The max porter box set, p.6
The Max Porter Box Set, page 6
But to Max, it felt rehearsed. The low jabs to his abdomen, however, felt quite authentic. “I have waited long enough,” Edward said, punctuating with a punch. “Give me that bone.”
Max’s head lolled forward. “Can’t do that.”
“You will, or I’ll beat you to death.” Edward struck Max twice to underscore his point.
“Sorry, pal. I don’t have it.”
Edward’s mouth dropped open as he realized his mistake. “The wife.” He looked to his henchmen. “The wife has the bone.”
Max felt the grip on his arms loosen and wasted no time taking advantage. He lunged forward, leading his shoulder straight into Edward’s stomach. As the young man doubled-over with a hoarse cough, Max vaulted over the railing and into the woods.
Branches whipped by as he dashed through. He hopped across several wide stones to avoid a sodden section of land. The ground angled upward causing Max to slow his progress. Those hooded men had to be behind him, closing in, but he wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. Keep your eyes forward. Keep running.
Max saw the woodchip path and followed it further up the hill. His legs burned. Gasping with each step, he came upon a shallow creek. He jumped across and headed straight off the path. Sweat soaked through his shirt as he slowed his pace.
He had to stop to catch his breath and get his bearings. The street noises sounded louder and he thought he glimpsed headlights spraying across the trees as a car turned onto the main road running alongside the park. Except it could also have been flashlights from his enemies.
No time to waste figuring it out. The fact that lights came from further upward convinced him that they belonged to cars. He took off, but between the beatings, the exertion of his initial escape, and his lack of regular exercise, Max had reached the limit of his running. He opted for a fast walk.
Not fast enough.
As he entered a narrow clearing marked with a circle of seven stones each the size of a small bed, Eye-patch appeared ahead. Max turned back but the man’s hooded partner was there, breathing heavily but walking forward. In the center of the circle, Max spied a half-charred log. Too big to handle as a weapon, and too charred to hold together.
Off to the right, a third hooded man joined them. That didn’t bode well for Leon. To the left, Max saw Edward. At least Max’s vanity had some relief — sweat dribbled down Edward’s face, too.
Max had expected Edward to say something snide or victorious. Instead, the man crossed his arms and watched as the hooded figures closed in. The assault began from behind — a kick to the back of the knees that sent Max crashing down. Like hungry wolves, the other two crowded in. Each took a turn striking Max while Edward looked on.
“Stop!” Sandra shouted, her voice deep and full of menace.
The men halted, curious at the sudden disturbance. With both hands, Sandra held the marked bone above her head. Her mouth moved, but Max could not make out the words — until he realized she was casting a spell.
“Be gone!” she yelled.
The bone glowed orange. Edward looked back at his men, saw the fear on their face, but before he could speak, bright white light flashed off the bone. It lit up the area like security lights flooding a parking lot. The men dropped Max. One pulled his hood further forward before rushing off down the hill. The other two stepped back. Eye-patch raised a hand over his eyes as he turned away. Max tried to stand but only managed to fall against one of the large stones.
Edward turned to his men. “Relax,” he said. “It’s nothing.”
As Sandra concentrated on the bone, Edward strode right up to her and clocked her on the chin. Max winced, and Sandra let out a shocked cry. Max shoved off the stone, but two men grabbed him by the shoulders and held him back. It wasn’t too hard — most of his strength had been beaten out of him.
Snatching the bone from the ground, Edward turned back. He crouched before Max, and with a condescending shake of his head, he placed his hand on Max’s shoulder. “I don’t care that you once fought the Hulls. I don’t care that you’ve had some experience with magic. You’re in over your head here. Please, for the sake of your wife, stop now. You tried, and you lost. I don’t want to see you get hurt any worse, and if you get in our way again, you will be. A lot worse. You understand?”
Max nodded because he knew Edward needed some sort of response.
“Good. We’re not out to harm anybody — well, not anybody innocent — and if you don’t listen to me here, right now, you’ll no longer be innocent.” He put his forehead against Max’s forehead. With a dead look in his eyes, he said, “I’m not interested in murdering you or your wife, but I’m not unwilling either. And you know we can hide a body. Look how long those coffins remained hidden.”
He patted Max on the cheek and stood. With a motion of his head, the hooded men followed him as he walked on the park path. Max waited until the night covered the last trace of them. Then he stumbled over to Sandra.
“You okay?” he asked as he helped her sit up.
Dazed, she rubbed her jaw. “He hit me,” she said, with a bit of surprise.
“You took it like a champ.”
“Great. You can make a movie about me. Did he get the bone?”
“It’s okay. Don’t worry about it.” Seeing she wasn’t seriously injured, he dropped back against a tree. “What kind of spell was that?”
“Nothing, really. Just a light show. It doesn’t really do anything. It’s more of a beginner’s exercise to try to focus energy.”
“It was enough to save me. Thank you.”
She leaned over to rest her head on his chest, but he recoiled. She tried to hold him, but he groaned. Finally, she stood and offered her hand. “How about I drive home?”
Chapter 8
WHEN MAX AWOKE, the sun had yet to rise. He felt worse than hungover — he felt like he had been beaten by a gang of hooded thugs. Oh, wait.
