Southern Spirit: Max Porter, #9

Southern Spirit

A Max Porter Paranormal Mystery

Stuart Jaffe

Table of Contents

Title Page

Dedication

Also by Stuart Jaffe

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Afterword

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Copyright Information

For Eddie, Boom, Buffy, and Kai

Also by Stuart Jaffe

Max Porter Paranormal Mysteries

Southern Bound

Southern Charm

Southern Belle

Southern Gothic

Southern Haunts

Southern Curses

Southern Rites

Southern Craft

Southern Spirit

Southern Flames

Nathan K thrillers

Immortal Killers

Killing Machine

The Cardinal

Yukon Massacre

The First Battle

Immortal Darkness

A Spy for Eternity

The Malja Chronicles

The Way of the Black Beast

The Way of the Sword and Gun

The Way of the Brother Gods

The Way of the Blade

The Way of the Power

The Way of the Soul

The Parallel Society

The Infinity Caverns

Book on the Isle

Gillian Boone novels

A Glimpse of Her Soul

Pathway to Spirit

Stand Alone Novels

After The Crash

Founders

Real Magic

Short Story Collections

10 Bits of My Brain

10 More Bits of My Brain

The Bluesman Complete

For more information, please visit www.stuartjaffe.com

Chapter 1

Max Porter’s knee bounced like a jackhammer until Sandra placed a hand on his leg. His wife threw a stern look his way, one that warned him to calm down or deal with her wrath. But beneath her harsh glare, he saw understanding — after all, never before had they sat in a living room belonging to a coven of witches.

In fact, the entire house belonged to the Mobley Coven, also known as the Coven of the Carolinas — one of the most powerful covens in the South that prided itself on keeping a low profile while simultaneously defying any who tried to hold power over them, such as the Hull family once did. This all according to the private witch-wiki Sandra knew about. That, of course, only added to Max’s nerves. Sandra’s knowledge of witchcraft had grown at an astounding rate.

Once Max had backed off his objections, she devoured every book she could find, she pored over websites, she joined forums, and she became the Porter Agency’s de facto expert. It should not have come as a surprise that the witch community took notice, but Max did feel sucker-punched when earlier that day Sandra walked into the office to announce the Mobley Coven had reached out to her. They wanted to talk about something vital.

The rough voice of Marshall Drummond, their partner and a ghost of a detective from the 1940s, burst in, How much longer do we have to wait here? They’re the ones who said this was so important we had to rush on down here. So, what’s the holdup?

Sandra turned her strong eyes onto the ghost — while Max had only ever been able to see Drummond, Sandra could see all ghosts, including Drummond. We’ve been here less than ten minutes. Have some patience.

You two might have to sit there all polite, but I don’t. I’m checking this place out. Maybe I’ll find something interesting like a secret room. The ghost tightened his trench coat and lowered his Fedora as if bracing against a harsh storm. Then he slipped through the living room walls.

Nice walls, Max thought. Not just the walls, but the entire house looked well-cared for. If not for the fact that he knew the house belonged to a coven, he would easily have assumed a classic, all-American-type family owned the place. Nestled in the back corner of a mid-priced development, nothing about it suggested the use of spells. No odd odors, no strange sounds. And no secret rooms — at least, none that they had seen so far.

But Max admitted that they had not seen much of the house. They had driven south out of downtown Winston-Salem and came upon the development just off Darwick Road. The lawn had been freshly mowed and a minivan sat in the driveway. When they rang the doorbell, a young lady with a soft face answered and sat them in the living room.

All too normal.

I knew it, Drummond said as he floated back into the living room. Everything about the place looks normal except there’s a room on the second floor that I can’t get into — it’s been warded against ghosts.

Max’s gut tightened. Suddenly, the light curtains, the plush couch, the thick carpeting, the cute knick-knacks, and the warm paintings became fictions of a home. He could sense the cold of witchcraft seeping through the wood. They should never have come here. This was a bad idea all around.

