Something Wicked: HarperImpulse Romantic Suspense (10 page)

She pulled her arm away and shifted legs again. She had to bite her tongue to keep from saying, “Helping your sons is what got me into this mess, lady.” She should have never come to Charleston, but that was a done deal. She’d fix things and move on. Without getting involved with more dead people!

The old man puffed out his chest and raised his fist, his expression fiercely angry now. Oh, no. Surely he wasn’t going to pound the desk again?

Crap. He was.

As soon as his fist connected with the wood, Alexandra sprang to her feet and deliberately bumped against Vinson’s desk to cover the action. She blew out a breath. “Sorry. Bathroom break. When you gotta go, you gotta go.”

She didn’t give him time to respond. She spun on her heels and headed for the ladies room. If they knew what was good for them, Mr. Grouchy Ghost and Rebecca would be there waiting for her.

She wasn’t disappointed. After a quick inspection of the two stalls she rounded on the old man, jabbing a finger into his very solid chest.

“What the heck is your problem, mister? What do you mean, your son will die?”

He rubbed at his chest as if she’d irritated the spot. “Dangerous,” he wheezed. “He’s too dangerous. Too powerful now.”

“Who is?”

It was Rebecca that answered. She grabbed the old man’s arm and looked toward the door. “Oh no. He’s here.”

“Who?” Alexandra had never seen such fear overtake anyone’s eyes—living or dead. Both ghosts moved toward the wall.

A bump against the outside door caused Alexandra to start and spin in that direction. Hand on her stomach, she waited for someone to finish pushing the door open, but it remained shut.

Bang.

One of the stall doors behind her slammed against metal.

“Hello?”

Crap. Had she not seen someone? No. She’d looked in both stalls. Empty. She knew it.

But now one of the stall doors was shut.

She leaned over and peeked under the door. A pair of old, black shoes, black slouchy socks and the hem of a black dress were visible.

The hairs on the back of her neck lifted as she straightened. Alexandra’s heart began to race and butterflies hatched in her stomach. A wave of nausea swept from her gut upward.

Casting a glance around her, Alexandra realized the two ghosts had abandoned her. They’d said
he
, not she. That was a woman in the stall. Nothing to worry about. Probably just another ghost, seeking a handout from the living freak she was.

The shuffle of clothing being shifted indicated movement. The creak of the stall door opening felt as ominous as it sounded. Deep in her gut, Alexandra knew this was off. This wasn’t a normal ghost. But she couldn’t move.

She fingered the gold cross at her throat as she stared at the stall, her gaze unwilling to leave the old woman’s dead, black eyes as they became visible.

It was the same old woman she’d encountered at the hospital, when she and Dylan had visited the autopsy room.

A growling sound echoed in the small space. It sounded a lot like the word “Leave.”

No one had to tell her twice.

Alexandra raced back to Vinson’s desk, grabbed her jacket and purse, and told the cop to drive her to her hotel. Scratch that. She amended the request to include a stop at the grocery store on the way.

She only made one purchase. Salt.

Shutting herself in her room, she made a clear line of the white powder along the edges of her space. Along the door. Along the windows. Everywhere. Salt kept the spirits away: both good and bad. She’d only ever advised people to use it, and it had worked for them.

She prayed it would work now.

Alexandra averted her gaze from the suitcase she’d packed last night and instead focused on her reflection in the door-length mirror in front of her.

She took a deep breath and smoothed the material over her thank-you-heaven flat stomach.
Perfect
.

She’d paired a flirty plum-colored dress with her knee-high black leather boots because she knew she looked damn good in the outfit, and she’d need that confidence to push herself out the door and head-on into battle with the black-eyed whatever-the-heck-she-was old woman that had scared the crap out of her last night.

Her grandmother had always chided Alexandra for being too stubborn for her own good, and she guessed she was proving Grams right again. Okay, so she’d packed her bags and checked flight information last night. Big deal. She’d only let the fear take rein over her actions for about fifteen minutes before she’d let another emotion take control.

