The max porter box set, p.51
The Max Porter Box Set, page 51
“You had PB follow her.”
“I apologized for that. And I am sorry. I know it was stupid —”
“I told you that.”
“— but I can’t see why this is where the line in the sand is drawn. It’s like I’m a friend saying that maybe you shouldn’t keep looking down the barrel of that loaded gun, and she keeps replying that I’m a bad person for trying to stop her from shooting her head off.”
Drummond rubbed his chin but said nothing.
“Really?” Max said. “Now is the time you’re going to get all quiet on me?”
“I’ve heard enough of this argument over the last year or so that I know no matter what I say, you are determined to only see things from your side. Same with her. Normally, you two are good at fighting things out and getting on with it. I don’t know why this one has you both stymied, but I’m not getting in the middle of it. Not more than I have to.”
Turning onto North Patterson, Max stayed silent the rest of the drive. What more could he say? Drummond showed excellent judgment to keep out of it, and anything Max wanted to share, he really needed to share with Sandra.
He pulled in a small lot and shut off the engine. “Let’s go take a look at another bunch of bricks.” He had a strong feeling that he would be dreaming about red clay bricks all night long.
Standing before a building much like the pharmacy, Max had to assume they were designed around the same time, if not by the same architect. Like the pharmacy, this building had a narrow, elongated shape with a large chimney and an entirely brick exterior. The roof had been made of wood and painted white. This particular roof rose high at a steep angle.
As they headed toward the front, Max noticed how the concrete sidewalk gave way to a brick walkway leading to the entrance. A sign to the side of the glass door read — Black-Phillips-Smith Government Building.
“Maybe we got it wrong,” Drummond said. “Maybe Candace Mobley meant the Black that this building was named for.”
“Doubtful. Too many pieces connected to George Black.”
“But not all of them.”
Max tried the door. Locked. “Figures. Any bright ideas?” Drummond opened his mouth, but Max added, “That don’t involve breaking and entering?”
“I don’t always suggest that. It just happens to be an effective method of finding information others don’t want you to have.”
“So that was going to be your suggestion?”
Drummond’s offended glare brought a chuckle up Max’s throat. “For your information and edification, I’ve got more than one trick up my sleeve. Now, in this case, I’m telling you that there’s no reason to break into that building. We’re not looking for anything on the inside.”
Max paused. The ghost was right. “Let’s keep looking.”
As they turned the corner, they saw several things at once — none of which were good. First, they saw that a drive-thru overhang had been built and like the building, it had been built of bricks. Even as Max thought about the boring task of going over all those bricks, his mind processed the recessed corner in the back and the bald man with a flaming cross tattoo on his arm. The man locked eyes with Max before tearing off toward the back. Finally, right before Drummond yelled “He’s a Goodman hunter!”, Max noticed the brick in the bald man’s hand.
Breaking into a sprint, Max pursued the man. They crossed a back street before Max noticed Drummond soaring by his side. The bald man dashed across a corner lawn and down a street of small homes with small yards. He shot up a driveway and into the back.
“Keep on him,” Max said and Drummond followed the man.
Max, however, kept to the street. He pushed himself harder with the hope of getting ahead of the man. As Max turned up the next street, he saw the man race into another yard with Drummond close behind.
Ignoring the pounding in his chest, Max called upon every bit of strength he had to push his legs faster. He darted ahead to the next street, saw that the man hadn’t reached the yards yet, and smiled — right before a car pulled out in front of him.
His meager martial arts training saved him serious injury. Instead of smashing straight into the Toyota Prius, Max’s new instincts reacted. He jumped forward, rolling across the hood and falling to the driveway on the other side.
“What the heck are you doin?” the driver yelled as she stepped from the car. Though only in her twenties, she acted hardened by a long, brutal life. “You think I got time to spend fixing dents from stupid kids playing around?”
