The max porter box set, p.37
The Max Porter Box Set, page 37
“All she needed now was the book. But while all of us in this room know of the Darden family’s job, most witches don’t even know if the original manuscript to the book still exists — let alone if it truly holds the power claimed. But Polly had the ring, so she felt confident the tales about the book must be true, too.
“Somewhere along the line, as she neared the end of her life, she met up with Danica Kalinski. It’s unclear exactly how things worked out between them, but it didn’t go well. In the end, we know that Polly no longer had the ring, and that Miss Kalinski eventually lost her hand with the ring stuck on her finger.”
Chelsea’s stunned face turned straight to Max. “The hand in the glass cube?”
“The day your Aunt Holly brought that home, she was ecstatic. She thought she could use that ring to access the book and gain unimaginable power.”
With a pompous gait, Alan strutted up to Max. “This is absurd. If this ring could open this book that we supposedly have, why wouldn’t we have done it already? Why didn’t Aunt Holly open the book and make us all super-powerful beyond imagination? It’s ridiculous. This is nothing but the sick, twisted, malicious fantasy of a two-bit detective who is upset because he got paid to handle a fake case.”
Max swallowed down the rebuttal he wanted to make. This wasn’t about scoring points. Instead, he let Alan’s words hang in the air until it felt uncomfortable. Then, he said, “Insults aside, you bring up a good question. Why didn’t Aunt Holly open the book? The reason is sitting right here — Grandma Darden.
“She is a true believer. She takes the oath your family has made to protect the world from The Malleus Maleficarum quite seriously. To her core. Aunt Holly knew this. That’s why she hid the hand in her bedroom closet. And she waited. At some point, Grandma Darden would die, at which time Aunt Holly would be the senior witch in the family and would be free to use the ring.”
Staring at her phone, Lane giggled. “You’re telling us that the reason Aunt Holly didn’t grab hold of huge amounts of power was to spare Grandma Darden’s feelings?”
“That would seem silly. So, no. The reason she had to wait is because the ring is not an instant key. You can’t simply touch the book with it and the power is yours. Magic this strong is never that simple. It takes time to cast the spell and requires a large casting circle. Grandma Darden would clearly discover this happening and put a stop to it. In fact, Grandma Darden would curse Aunt Holly, and if that didn’t work, I think her belief in her oath would lead her to kill Aunt Holly.”
Lane whipped her head towards the family. “Are you saying Grandma Darden killed Aunt Holly?”
Max walked around the edge of the room towards Grandma Darden. “I am saying that your beloved grandmother would have killed Aunt Holly were it necessary. However, we know that Aunt Holly died of natural causes. That was unexpected and inconvenient — especially to those in the family who wanted to share in the power of that book.”
Alan shook his head. “Who are you talking about now? You’re not about to spring an illegitimate brother or sister on us, are you?”
“I’m talking about Lane. Your sister never knew your parents. Aunt Holly is the only mother she ever connected with. She has been raised and trained by Aunt Holly. Lane loved Aunt Holly. Worshiped her, really. And Aunt Holly indoctrinated Lane to believe that opening the book, unlocking that power, is your true birthright. That’s what this is all about.
“I suspect the moment Aunt Holly died, Grandma Darden saw what would happen. Maybe she even caught Lane in Aunt Holly’s bedroom. Perhaps Lane held the glass cube with the hand and ring. That’s when the real curse was put on this house.
“Realizing the danger Lane posed, Grandma Darden had a problem. She could have mustered the courage to kill Aunt Holly, her own daughter, if it meant fulfilling her oath. But her granddaughter? A girl still in her teens who really couldn’t be responsible for the way she had been raised? She refused. Instead, she sacrificed herself. Took herself out of the equation. She put a curse on the house to stop anybody from being able to learn the secrets she held in her old mind.”
Lane laughed. “You’re babbling like a fool. You sound moronic. This whole family meeting is a waste. Can I please go chat with my friends?”