Who did this crazy old woman think she was messing with?

No way was Alexandra going to run from her or anyone else, including Dylan Collins.

And that was another thing. Who did
he
think he was? They’d had two bouts of roll-over-and-make-me-beg sex, and he could walk away as if it meant nothing?

Granted, she wasn’t expecting a ring or promises, but surely he owed her the courtesy of giving whatever this pull was between them a chance? And giving her a chance to explain why she’d come to Charleston looking for him.

Then again, he’d completely cut his own brother out of his life easily enough. Maybe walking away was easy for him.

Focus on the task at hand.

She had two items on her to-do list today: figure out what or who the creepy old woman was and if she was the same presence that was scaring Alexandra’s ghosts, and force Dylan to listen to her arguments in Zach’s favor.

She hoped her knock ‘em dead outfit would kick-start his lust and distract him long enough to accomplish that.

Anything else she accomplished would be Nutella.
Mmmmm
.
She loved Nutella.

There was a knock on the door, so she grabbed her trendy faux leather jacket—it was the only one she had brought with her—and went to greet Detective Reedus. He’d called her an hour ago to let her know she’d be tagging along with him today, hitting up occult shops before visiting the scenes of the crime.

She wondered what Dylan was doing and how long she should wait to ask. She had no idea if the older detective knew she’d been sleeping with his partner or not.

Reedus whistled when he saw her. “Damn, woman. You knew I was the one picking you up and not Collins, right?”

Okay, maybe that secret wasn’t so secret.

Closing the door behind her, she shook her head and turned to him. “Don’t flatter the man. I came here on vacation. My wardrobe is limited. Gotta work with what I’ve got.” A small twisting of the truth. She slid her sunglasses on and glanced around the parking lot. “What happened to Vinson?”

A little worm of worry wiggled into her brain after the warning the younger officer’s father had given last night.

“Just left. You’re stuck with me now.” He started moving toward an older model Ford. “Ever been to Charleston before?”

She climbed in beside him. “Nope. First time.”

He pulled out a notebook, flipped through the pages and grunted. “Only found three stores under the occult listings. Guess we’ll start with the closest.”

The closest turned out to be more of a comic book store than an occult shop. It sold some incense but graphic novels lined the walls and, boy, the look the owner had given her when she’d asked if he was familiar with black magic had been priceless.

The second store had closed months ago, but stepping into the third felt like winning the lottery. A neon sign and well-lit doorway announced The Mystic Corner, and it wasn’t a comic book store.

Alexandra hadn’t gone inside many occult stores—that just wasn’t her thing—but stepping inside this one reminded her of the one and only time she’d stepped foot inside a Voodoo store in New Orleans. This place had everything a tourist or voodoo-priestess-wanna-be could hope for.

Customers had to walk past the novelty T-shirts, key chains, coffee mugs and jewelry at the front of the store to get to the meat of it. A fake palm tree stood prominently in front of the checkout counter, shielding a wall of incense and candles that led to another wall of books. A display of various crystals, Ouija boards and other occult paraphernalia nestled near the back of the shop. A smaller section underneath a hand-painted wood sign proclaimed HOODOO.

Alexandra resisted the urge to press her lips together and whistle. It wasn’t often she ran into people who knew
hoodoo. Voodoo, yes. Hoodoo, not so much.

“Can I help you?” A deep voice boomed over Alexandra’s shoulder, and she turned to see a tall man in his mid-to-late twenties behind the register looking completely disinterested in whether or not he could actually help them.

There was something about him that caught and held her attention. He was fair looking, not really her type, but…there was a spark of interest in his gaze when it brushed over her that went beyond sizing up a pretty girl. He also had an unusual tattoo on his neck. Some kind of rune, she thought.

Interesting.

Reedus stepped up to the counter and flashed his badge. He launched into a round of twenty questions: had anyone suspicious visited the store lately? Did they have any regular customers? Had anyone bought tarot cards lately? On and on.

