Southern Rites Read online

  “Oh, just ignore me,” Mrs. Porter said, forcing her lips upward as she shooed him off with her hands. “I’m an old woman. I don’t understand the way you kids do things, but that doesn’t mean much. It’s part of life, isn’t it? That children grow to stand up against their parents’ wishes. It’s normal.”

  Max made a fist and bumped it lightly on the edge of the table. “I’m not trying to stand up to you or cause you any stress or anything like that.” He closed his eyes, only for a second, but his mind jumped through a few hoops to arrive at a simple decision — Mother Hope could wait. “You know what we should do? Finish our lunch, and go for a stroll or maybe you’d like to catch a movie. Something together like that.”

  “Don’t you have to get back to work?”

  “Sandra’s got it covered. Besides, I know she’ll be happy to take on extra work if it means you and I can spend more time together.”

  His mother placed her hands in her lap. When she lifted her head, she had a warm smile. It took Max a second to realize that her gaze actually went above him. A man with no neck and a thick, bald head leaned over. Though drenched in cologne, the well-dressed man could not hide the sour stench of old alcohol on his breath.

  “Excuse me, but a business associate of yours would like a word,” the man said.

  Max shook his head — happy that the rest of him did not start shaking, too. “You’ll have to extend my apologies. Please tell her I’m here with my mother, and I’ll call her later tonight.”

  The man stammered before saying, “I can’t do that. You have to come with me.”

  “Look, I told you already —”

  “It’s okay,” Mrs. Porter said. “I don’t mind waiting a bit, if you have important business to take care of.” To the Magi thug, she added, “Would you be kind enough to send somebody over with a dessert tray? I’m feeling adventurous.”

  The thug put a big paw on Max’s arm. “I’ll make sure they come by. Get whatever you want. It’ll be our treat.”

  “Why, thank you.” She brightened — no doubt impressed that Max’s worthless research firm wasn’t so worthless.

  Max stood. “I’ll only be a few minutes.” Before she muttered something along the lines of Take your time, he turned to the thug. “After you.”

  He followed the big man through the restaurant toward the bar which connected with the O. Henry Hotel. This had been the route Max had planned to sneak his visit to Mother Hope, but now he didn’t need an excuse. His mother had handed him over without a thought.

  Walking into the hotel’s main lobby, Max noticed only a heavyset woman manning the reception desk — new employee since the last time he had been here. The dark woods and subdued atmosphere closed in as he processed the idea that Mother Hope had sent for him. She knew he was at the restaurant which suggested that she had the hotel under surveillance — not surprising since the Magi were headquartered here but disturbing nonetheless.

  The thug pointed to the sitting area, an open section much like the restaurant with a high-ceiling, and said, “Sit.”

  Max obeyed while the man went to the front desk and whispered to the new employee. Overstuffed couches and stiff chairs crowded the sitting area. Along the walls near the ceiling ran O. Henry’s most famous story, “The Gift of the Magi”. Though this particular representation of the story contained a spell to protect the hotel, Max did not feel too protected.

  The man returned, clutched onto Max’s bicep, and pulled him to his feet. “You do what I say and you stay quiet. Got it?”

  “Sure.”

  The grip on his arm tightened. “I said to stay quiet. Right?”

  Max nodded. Despite the man’s bulk, he moved with the grace of a boxer — easily navigating Max through the maze of chairs and coffee tables until they reached the faux-gold elevator doors opposite the front desk. While maintaining his hold on Max’s arm, the man placed a key into the elevator panel. A moment later, the elevator doors opened.

  They stepped in, and Max focused on what he would say to Mother Hope when he reached her penthouse office. But the bald thug extended his thick finger and pressed for the basement. Max’s stomach dropped with the elevator.

  As they lowered beyond the floors marked on the elevator panel, Max turned all his energy on keeping his composure. He had been down here before. He had been tortured here. But if he started panicking, the outlook would be grim.

  Keep it together. Keep it together.