Max rolled up to his feet, but it was over. Drummond rushed over to make sure he was okay. The Goodman hunter had escaped.
“I’m talking to you,” the woman went on, ignoring the obvious mistake she had made. “You can’t be running around here like that. Grown man like you. People live here. And look at that scratch. Who’s going to pay for that?”
“Ma’am, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t Ma’am me. How old do you think I am?”
Drummond arrived, reached out, and placed his hand inside the woman’s head. A short touch and she passed out from the cold. Drummond groaned. “Worth it,” he said, rubbing his hand.
Together, the two walked back to the government building. At first, neither spoke. Max needed to catch his breath and stop sweating while Drummond needed to stop the throbbing pain in his hand. By the time they reached the section of the brick building where they had seen the Goodman hunter, both were ready to work.
About chest high, they saw the hole where the man had dislodged the brick. Max looked over all the surrounding bricks as Drummond checked up at the roof height.
“I don’t see anything suspicious other than the obvious,” Drummond said.
“Yeah, me neither.” Max inspected the hole. “Here’s something.”
Drummond dropped in close. “What do you got?”
“The brick he took — it wasn’t one of George Black’s. Look at the bricks all around it. Each one has a sharp edge, precision cut, and each one looks identical. Very little variation. That’s done by a machine, not by hand. The ones from our knees down are Black’s, and on both sides, too. But this small patch here came from somewhere else.”
“You can tell that?”
“You can’t? We’ve been looking at George Black’s handmade bricks all day.”
Drummond clapped his hands together and pointed at Max. “See that? Get into the grit of it all and you start to see things you would’ve missed sitting at your desk.”
“Maybe.” That was as much praise as Max dared give the ghost. He pulled out his phone and took several pictures of the wall. “For now, though, we’re going back to the office. It’s time to do research my way.”
Two cars nearly collided on the street, and the long honk of one horn drew Max’s attention. The second car involved screeched away from the scene. The first driver flipped off the escaping car, and then asked everyone standing around, “Did you see that? Anybody get his plates? Please? Anybody see the guy?”
Max did. But he wouldn’t be helping the driver. Not when the man zipping off down the street was Leon Moore.
Chapter 20
BY THE TIME THEY RETURNED TO THE OFFICE, Max’s stomach grumbled for an early dinner. No time to eat, though. He had research on his mind. That, and Leon Moore, but thoughts of Leon, Mother Hope, and the Magi only pushed him to research harder. Perhaps recognizing Max’s need to focus, Drummond slid into his bookshelf and disappeared for a while. Max sat at his laptop and got to work.
Thankfully, he had a lot of details. For him, researching with so much information already known was like basic algebra. All the given numbers nearly provided the entire answer, and he merely had to solve for x. In this case, he had the bricks, the brick master, addresses, years — all he needed to find was who made the different bricks, the non-Black bricks.
In less than fifteen minutes, he had the answer. Another fifteen and he had more of the story coming to light. But he also had questions.
“Out with it already,” Drummond said after being called back into the office.
Max poured a mug of coffee. “The brick that the Goodman hunter took came from Perklin Brickmakers. They’re now defunct, but in the early-2000s, they were doing well. Unfortunately for them, they did so well that they diversified their excess cash into real estate. The crash in ‘08 wiped them out.”
“I don’t doubt you for a second, but you’ve got to satisfy my curiosity. How can you know where a single brick came from?”
“Because while George Black’s bricks are known for their durability, they’re not invincible. Things happen, and bricks need to be replaced. Perklin made a great brick, apparently, and they became the go-to people for buildings that originally had only Black’s bricks. The government building we checked out had an incident in 1997. A drunken idiot smashed his truck into the side of the building taking out a chunk of the wall.”
“And they called Perklin to repair it.”
“Exactly.”
Drummond lowered his head as he thought. “Hold on there. Are you saying the Goodman hunters made a mistake? They got the wrong brick?”
“They knew exactly what bricks to destroy twice before. This was not a mistake.”