Hon, Max said and placed his hand over hers. We should probably go.

Stop it, she said. Both of you. Show a little respect. They went out of their way to contact me, so let’s at least hear them out.

Because hearing out witches always goes so well, he said, absently rubbing his chest. The curse branded into him by Mother Hope, leader of the powerful Magi, heated up whenever he thought about it. She had agreed never to use it against him as long as he behaved — making it a grenade she could pull the pin out of whenever she felt like it. I’m not comfortable with this. I know you’re better about the witches and all, but let’s go now. We can talk to them on the phone or —

A middle-aged woman entered the living room carrying a serving tray with a carafe of coffee and three china cups. I apologize for the wait, she said. Her voice played into the suburban facade surrounding them as did the simple skirt and blouse that she wore. She set the tray down and served the coffee. "Being a bunch of witches, you’d think we would have some way to make coffee faster, but alas. And don’t get me started on those instant cup things. Not for me. Call me old fashioned, but sometimes the old ways are the best."

"And what should we call you?" Sandra asked.

My apologies, again. I’m Lena Mobley.

After handing Max and Sandra each a cup, she settled in a high-backed, upholstered chair and sipped her coffee. Despite her stark, black hair and dangerous, red lipstick, her attitude seemed friendly, almost welcoming. Max, though, had no intention of consuming anything offered him by a witch, but he also had no desire to insult the woman. He set the cup back on the serving tray and made a show of pulling out his notepad — as if his eagerness to help the woman surpassed his manners.

Please, he said, leaning his elbows on his knees, tell us what we can do for you.

"Oh, I’m not sure you can do much at all. But your darling wife, she might be able to help. At least, I hope so."

Before Max could snap out a witty reply, Sandra said, We’re a package deal. When you hire the Porter Agency, you get all of us.

Of course, Lena said.

The lady that had answered the door entered the room. Getting a better look at her, Max saw a college girl with a ponytail and a naive smile. In the time since she had escorted them to wait in the living room, the young lady had gone off somewhere and changed her outfit. In another setting, Max would have thought she had dressed up for a college costume party — long black gown with black lace covering her shoulders and neck — but in this house, she might wear such things all the time.

Lena put out her hand until the young lady sat on the arm of the chair. This is my sister, Jessica. You’ll have to forgive me for not bringing the rest of the sisters out to greet you, but they are all off searching.

Searching? Sandra said.

That’s why you’re here. One of our coven has gone missing.

Jessica sniffled and produced a black handkerchief from an unseen pocket. Max couldn’t tell if the tears were genuine or forced, but he knew Lena’s concern rang true. Yet she had played the calm and gracious host until now.

Drummond floated near the corner of the ceiling with his arms crossed. Just reminding you two that we are in a coven’s home and they’ve got a room warded against us. I’m voting we leave this place before we hear anything we can’t unhear.

Max agreed. I’m sorry that you’ve lost one of your group, but that’s really a matter for the police. You should file a Missing Persons report.

Lena’s gentle grin vanished. I should think it’s obvious that our kind cannot go to the police. Certainly not for something as delicate as this.

Why is it delicate? A person’s gone missing.

And here I thought you were a smart man. The police are not interested in an adult missing for only twenty-four hours. And we’d rather not bring their scrutiny into our world.

The police don’t need to know about covens and witches to search for a person.

Before Lena could react — and to Max’s mind, that reaction looked rather angry — Sandra set her coffee down with a clink. Please forgive my husband. He doesn’t mean to be rude, but he also doesn’t know the subtleties of a coven. If you would, please, tell us as much as you can about what happened.

Lena and Jessica exchanged an inscrutable look. Her name is Laverne Mobley. She is a bit older than myself. One of the most loved and cherished of our coven. Well, yesterday morning the weekly income needed to be deposited at the bank and —

Weekly income? Max said. From what?

