off point of the Revolution. Not as violent as many think, though. I mean, they spent years just complaining, marching on government steps, signing petitions, and writing op-eds, that kind of thing.”

  “Yeah. I noticed there was a long gap between the Enfield Riot and the Sugar Creek War.”

  “That’s right,” Edward said, leaning forward with his elbows on the table. “Even after it all boiled over, even after the big battle at Alamance, many of the Regulators fought for the British during the War. Hard to call those ones traitors since the United States didn’t exist yet, but still, as far as I see it, they were traitors.”

  “They were farmers, not soldiers.”

  “True. I mean they really just wanted a fair shake at getting land, not being overtaxed, and having a real voice in the government.” Edward lowered his head, and the dark restaurant brought out that unsettling flicker on his face. “But what gets me mad at them is that the deeper cause underlying everything was the divide between the rich and the poor. It was a big gap, with no such thing as a middle class, and the rich kept rigging the system to make it worse. Now, that’s nothing shockingly new, but even after the Regulators had a few small successes, even after they had major losses, when it all was over, what did they do? They got paid off and joined up with their enemy. Never made much sense to me.”

  Forcing levity into his tone, Max said, “It’s like you said — nothing really new there. People have always been looking out for themselves first.”

  “Not me.” Edward spoke with a fierce strength, low and dark, that made every word drip with threat. “I think we have a duty to our country, our people. I’m not like Archibald Henderson.”

  Max’s head snapped up as his pulse quickened. The smell of cooking beef reminded him that he had not been served his food. He wasn’t hungry anymore, but why hadn’t the waitress interrupted them yet. His eyes searched for her, but she had managed to disappear. Hearing the tremble in his voice, he asked, “Who are you?”

  Edward grinned at him, a toothy, wolfish grin. “I’m the one telling you quite clearly that you are on the wrong side of this.”

  “Wrong side of what? All I’m doing is reading some history books.”

  “Not all history books know the truth.”

  “What’s this about? What do you want?”

  “You have a choice, Mr. Porter. You and your wife can turn away from this, forget about Henderson, forget about the Regulators, and go on with your little research firm. Or you can keep stoking the flames that you don’t even realize surround you. Do that and the fire will burn hot.”

  Max’s jaw jutted out as he brought his face close to Edward. “Since you obviously know who I am, I have to wonder what kind of idiot you are.”

  Edward hesitated. “Watch yourself.”

  “There’s no shame in being mental disadvantaged. Clearly, you aren’t too bright. How else to explain your behavior?”

  “I came here as a courtesy to warn you —”

  “You came to threaten me. But my wife and I have taken down the Hull family, the most powerful wielders of magic in the area. You think you can intimidate me?”

  Whatever advantage Max had gained by his bluster, it vanished in a blink. Edward pulled back, but the movement carried with it a dollop of condescension, and when he spoke, he layered on a thick amount of pity. “The Hulls boasted a lot but brought about little results. That you and your wife defeated them is not as impressive a feat as you think. They were bound to fail. You were simply the catalyst.”

  “If you’re really a history student, you must major in revisionism.”

  A smirk crossed Edward’s mouth. “Witchcraft existed long before the Hulls, and it will continue on long after. The Magi are no better, and Mother Hope is a newborn fawn when compared to the infinite lifespan of magic.”

  Max suppressed the urge to shiver. Though he still didn’t know the connection between Archibald’s skeleton and magic — Edward’s comments were about as close to a confirmation as Max would ever get. Whatever was at the heart of all this, it had to do with magic.

  Edward gracefully stood. “That’s it, Mr. Porter. Walk away and you’ll be unharmed. Keep moving in on this, and you and Sandra will suffer for it.”

  Max considered a sarcastic remark, but Edward turned on his heel and strolled out of the restaurant. Max took a few breaths and went through the entire exchange in his head — he needed to remember as many details while they were still fresh. Less than a minute later, the waitress returned with his steak as if nothing had happened.