“But why take a Perklin brick? It’s not got the right clay.”
Max set his mug down and spread his hands on the desk. “Unless it does. We’ve assumed this whole time that Black’s bricks were the ones that used the cursed red clay.”
“Candace said the name Black. And Grandma Mobley’s story also pointed to Black.”
“All of which set us on the right course. But here’s something else I found out — one of the reasons, possibly the main reason, that Perklin became the number one source for replacing Black’s bricks was because the red clay they used specifically matched up with Black’s. They had set aside a special clay for that purpose.”
“You think that clay was the cursed clay. Sitting around in the ground all that time.”
“It would explain something that’s been bothering me from the start. If these witches knew about the bricks, why didn’t they go get the bricks themselves a long time ago? Why wait until a crisis? But the truth is, they didn’t know. All along, they thought Grandma Mobley’s spirit was safely tucked in the ground. No matter what they’ve said to us, they had no idea about the bricks until this all started up.”
Drummond’s head bobbed up and down. “You’ve convinced me.”
“The next question I’ve got is about these Goodman hunters. Why did they steal that brick? The others they destroyed, they used that symbol and fried the bricks which killed the witches. But this time, they cut out the brick. Why?”
The gentle voice of Max’s wife came from the doorway. “That one’s easy.”
“Doll, it’s good to see you.” Drummond flew over and gave a short bow.
She grinned. “Sometimes, you can be a real goof.” She sat behind her desk and kicked her feet up. “They need the witches to be present when they torch the bricks. It’s not enough to simply say the name and draw the symbol. The spirit trapped in the brick must be present with the body to which it belongs. And the body must be purified in blessed water during a specific spell before sundown of the same day. The first time, at the pharmacy, was sort of like a drive-by. The second time, they managed to kidnap Candace and bring her to the brick. But the rest of the coven is on alert now. They’re being cautious wherever they go, and doing what they can to shield Lena and Grandma Mobley specifically. The hunters are having a harder time getting hold of the witches they need.”
Max said, “So they figured they might as well collect the bricks while they can.”
“They can hold onto the bricks as long as it takes. After all, that was the whole point of the deal Eunice made — her spirit won’t leave those bricks.”
“Until they’re destroyed.”
“That’s what the coven told us, but you can’t believe everything they say. Maybe Grandma Mobley is cursed to suffer even after her death.”
Max tried to blot out that horrible idea. He still had hope that his own curse could be removed at some point. But if a witch as powerful as Grandma Mobley — not just her but her entire coven — if they couldn’t free her from a curse, then perhaps he should rethink the possibilities of his future. No matter how ugly.
“I’m liking everything I hear,” Drummond said. “Let’s say we’ve got this right — my gut says we do — then we’ve got a few avenues available to us. We could circle the wagons around the coven or even just Lena and Grandma Mobley. Do everything we can to protect them which would essentially create a stalemate.”
“That won’t work. It’s only good short term.” Sandra rose from her chair, taking control of the room as if she stood taller than Drummond. “Both sides are willing and able to take on something like this for decades. While you’ve got a few centuries ahead of you, Max and I won’t live that long. And I’m sorry if this disappoints you, but I have no intention of sticking around here as a ghost just to go on protecting a witch coven from a bunch of idiots.”
“I’d love for you to stick around with me, but I don’t expect it. I’m just savoring the time I have with a looker like you.”
“Aren’t you the rascal?”
Max cleared his throat. “Quit egging him on.”
Drummond thrust out his hands. “I like being egged on.”
“What other choice do we have? I mean about the bricks.”
“The way I see it, if we don’t protect the witches, we’re left with two viable options. Either we come up with some way to take out the Goodman hunters —”
“That ain’t happening,” Max said. “We’re not killers.”
“Then we get the last brick ourselves.”