Alexandra listened to the young man’s stoic responses as she browsed the line of books.

“Lookin’ for ‘nything in ‘tickluh?”

She’d been so involved in trying to listen and browse at the same time that she hadn’t noticed the short black woman at her side. The older woman spoke with a strong accent Alexandra couldn’t pinpoint. Kind of Cajun, but not exactly.

She guessed by the woman’s African attire that she must have been native to some part of that country.

“I’m not sure.” She glanced back at the books. “Do you have anything on ghosts or demons?”

“Yaas.” She reached for a book that looked old and expensive. “What kinda problem are yo havin’?”

Of all the questions she could ask.

Alexandra kept it simple. “I just know it’s negative.”

The woman tilted her head and narrowed her eyes as she examined Alexandra’s features. She nodded and slid the book back into its place. “Leggo.” With a gesture of her hand, she spun and started walking toward a doorway marked off by a beaded curtain. Had she meant “let’s go?”

Alexandra glanced toward the counter where Reedus was still talking to the young man. She supposed he’d come find her when he was ready.

Pushing through the beads, Alexandra emerged in a brightly lit room that looked like any ordinary office except for a bookshelf filled with bottles of spices and roots and other herb-type things.

The black woman started humming as she pulled a few bottles from the shelf.

“Excuse me?” Alexandra cleared her throat. “Are you a voodoo priestess?”

“Hoodoo.” The woman turned and winked. “Yo know ‘bout Gullah?”

Gullah? Er, sounded vaguely familiar.

The woman shuffled across the room, picked up a piece of paper from the desk, and handed Alexandra a flyer. By the time Alexandra had finished reading the brief history of Gullah and hoodoo—a creole African-American culture and religion native to the eastern coast of the United States —the woman had gathered several herbs and roots and was mixing them together in a bowl.

“Me name Bob-ra.”

Barbara? Alexandra stepped forward and extended her hand. “Alexandra.”

“Meemaw, what are you doing?” A different young black man pushed through the beaded curtain.

The woman waved him away, but nodded at Alexandra. “This un’s special.”

The young man seemed to grow taller as he glanced over Alexandra’s figure. “Is there something I can help you with?”

She sucked in air, smelled something like garlic, and nodded.

“I’m a psychic medium, and I was hoping your grandmother could help me figure out what type of presence I’ve been encountering.”

“What’s a look like?” She continued to grind ingredients in a bowl.

“Meemaw, I think you can drop the accent.” The young man smiled at Alexandra. “She seems cool.”

His grandmother cackled and turned to place her hand to Alexandra’s forearm. “I’m sorry, child. Sometimes I forget myself. Gotta put on a show for the customers. Know what I mean?” She winked and turned back to the mixture she was concocting.

The woman had been putting her on!

Alexandra shook her head. “You’re not really a hoodo priestess.”

Barbara waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, yes, I am. Learned it from my mama.” Her voice was clear and Southern now. “Go on. Tell me what you’ve been seeing. I’ll see if I can help.”

Alexandra briefly described the old woman with her dark, empty eyes and went ahead and mentioned the other ghosts’ warnings, too. “I don’t understand, because whatever I’m seeing is an old woman. Yet I keep being warned about ‘him.’”

The woman froze, her grinding coming to a halt. “It’s making you see what it wants you to see. It’s taking a form it knows will unnerve you.” She began grinding, harder. “That means it’s smart and powerful. Not good.”

Alexandra glanced at the young man. His eyes were wide. “Demon,” he repeated.

The curtains made a clacking sound as he disappeared through them in a rush.

“Here. This will keep it away from you.” Barbara poured the contents of the bowl into a pouch, tied it, and handed it to Alexandra.