In the coldest voice Max had ever heard from her, Chelsea said, “Young lady, you stay seated. I want to hear the rest of this.”
“Not clear enough? It’s simple,” Max said. “At some point, Grandma Darden began to suspect Aunt Holly’s real motives. So, in addition to the various spells that exist to protect the book from being used, your grandmother cast more. By cursing herself, she muted her ability to tell you what those spells are. You could torture her forever, and even if she broke and desperately wanted to tell you, the curse prevents her. It also blocks anybody attempting to get into her head through magic. All of that meant that Lane could not just grab the ring and open the book.
“She’s been taking her time. Acting like a teenager and spending all available moments online. But she’s not chatting with friends or looking at cute kitten videos. She’s scouring every craft site there is to find the answers to breaking that curse. Chelsea, when Alan argued with Enrique and created his little lie to cover it all up, Lane utilized that against you to make sure that you and Grandma Darden were kept under complete control. She knew Alan wouldn’t care about any of this. Witchcraft and the family legacy don’t interest him. Why should it? It had been made clear to him that only the women in the family mattered.
“The only real problem was me. Isn’t that right, Lane? You didn’t expect Chelsea to do anything about the fake curse except cower in her bedroom until you told her it was safe. And that might have worked. But the days went by and you couldn’t break the spells on the book. After a while, Chelsea surprised you by taking some initiative. She called me.
“You couldn’t really turn us away because you would end up having to admit there was a fake curse on your family. So, you hoped I would spend my time spinning my wheels, not being able to find anything, and by the time we figured out what was going on — if we ever figured it out — it wouldn’t matter anymore. Is that clear enough for you?”
An unsettling quiet descended on the room as all eyes turned towards Lane. She sat still and poised as if interviewing for a secretary position in the 1960s. When she finally moved to turn her head, all the teenage attitude had disappeared. In its place, Max saw the calculating maturity of a seasoned politician.
Unable to handle the quiet, Chelsea blurted out, “Aren’t you going to defend yourself? He’s accusing you of manipulating me and Alan and forcing Grandma Darden to curse herself and he’s saying that you —”
“Why are you so stupid?” Lane said, causing Chelsea to stammer into silence. “I’ve been sitting here the entire time. I’ve heard every word.”
Trying to maintain some order, Max said, “I’m glad you’re not denying any of it.”
“What would be the point?”
“I agree.”
“But in your haste to paint me as the villain, you’ve left out an important fact.”
“That’s right,” Chelsea said. “I knew there would be a reason. Please, explain to Mr. Porter why he’s wrong.”
Lane stood. Before she spoke any further, she took the time to level a disgusted gaze at Chelsea. Then, in a voice that grew harsher with each syllable, she said, “Should I do that, Mr. Porter?” She slithered towards him. “Should I explain why you’re wrong? Or should I show you all how strong I really am? Should I make it clear to you that I am going to take what rightfully belongs to the Darden women? Do I need to explain that I have no problem killing all of you, if you stand in my way?”
Chapter 24
OVER THE YEARS working on these paranormal cases, Max had learned that he could count on only a few things. He could count on Sandra and Drummond. He could count on the rest of his team. And he could count on the fact that nothing would ever go according to plan. So it came as no surprise when Drummond dropped in front of him and said, “Got a little hiccup.”
Max could not have a conversation with Drummond, so a raised eyebrow had to suffice.
“Oh, right. Apparently, Sandra’s spell isn’t working. It’s close though. She’s on the internet trying to figure out where she made a mistake. You need to stall for a few minutes more.”
“Are you crazy?” Max said.
Lane grabbed the dancing bear figurine from the coffee table and threw it right over Max’s head. It smashed into the flatscreen television, leaving behind two sharp cracks. “Don’t ever call a witch crazy. Too many of our kind were locked up under that false term.”
With fast, shallow breaths, Chelsea said, “You just broke a five hundred dollar figurine and a fifteen hundred dollar television. I think that qualifies as crazy.”