  He cut the meat and placed a juicy piece into his mouth. He gave the conversation another whirl in his head. Eating in silence, he reached the point where he could no longer tell if he remembered correctly or had started to put in details that did not exist.

  After his meal, he hurried back to the office. From the outside, the building looked like a relic from Drummond’s days — tall windows, nine foot ceilings, and detailed moldings around every doorway and lining the floor and ceiling. The inside, however, boasted all the amenities a modern office could provide — thick carpets, computers, central air, and enough space for both Max and Sandra’s large desks. They had a bookcase built into the wall for Drummond — it had been his ghostly home for decades in their former office.

  “Any luck?” Sandra said, keeping her focus on her computer screen.

  Placing a stack of books on his desk, Max said, “Well, we knew this would happen, but part of me was still taken off guard. This case has become far more serious.”

  Drummond poked his head from the bookcase. “Let me guess. You got threatened.”

  “How did you know that?”

  “Same thing happened to me in the Other.”

  “What?” Sandra said. “What happened? To both of you.”

  Max related his story in as much detail as he could recall. His repetition over lunch helped him keep it straight, and by the end, he felt confident that he had not missed anything key. Looking over at Drummond, he said, “What about you?”

  “No luck on finding Archibald Henderson. Not yet, at least. But like you, my searching around got me some unwanted attention. Couple of mugs followed me most of the morning. I didn’t recognize them, but I wouldn’t be surprised at all if I had busted them back in my police force days — several times. Some jailbirds never want to leave.”

  “And they threatened you?” Sandra asked.

  “Jumped me in a less populated section of the Other. One held my arms back while the other gave me a few lefts and a right. Stuck mostly to my gut. Man, I haven’t been punched that hard since I was living. Other types of pain, yeah plenty of that. But a solid gut punch? If it hadn’t hurt so bad, I would’ve been thanking them for the memory.”

  “Did they say anything?”

  “You can’t really threaten all that well unless you make a threat. They told me to stop looking for Henderson. Said if I was really smart, I’d drop you two and get on with moving on.”

  Max tapped a pen against his chin. “Lucky for us, you’re not that smart.”

  “Hey!”

  “I meant you’re not goin
g to listen to them.”

  “That better be all you meant.”

  Sandra raised her voice above the bickering. “We’ve got two ghost thugs and a jerk named Edward. No last name. That’s not much to go on.”

  “We also got the journal and the name Archibald Henderson,” Drummond said. “And don’t worry about those guys who assaulted me. After they left me, I followed them for a bit. Never did find who they worked for, but I did corner one and gave him a one-two that clocked him to the ground. Based on the look in his eyes, I don’t think I’ll be hearing from them anytime soon.”

  “Do we have more than enough to suggest it’s all connected?” Before Max could protest that technically they had little proof beyond a few words that Edward had said, Sandra put out her hand to stop him. “We don’t have to prove it. We know there’s a connection because otherwise, we’re looking at a mother-lode of coincidences.”

  “You got that right, doll.”

  “Which means that we’re once more, back in the realm of magic and ghosts. Unless Edward has developed a machine that allows him to chat with ghost thugs and hire them out to rough up a ghost detective.”

  Drummond flew over to Max. “We know it started with ripping up that coffin. But we don’t know the reason behind it or what it’s going to lead to or even how it was done. Just asking a few questions and starting the preliminary research got us both threatened. Now, I’m not about to insult either of you and suggest that you’re going to heed those warnings. In fact, I’d say you know what we need to do.”

  Max nodded. “Research the hell out of this.”

  Chapter 5

  Max checked the wall clock — 1:25 pm. His mother and J would be at the zoo for most of the day, and she would undoubtedly make him dinner. Probably even take him out for ice cream — though J preferred frozen yogurt, Max didn’t see him putting up a fuss.

  “We’ve got the rest of the day to get as much info as we can.” He snapped his fingers and pointed at Drummond. “You’ve got to find Henderson.”