Making no effort to hide her annoyance at the interruption, she said, We have a small store that sells ingredients necessary to our work. We also fulfill online orders, but the bulk of our income is in the form of services.

Sandra patted Max’s leg. They perform spells upon request.

I understood fine, Max said.

We do all kinds of spells, Lena went on. For the general public, it’s mostly harmless or useless things — luck charms or love potions. Minor and inconsequential. For those in the real community, we do more serious spells but never anything dangerous.

Drummond snickered. Sure. I bet they’re squeaky clean.

Anyway, Laverne offered to take in the money and she headed out to the bank. After she made the deposit, she said she went to the pharmacy. And that was it. She never returned. She never phoned or texted again. Nothing.

So you called us right away? Max asked. The whole thing sounded off.

The first thing we did was to cast a basic location spell. That turned up nothing which could mean she’s been taken out of range or perhaps whoever stole her has used magic to block our spell. There are numerous other possibilities. Your wife knows. She can explain it to you later.

I’ll remember that. What else did you try? Did you summon something to find her? A ghost, perhaps?

Hey, Drummond said. Don’t be giving them ideas.

Jessica put her hand on Lena’s shoulder, and Max got the distinct impression that the touch had been meant to calm Lena. A breath later, Lena said, We performed all the proper spells expected in this situation without resorting to dangerous things such as you suggest. We want to hire your agency to find her. If you fail, then perhaps we’ll consider more risky behavior.

Sandra said, Did Laverne have any enemies? Did somebody threaten her recently?

Lena grinned. We’re witches. Of course, we had enemies. We get threatened all the time. However, I must admit that recently we’ve been in a more sensitive state. Our enemies have grown bolder and their reasons may not be so pure.

Biting back his frustration, Max said, That’s quite vague. If you want us to be able to help, we need more specifics.

I’m afraid that’s all I can really say. If it helps, she went to the Triad Pharmacy on Waughtown Street.

Drummond smacked his hands together to get some attention. Will you two stop asking pointless questions? Let’s get out of here. It’s not like you’re actually considering taking their case.

Brushing at his pants, Max stood. They had come as requested, they had listened, and now they needed to go. But Sandra did not move. The witches took notice, and an unsettling quiet came over the room. It took a bit of his will to remain standing.

I understand, Lena finally said as she pulled a checkbook from her pocket. I had hoped that we would convince you to help us out of respect. Looking at Sandra, she said, Particularly you. But, as you said, the two of you are a team. I have no doubt that Mr. Porter would rather not work for a witch coven. So, I shall appeal to your more base instincts. Ripping loose a check, she held the paper out to Max. We took the liberty of investigating your business a little bit. Jessica here is quite capable with a computer. While she has made it clear that our estimate is rough, it doesn’t matter since our offer is to approximate your yearly income.

Max snatched the check far quicker than he had intended. Their research hit the mark quite close. Though loathe to admit it, he found the money tempting. Business had not been bad of late, but they had learned the crucial first rule in the life of self-employment — nothing remained constant. One month business would be booming. The next month — crickets. The idea of getting paid a full year’s salary for one job meant food on the table, house and car upkeep maintained, and maybe even some financial breathing room.

Sandra must have known all the thoughts that raced through his head because she did not say a word. She sat there with her hands in her lap and looked up at him. Max could read her face well. She knew the conclusion already and merely waited for him to catch up.

You’re kidding me, Drummond said, clearly catching on as well.

Pocketing the check, Max turned to Lena and put out his hand. Looks like we’re working for a witch coven.

Chapter 2

Max entered their downtown office and settled at his desk. Sandra flicked on the lights as she came in behind. Neither had spoken on the drive back, and Drummond had been notably absent. Rubbing his face, Max prepared for somebody to be ticked off.

Oh, you’re finally back, Drummond said, poking his head out of the built-in bookcase.