  The doors slid open to a long hall. “Come on,” the man said, and yanked Max along. They stopped at the first door on the left.

  “No,” Max said. He couldn’t stop himself. “You don’t have to put me in there. Whatever I did to piss off Mother Hope, just tell me, and I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

  The man pushed Max into the room — a stark, empty room with a large mirror on one wall as if this were a police interrogation room. Except instead of a table in the middle, iron rings had been bolted into the wall. The man used handcuffs to lock Max’s wrists to the rings.

  “Hold on,” the man said, leaning his neckless head closer. “Are you crying?”

  Max never felt the tears form, but once pointed it out, he felt the trickle down his cheek. Tears or not, he boiled at the sound of disgust in the man. “What do you care? You’ve delivered me here. Go tell Mother Hope she can send those two bastards to work me over.”

  A sadistic grin lifted the man’s lips, revealing yellowed teeth. “No, they already had their turn with you before. I’m up now.”

  “You guys are taking turns?”

  “You’ve done damage to Mother Hope. We all want our chance to do some damage to you.”

  A hard, strong voice called out from the doorway. “That’s enough, Trevor.”

  The short woman shuffling in looked frail. She walked with an ivory-tipped cane and hunched over through each step. Her gray hair poked out from beneath a series of scarves that, along with her numerous rings and necklaces, lent her the image of an old gypsy. Mother Hope. Head of the Magi group and one of the most powerful witches in all of North Carolina — perhaps, in all of the United States.

  Trevor — boy, that thick-bodied bruiser did not look like a Trevor — bowed his head as he backed up two steps. “I didn’t do anything to him, Ma’am. Not yet.”

  Mother Hope moved in close to Max and stared straight into his eyes. “You shouldn’t be here.”

  Max shrugged and his chains rattled. “I had some questions about the case.”

  “That’s what Leon is for.”

  “He couldn’t provide the answers.”

  “Then you find them out on your own. You do not come here.” With the end of her cane, she tapped the mark on his chest. “I would’ve thought you understood the danger of visiting me — especially unannounced.”

  Shaking his handcuffed hands, Max said, “Believe me, I don’t like coming here either, but if you’re going to force us to work for you, then you’re going to have to help us function. Standing in our way only leads to bad situations.”

  “I don’t care about your excuses. You’ve been assigned a task —”

  “Which you are withholding information about. Look, we just spent several years under the thumb of the Hull family. You see how that turned out for them. Much of their mess could have been avoided if they had been straight with me from the start. Don’t make that same mistake.”

  “The Hulls failed because they kept secrets from each other in the family and because they failed to listen to their trusted advisors. You are neither my family nor a trusted advisor.”

  Trevor giggled — a disturbing sound from one so large. Mother Hope glared at him until he quieted down.

  Max hoped to catch her off guard while she dealt with Trevor. “What’s with the bones? What’s the curse? And how did Leon know where the second body was? What’s really going on here?”

  But Mother Hope merely shook her head. “You are nothing to me but a hired researcher. It is not important nor necessary th
at you understand why I have an assignment for you. It is only necessary that you complete the assignment. How I come to my information is equally not your concern.”

  She pulled loose one of her many necklaces. This one, an Ankh, had been made of bone and threaded through a smooth, thin rope. “I made this the very night we destroyed the Hulls,” she said and held it close to Max’s face. “I made it from shards of Dr. Connor’s skull that I found stuck to my clothing.”

  Dr. Connor had been the Hull family witch. After her death, her skull was cursed, muting her ability to cast spells from the ghost world. Part of defeating the Hulls involved destroying that skull. To see that some of it, no matter how small, had survived, burned Max’s throat with bile.

  Dangling the bone Ankh before him, she said, “You have no concept of what I can do with an object like this. I have held back from casting my magic against you in any serious manner because you and your wife have been useful to me. Do not start thinking you know how strong I am. And certainly don’t start thinking you can beat me. I am not like the Hulls. I’ve not been lulled by centuries of dominance into believing I am invincible. I know I can be hurt. So I pay close attention to those around me. I know where my enemies are.”