“Oh, my dear sister. You could have had so much, if you only had been strong enough to take it. But don’t worry. Stay with me and I’ll teach you everything you should have learned.”
Lane put out her hand, and Max saw sincerity in her young eyes. Of course — she had been raised to be power-hungry, but also to value her family. The women in the family, at least.
Enrique rose from the couch, bent and slow as if a heavy chain held him by the neck. “Lane, put your hand down. Chelsea does not belong to you.”
“Look who suddenly has guts.” Lane lowered her hand as she approached Enrique. “You better watch it. I’m not bluffing when I say I’m strong.”
“I think you are bluffing. For now. Max wasn’t lying when he said people like you specialize in spells. I can see the truth. You’re not so strong. You have no spell that will kill us.” Enrique glanced down at Chelsea with a glisten in his eyes that had to be an apology. He turned back to Lane. “What good will all that power you gain be, if you can’t leave this house?”
Lane grinned. “Back to that? Did you not listen? It was a lie. We faked it. There is no curse keeping us here.”
“Not yet.”
“Now who’s bluffing? You can’t cast spells. You’ve got no power to curse this house.”
Enrique thrust his hand into his pocket and pulled out seven wards on seven strings. “These do.”
Drummond whipped his head around. “Don’t let him do that or I’ll —”
Uttering a deep shout, Enrique threw the wards into the air. As they rose toward the ceiling, he dropped his head and mumbled a phrase that Max could not make out clearly. At the height of ascent, that moment when the wards hovered in the air before gravity brought them back down, they each snapped in two. A bright light filled the room. Chelsea cried out as everybody covered their eyes. Max heard Drummond yell, and as the light faded, he saw that his partner had disappeared.
“What did you do?” Lane said.
Enrique sat on the couch with his head up and a cocky grin. “Try getting out of here now.”
Lane dashed out of the room and threw open the front door. She walked straight ahead at the open doorway and slammed into an unseen wall. Max never liked the Magi, but he had to hand it to this man. Enrique had just bought them all a few more minutes.
From the corner of his eye, Max caught movement by the window. Snatching a peek, he spied Drummond — stuck outside. The ward must have thrown out any ghosts in the house.
Lane grabbed the figurines on the mail table and threw them at the door. They shattered in the air. “Lower this ward.” She stomped back to the living room, right up to Enrique. “Lower this ward now, or I will kill you.”
He crossed his legs. “If you don’t have the magic to lower a simple ward like that, then you don’t have the magic to kill me, either.”
“Who needs magic?”
She raised her arm. Max looked out the living room, across the foyer, and saw the empty mail table by the front door. He spun back but it was too late. In Lane’s hand, she wielded the letter opener.
Chelsea shrieked as she watched her sister bury the sharp blade into Enrique’s neck. Blood spurted into the air. Enrique sat stiff with eyes wide in shock. A soft wheeze gurgled through the blood around the letter opener sticking out of his skin.
Calm and cold, Lane faced the rest of the room. A crimson line of Enrique’s blood marred the left side of her face like a scar across her eye and cheek. With careful, controlled grace, she walked out of the room.
Chelsea launched over the couch. She picked up Enrique’s lifeless hand and held it to her heart. Stroking his face, she cried. “Honey? Sweetheart? My love? Wake up. Look at me.” Her words drifted in and out of being audible like waves on a quiet afternoon. “I’m sorry about the wedding, about our fights. I forgive you. I love you. I can wait to get married. It’s okay.”
Lane returned carrying a brass bowl. Max’s stomach dropped. He had seen bowls like that before. They were used to collect blood for casting dark spells. Back then, he had been handcuffed to a basement pipe and unable to stop the proceedings. Not this time.
“Out of my way,” Lane said, kneeing Chelsea aside.
Max darted forward, but after only two steps, he froze. Alan had pulled out a 9mm handgun and pointed it in Max’s direction. “I’d like you to step back.”
Chelsea let loose another bawling cry. “Alan? You, too?”