The curtains clanked again as the young man reappeared with a book in his hands. “My grandmother is a root doctor. What she made you will act as protection. Keep it on you at all times.” He flipped to a page and tapped one finger on an illustration. “You said the spirits were afraid of it. Demons can influence both the living and the dead if they’re not crossed over. Makes sense they would be afraid.” He met her eyes. “You should help them cross on.”

Alexandra had never experienced a demon—her Grams had said they were incredibly rare. “No. I don’t think this is a demon.”

“You know a lot about demons, do you?” Barbara mocked. She looked Alexandra up and down. “I don’t think you know as much as you think you do.”

Alexandra tried not to be insulted, and granted, the old woman with dark eyes was as scary as hell. But in all of her research and her experiences, demons were the spiritual equivalent of red diamonds. Even her paternal grandfather who’d been a priest, God rest his soul, hadn’t believed they were as common as Hollywood pretended they were.

“I’ve had spirits present themselves to me as something they’re not before.” Alexandra crossed her arms. “How can I be sure this thing isn’t just some negative spirit with too much power?”

“Does it have an aura?”

“Well, no.” Alexandra took a deep breath. “Look, I know she’s not a ghost. How do I know she’s not a living person who needs help? What if this old woman has been possessed by something?”

“By a demon?” Barbara looked amused.

“I don’t think she’s a demon.” Alexandra repeated the words as much for herself as the other woman. Her conviction was starting to waver.

“Do you even know what a demon is? Do you know where they come from?” Barbara was looking at her as if she was a child who’d failed a basic exam.

Alexandra threw her hands up. “Enlighten me.”

Barbara’s lips twitched before thinning into a serious line. “Tell me this, Miss Know-It-All. The oldest ghost you’ve ever met, how powerful was he?”

Alexandra’s mind immediately went to the soldier she’d encountered as a young girl out exploring in the hillside of Germany. Before she could answer, Barbara asked, “What was his personality like?”

She shrugged. “He was scary. He seemed—”

“Cruel? Insane?” Barbara interjected. “And he was powerful enough to move things and hurt people.”

Alexandra nodded.

“He was almost finished transforming then.” Barbara tilted her head and skimmed her gaze over Alexandra’s expression. “When a dead person doesn’t cross over, they start to turn into something else. The longer they’re here, the more powerful they become. Their minds become affected. Warped. It’s an unnatural process.”

Alexandra thought she was following. “Wait. You’re telling me that demons are ghosts who haven’t crossed over?” She scoffed. “There would be so many demons if that was true!”

“Why do you think you have your gift? It was given to you so you could help uphold the natural order. You and people like you are meant to help convince the dead to cross over if they’ve missed their first chance. Who knows where they go, but they’re not meant to stay
here
.”

The explanation felt far more comfortable than it should have given everything Alexandra had been raised to believe, and that in itself was an uncomfortable feeling.

Barbara chuckled. “Uh huh. I see the light bulb finally coming on for you, girl. You know it’s true, deep down.”

Alexandra reluctantly nodded. “So how long do ghosts have before they…transform?”

Barbara fiddled with the large beaded necklace resting at her cleavage. “It depends on the spirit. Some are able to resist it longer than others. If a weak-minded person dies and doesn’t cross over, it could be only a matter of years before they turn into something worse. The stronger the person’s mind when they die, the longer they tend to remain in spirit form.”

George seemed reasonably sane, and so did Rebecca, except…she’d been looking sick the last few times Alexandra had seen her.

Barbara clucked her tongue and reached for the newspaper lying on the desk. “I’ve been reading the paper. That’s why you’re really here. This man killing these poor people is being influenced by this demon you keep seeing.”

“How do you know that?”

Barbara pursed her lips. “Please, child.” She waved a dismissive hand. “You ain’t the only one around here who has visions.”

“Does all of this have anything to do with the gray beams I keep seeing shooting toward the sky?”

“You can see that?” Barbara looked surprised. “Girl, maybe you have more abilities than I thought.” She nodded. “It’s not natural. We think it’s giving the dead more power. Making them stronger. Probably helped create this demon.”