  “You think I’m your enemy?” Max said, the words stumbling out of his throat.

  She snatched the Ankh back to her chest, looping the rope over her head. “I’m not sure, yet. I know you don’t approve of me, and I believe you would have been happy to see me destroyed alongside the Hulls. But I wonder if that’s enough to make you a true enemy. You should hope not. Because I think you value your wife more than all else. That’s your weakness.”

  “It’s my strength.”

  “You’re act of continuing to stay in Winston-Salem and working for me must be to appease her. That’s sweet but stupid. It’s also keeping you alive. Because I think you’re still useful and that I can still control you. Proof is in the fact that you willfully came down here and allowed Trevor to cuff you to the wall. Proof is in the fact that when you leave this building with no better answers than you entered, you’ll still work for me — even after I have you beaten.”

  “Aw, come on.” Max kicked the wall with his heel.

  Mother Hope headed out. At the door, without turning back, she said, “Not in the face. Nobody should see the bruises.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Trevor said.

  Max’s face scrunched up as he held back the urge to weep. Once Mother Hope left, Trevor moved in, his wide mouth open like a fish as he tightened a fist.

  “Wait, wait,” Max said. “Don’t hit my right side. I was in a fight last night. You hit me there and you’ll break my ribs.”

  “You don’t get to tell me where to hit you.”

  “Didn’t you hear Mother Hope? She said nobody should see the bruises you give me. You think breaking my ribs won’t be noticeable?”

  Despite his thick-headed appearance, Trevor displayed true brains. He paused, considered, and then pulled Max’s shirt up. With a long whistle, Trevor let the shirt drop.

  “You’re not good at fighting.”

  “I was jumped by three guys,” Max said. “A big guy like you might be able to handle that, but I’m not a big guy.”

  He gazed upon Max with pity, but then opted to step toward Max’s left side.

  “You should’ve kept your mouth shut like I said. Mother Hope don’t like people questioning her.”

  “So I’m learning.”

  The beating wasn’t so bad — or perhaps having his body bashed up the night before had changed his perspective on levels of pain. It helped that Trevor’s enthusiasm had waned after seeing Max’s damaged torso. When it ended, Trevor eased Max out of the handcuffs and assisted him back into the elevator. Once in the main lobby, he took Max to a restroom.

  Watching Max in the mirror, Trevor said, “Do yourself a favor — don’t mess with Mother Hope. She’ll destroy you.” He gave Max a gentle pat on the back and walked out.

  Max ran the water and cupped his hands under the spout. He wanted to rinse his face, but his hands were shaking. The beating itself could have been far worse, but his mind whirled around what it all meant for his future.

  Mother Hope had a vicious streak in her that dug deep and ran blood-red. The Hulls had been powerful, but they had become complacent in their position. Mother Hope wanted to be clear that she would not be so easy to work with — and Max got the message.

  He splashed water on his cheeks and rubbed his eyes. Patting his face dry with a paper towel, he took three deep breaths. He and Sandra had pushed through so much crap in the past. Mother Hope and the Magi were simply more obstacles. That’s all.

  Besides, unlike the Hulls, the Magi fought for the people. They wanted to prevent the abuses of magic the Hulls fostered. Mother Hope’s methods were certainly harsh, but perhaps he should see it from her point of view.

  She had a lot to contend with. Running any organization would be difficult, but running a group of spies, muscle men, and witches would take a disciplinary hand. Add to the mix a guy like Edward Wallace, and Mother Hope had to be more of a General during wartime than a benevolent leader of peace.

  “Okay,” Max said as he headed back to the restaurant. Though his sides ached, he actually felt better overall. The Magi were tough, but he could find a safe balance with them. After all, they had at least one goal in common — to stop people from using magic to cause harm.

  He checked his watch — he had been gone almost twenty-five minutes. No doubt, his mother had worked herself into a froth of indignation. And they had a forty minute drive home.