Chapter 25
ALAN SNEERED AT CHELSEA as he motioned for her to stand next to Max. “You act so surprised which is enough to make me shoot you right now.”
Max offered a knowing nod. “You’re right. I should have seen it.”
“I don’t care about you. Why should you have had any idea what goes on in this house? But Chelsea — you sit here day after day thinking so little of me. Oh, that poor Alan. He’s so lazy. Won’t he ever do anything? And all that time, I watched and listened. I knew Lane would take over this family, and I knew Aunt Holly had a chance to make us all powerful.”
With the brass bowl close to full, Lane walked into the foyer. “Come on, Alan. Bring them in here.”
Gesturing with the handgun, Alan said, “You heard her. Go on.”
Max’s brain scrambled for an idea, any idea, of what to do. With Drummond locked out of the house and Sandra’s spell failing, he had no recourse but to handle it alone. Except he couldn’t outrun a bullet. Which left him only with his mouth.
“You know this won’t end well for you,” Max said. “Witchcraft is all about women.”
“Don’t even try to act like you know anything.”
“That’s why you were cut out of the Will. Actually, the phrase cut out implies you were once in the Will, and we all know that isn’t true. If Aunt Holly didn’t see it fit to give you even a little bit of money, not even an allowance, what makes you think Lane is going to do any different? She was Aunt Holly’s prized pet.”
Max had no clue what all his verbal baiting would accomplish, but it made him feel better. If he had any luck, he might be able to distract Alan or change the way he thinks or create a lucky break.
Lane set the bowl on the floor near the stairs. To Max, she said, “You can keep talking, if you want. You won’t do any good, though. My brother has always known how to play the odds. Anybody with half-a-brain can see that odds favor me most.”
Screaming, Chelsea said, “You didn’t have to kill him!” She fell to her knees, heaving sobs into her arms.
With her meanest smile, Lane said, “You’re right.” She crossed the foyer, reached down, and lifted the edge of the large, round rug situated underneath the stained-glass dome. Walking backwards, she pulled the rug away, revealing a circle made of mosaic tiles embedded in the floor. Symbols lined two concentric inner-circles, and words in dead languages forgotten by all except those who know witchcraft had been carefully written along the entire outer-edge.
“Under our feet the whole time,” Max said, the scope of his defeat increasing with every moment. Drummond had been right all along. If Max hadn’t wasted time trying to avoid the case, if he hadn’t given up with each dead end, this might not have happened. But every step that he tried to get away from the case only served to give Lane more time to break the spells protecting the book.
This was all his fault.
He had known it all along, too. Deep inside. That always seemed to be the truth of things. No matter what the issue, he generally knew what the right thing to do was — except he often resisted. Worse, that resistance usually required more energy than facing whatever truth he wanted to avoid.
Lane pulled her hair back and tied it into a ponytail. “Keep them here. I’ll be right back.”
As she walked down the hall, Alan shifted his position to the side a few feet. “I know how this whole thing looks, but you ought to trust me.”
“You’ve got a gun on me. Why should I trust you for anything?” Max said.
“Not you.” Keeping his handgun at the ready, Alan squatted to Chelsea’s level. “Sis, listen to me. That guy was no good for you. Everybody could see that. Aunt Holly, Grandma Darden, Lane, and I only want what’s best for you and for the family. Enrique had only his own interests at heart. Why do you think I was fighting with him that day?”
“She killed him!” Chelsea’s outburst choke back into silent sobs.
“She shouldn’t have done that. Lane’s got a lot of strength, but she still acts out like a teenager. That’s not an excuse, but I’m sure she’ll feel sorry and apologize after things calm down.”
Chelsea’s glare quieted Alan. He stood and reasserted his stance near Max. “You move wrong, and I’ll shoot.”
“I’m not going to try anything.”
When Lane walked back up the hall, she carried a short knife and a basting brush from the kitchen. She picked up the bowl and walked into the center of the circle. Lowering to her knees, she bowed her head and closed her eyes.