Max paused, letting that idea sink in. Getting the brick would stop the Goodman hunters from killing another woman with this horrible curse, but it would not protect them from other forms of attack. There would also be a new problem — the hunters might come after the brick, and since Max had no intention of letting the witches have the brick, that meant the hunters would be coming after him, Drummond, and Sandra. But those were problems to be dealt with once they had the brick. If they didn’t get hold of it, no speculation mattered. That still left one crucial hurdle.
“How do we find it?”
“We have the addresses. We know where all the bricks are. Why don’t we just go look?”
“I think death is making you a bit crazy. There are millions of bricks out there that Black made. And while only a small percentage had to be replaced with Perklin bricks, it’s still a huge number. Say it’s as low as one percent. One percent of a million is ten thousand. And there are way more than one million. Might even be tens of millions. We could have over a hundred thousand replacement bricks to have to go through.”
“Even if you could do that,” Sandra said, “it still won’t work.” She paused, and Max’s stomach gurgled. He knew he wouldn’t like what she said next. “Even if you could isolate every last Perklin brick and lined them all up next to each other, you’d never be able to tell which ones held Grandma Mobley’s spirit and which ones were just bricks. It’s not like they glow orange or have a big arrow pointing at them.”
Wishing back the words in his throat but knowing he had to move forward, he asked, “What do we do then? How do we find a specific brick amongst all of them?”
“You know how.”
Drummond’s face screwed up as he took off his hat. “Well, I don’t know how. Why don’t one of you tell me? You can’t tell by looking, there aren’t any marks. I suppose since a witch was involved at the beginning of all of this, we might need to cast a ... oh.” The ghost eyed Max’s tense glare then looked over at Sandra’s stronger glower. “I think I’ll go check on my 1920s gal in the Other. Give you some time to work this out.” Not waiting for a reply, Drummond vanished.
A hundred thoughts raced through Max’s head. He wanted to stop her from going any further with this impending argument, but he also wanted to finish it — get it done with and out of the way. He wanted her to finally listen to reason, but he also knew they needed to find that brick.
“There,” she said, pounding her hand against her desk. “You’re fighting it out in your head, and that is exactly the problem. If you truly wanted me to stop with witchcraft, there would be no debate in your head. You should be screaming at me, yelling at the top of your lungs how wrong I am to keep pushing. But you don’t.”
“You’re my wife, not my property.”
“Oh, don’t even — the only reason you hesitate is because you need me to cast a spell to locate that brick. That’s it. You’re no better than those Goodman hunters. They decry witchcraft and magic, and they go around killing suspected witches, but how do you think they found the bricks? Same way. They cast a spell. For crying out loud, look at how they destroy the bricks — with a symbol, a word, purified water, and a recitation. That’s a spell. That’s witchcraft. They’re hypocrites, and so are you.”
“That’s not fair. I’m not going around trying to kill you. I’m fighting you on this to save you.”
“Do you have any clue how condescending you sound?”
“Huh? What did I do now?”
“This entire time you have stood in my way claiming you’re trying to protect me, to save me from the evils of witchcraft. But did it ever once occur to you that I can handle myself? Did you ever think that maybe I’m strong enough and smart enough to investigate witchcraft without becoming an evil creature that you’d have to fight someday?”
Max trudged across the office, bringing his face close in on her. “Why the heck are you determined to twist everything I’m saying into something malicious? I’m your husband. I love you. I’m not trying to undercut your ability or bash down your equality or anything like that — and you damn well know it. We’re married, and that means we look out for each other, we protect each other, and if necessary, we save each other — even when our spouse can handle it alone.”
Sandra put her hands on her hips and stepped so close that her nose brushed against his. “That sounds so noble and good. Except you’re lying. If what you said was true, you wouldn’t keep asking me to perform spells. If you honestly wanted to protect me from witchcraft, you’d find another way to solve our problems. You would have rather let the case fail, deal with the consequences of an angry coven, than watch me cast another bit of magic.”