Max’s stomach rumbled. They had skipped breakfast, and he could smell the alluring aroma of lunchtime cooking drifting up from the corner shop nearby. To keep his mind off food and Drummond, Max pulled out a photograph of Laverne that the coven had provided. She looked about mid-fifties, thick, red hair, and a devilish grin that made her chosen endeavor entirely believable. If Max hadn’t known already, he would have guessed he looked at a witch.

I’ve got something to say. Drummond swept into the center of the office, his hands snapping out as he spouted his exasperation. It’s become undeniable that the two of you like to ignore me when it comes to what cases we take on. I couldn’t have been more clear that working for a witch coven was a bad, a monumentally bad, idea. Yet you grabbed the money at first chance.

It’s a lot of money, Max said. And no offense, but you don’t have to worry about paying bills anymore.

Bills or not, that doesn’t matter. I’m still one of the founders of this agency and I deserve to be heard. Heck, if you didn’t have me here, this place would have failed a long time ago.

Sandra sat on the edge of her desk. I agree. In fact, I think I deserve the same.

Crap. Max hadn’t expected to be arguing with both of them at once. What are you upset at? We took the case.

I’m not upset. I simply want to point out that I have spent a lot of time studying witchcraft, and I not only contribute to our knowledge of lore but I have on several occasions cast spells that saved us. Like Drummond, this agency would have failed without me.

Very true, Max said, keeping his voice level. Both of you are indispensable to our business. I thought you knew that, and I thought we had been good at making sure all our voices were heard.

Drummond swiped off his hat and held it out like a weapon. The point isn’t that I ain’t being heard all the time. The point is that you don’t listen when it matters. These are witches. You can’t trust them.

Hey, give me a little credit. I know exactly the kind of people we’re working for.

Then why are you doing it?

Sandra’s frown suddenly shifted into open worry. Hon? Are we having money trouble again?

The word again choked in her throat. Max wanted to rush over, hug her, and assure her that all would be fine. But he remained in his seat. We’re not in a terrible situation. Not yet.

"Not yet?"

The big chunk of money we got a few years back — we’ve used up a lot of it. There’s still plenty. I mean I’m not worried about us eating tomorrow or anything. But it won’t last us more than a few years, and that’s provided we don’t end up in the hospital or anything serious like that. This isn’t news, we’ve been in this situation for a while.

How? I thought we had investments, interest, that kind of thing.

We do. But I’m new to all of that and I made mistakes. I’m still learning.

Picking at his hat, Drummond said, So you accepted a case from a witch coven because you’re worried you’ll run out of money in a few years? Sorry, Max, but that’s still stupid.

Sandra walked over and kissed the top of his head. I understand. He knew she did. They had been through enough economic turns together that she had to share the same short-term and long-term fears he held.

Great, Drummond continued. You two are all lovey-dovey about taking on a case that might kill you because the money makes you feel secure. I’m so glad we’re partners in all of this.

Max shook his head. Come on, it’s not like that. I did hear your concerns and I share them. I haven’t been hiding my feelings about witches. Even Sandra’s dabbling bothers me.

Sandra’s eyes flared. Don’t start that again. That was settled.

You didn’t give me much choice. Basically, I was told you’re delving into witchcraft and I better just shut up and like it.

That’s not at all what happened and you know it.

See? Drummond shot between them. This is part of it right here. We haven’t even begun working the case and already it’s got us at each other’s throats. I’m telling you right now, go pick up the phone, call the Mobley Coven and tell them we quit.

The front door burst open and Max’s mother rushed in followed by the Sandwich Boys, PB and J. For a fleeting breath, Max thought he had been saved from the argument, but a quick survey of his mother’s stern face and the boys’ foul moods suggested fighting with Sandra and Drummond would be the lesser pain.

Mrs. Porter stormed over to the coffee maker and slammed through the process of setting it up. I know I’m the new one around here, but I’m also the oldest among you. You act like I’m fresh off the turnip truck.

PB puffed up his teenage chest. I don’t even know what that means.

Jammer J kept his head