  Bracing himself for the verbal attack, he walked toward their table. A woman sat with his mother, the two chatting like old friends.

  Max’s skin turned to ice.

  Mother Hope sat with his mother. The old witch had a hand on his mother’s forearm, confiding something in a whisper that sent both ladies giggling.

  “Oh, Max,” his mother said with the joy of a teen going to her first prom. “I want you to meet this lovely lady. She has an unusual name, but don’t let that fool you. She’s down-to-Earth and a pure delight.”

  Mother Hope turned in her chair and offered a hand. “It’s nice to meet you. Your mother is the true delight here.”

  Max hesitated, considered refusing her hand, but then saw the way his mother stared at him. She would be mortified if he acted rudely, and he would be forced to explain who Mother Hope really was — which only would lead to a discussion of ghosts and witches. That was not a conversation he welcomed.

  Shaking her hand, he said, “Thank you. My mother is indeed delightful.”

  “I’m sure you value her greatly and only want the best things for her.” Her grip tightened — not painfully so, but enough to show her intent. Her cold glare underscored her words. “You be a good boy and work hard, and I’m sure she’ll live a long and healthy life.”

  Max let go of the hand and forced a pleasant demeanor. His heart hammered as all thoughts of understanding and balance and excuses for the Magi’s behavior rushed out of his head. This woman would have made a great Mafia don.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll take good care of her.”

  Mother Hope got to her feet. “Mrs. Porter, it’s been a pleasure, but I’m sure your son has important work to get done, and I have my own appointments to keep. Enjoy the rest of your visit, and I hope we can chat again sometime.”

  “I’d love that,” Max’s mother said.

  It took all of Max’s remaining strength not to scream.

  Chapter 10

  Max trampled a clear path across the bedroom carpeting while Sandra brushed her teeth in the adjoining bathroom. After lunch with his mother and a nerve-wracked drive home, he had spent several hours in the office with his head buried in research. When he finally got home, Sandra had to know something went wrong, but she gave him the space he needed to cool down.

  Luckily, Drummond had not returned from his latest foray into the Other
. Max loved that old ghost, but he couldn’t bear the thought of dealing with Drummond’s guaranteed, hot-headed reaction to Mother Hope’s actions. Plus, if Drummond had returned, it would mean moving the case forward, and Max didn’t know how he felt about that.

  “Which is part of my problem with all this,” he said to Sandra as he started another circuit around the bedroom. Only after he had showered and dressed for bed, only after Sandra had started her nighttime routine, did he finally have the ability to open up about what had happened. “Maybe we’ve finally reached the point where we’re truly in this too deep. I mean it’s one thing to fight the Hulls from within — we were really just trying to free ourselves from a bad situation — but in this case, heck, we don’t even really know what the case is all about.”

  “We’ve been involved in worse.”

  “And where did that get us? PB is still recovering from being shot, and he’s just a kid.” Max froze. “Where’s J? Have you seen him today?”

  “He’s fine. He spent most of the day playing nurse to PB, and I set him up on an air mattress in your office. I don’t think he wants to be alone in his apartment. Once PB is healthy enough to return, J will go back, too. For now, though, there’s no need for him to sleep on the couch again.”

  Sandra entered the bedroom and pulled back the comforter on the bed. Max had no intention of getting into bed. He couldn’t stop moving.

  “I’m glad J’s fine, but that’s part of this mess, isn’t it? I shouldn’t have to worry about the Sandwich Boys. They shouldn’t be getting so close to the danger in our line of work.”

  “Hon, sit.” Sandra patted a spot next to her. He did so, and she kissed his temple and hugged his shoulder. He tried not to wince. “Our business involves risk. You know that better than any of us. Look at all the bruises on your body. PB and J both have been working with us enough to know about those risks. Besides, they’re tough. They’ve lived harder lives than you or me.”

  “I know. It’s not right, though. We shouldn’t have to keep fighting this kind of thing.”