Careful not to disturb Sandra — her soft snores brought warmth to his heart before the bruises on his body whisked it away — Max slipped out of bed and crept downstairs to the kitchen. He shuffled across the tiled floor like an old man suffering from arthritis and bad joints and weak legs. Turning a dimmer knob, he brought up the over-the-sink lamp — enough light for him to see by but nothing bright and blinding so early in the morning.
As quietly as he could manage, he scooped coffee into a filter, placed the filter in the machine, and filled up the water. After turning it on, he leaned against the counter, crossed his arms, and pursed his lips. All he had done was make coffee, yet his muscles were already tired. The old body did not bounce back like it would have a few years ago.
A little coffee, some breakfast, and he should feel better. Not one-hundred-percent, but better.
How did this keep happening? How did they keep getting stuck in these situations? Having Mother Hope and the Magi take over should have been a step up from the Hulls, but at least with the Hulls, Max knew where to look for the double-crosses and outright lies. With Mother Hope, he had no idea what to expect.
“Morning, Max,” Drummond said, rising up through the sink.
Max pulled a coffee mug from the cabinet. “What does it say about me that you don’t even faze me anymore?”
“Really? I thought the sink thing was rather new.”
“Maybe it’s just too early for a reaction. Besides, after the night I had, I doubt I could muster the energy to be surprised.”
Drummond looked Max up and down. “What happened to you?”
While sipping coffee and letting the caffeine boost do its trick, Max told Drummond all that had transpired. The part about Leon’s fighting skills forced Drummond’s begrudging acknowledgment. But when Max reached the point where Edward decked Sandra, Drummond’s pale face burned.
“Bad enough this punk punched a lady, but he dared to punch our lady. Next time I see him, I promise we’ll make this right.”
Max’s headache throbbed too much for more than swirling his coffee. “I don’t even want to know what that means.”
“It means he better watch his step ‘cause he’s got a ghost for an enemy.”
“You be careful about that. I don’t want you getting too riled up and then losing control. You know what could happen to you.” Once before, Drummond’s rage had taken over — nearly turned him into a poltergeist. “And I’d hate to have to fight you, too.”
“Don’t worry about me. I got myself under control. I know how far I can push it.”
“You better.” Max’s stomach grumbled, but he ignored it. No good ever came to him from eating before sunrise. “Wait a second. The sun’s not even up. What are you doing here?”
Drummond drifted backwards as if he needed to put a little distance between them. “Nothing. I mean I came to report in, but it can wait. Go back to sleep.”
“You clearly don’t have any big news to report. I know you. If you’d found something worth telling, you’d be bouncing around like a little kid. And you always wait until we’re at the office for that kind of thing. What’s going on?”
“Relax. There’s no anything going on.”
“Then why are you here?”
Drummond wiped his forehead. “Now don’t get all upset. You’ve got healing to do. Besides, this is nothing. Honest.”
“You know what I think when people tell me they’re being honest.”
“Look, all that’s happening is that sometimes, on occasion, not often at all really, but sometimes I come by here in the morning or late at night to make sure you guys are safe, that’s all.”
“What? You’re sneaking in here at night? Like a peeping Tom?”
“Hey, that’s not it at all. I worry about you guys. That’s it. You know, it isn’t easy being a ghost, especially a P.I. ghost. Lots of people in the Other want to give up worrying about the law, so they don’t take kindly to a guy like me. I don’t make a lot of friends.”
Max paused. “Wow, that was honest.”
“I’m not trying to be a creep or anything like that. But since you got that curse on you and then we spent time together with you as a ghost, well, it got me thinking.”
The curse, its mark on Max’s chest — Max didn’t like to think about it too often. But it was there within him, a grenade under his skin, ready for Mother Hope to pull the pin whenever she chose. “You’re worried that we’ll be killed, that we’ll end up stuck as ghosts like you.”
“I think if you get killed, you’ll both move on with ease. And then that’ll be it. I’ll have nobody here to work with.” Drummond raised his hands before Max could speak. “I know, I know. Eventually, you two are going to pass on. But that shouldn’t be until you’ve lived a long, full life. So, if I have to come in here now and then to make sure everything is safe for you guys, I’m going to do it.”
Max poured another cup of coffee — this would definitely be a two cup morning. “Okay, I guess. I suppose I should appreciate it.”
“Do me a favor, though. Don’t tell Sandra. I think it’ll bother her.”
“You think?” Max took a deep breath to stop from raising his voice. “Let’s talk about something else. Tell me what you found in the Other. I’m guessing still no Archibald Henderson.”
Latching onto work, Drummond returned to his usual strong demeanor. “He’s long gone. In fact, most of them are. Turns out the Other has a limit to how long you can stay. Most ghosts that hang around are waiting for some sort of closure from their lives. When that happens, they move on. But some either can’t accept their deaths and stay or, like me, choose to stay for some other reasons. Well, the Other doesn’t like that. So, according to the old timers I could find, the Other will force ghosts to move on if they’ve been around for over two hundred years. It’s important, too, because if that didn’t happen, the Other would be overcrowded with ghosts — and it’s plenty crowded as it is.”
“Are you saying that any ghost from the time of the Revolution is gone?”
“Most are. But however the Other operates, it isn’t perfect. It misses some of the ghosts, or maybe whatever allows it to force ghosts to move on is slightly selective. I don’t know. But there are a handful of ghosts that are still hanging around. Maybe about one percent. Of course, if you think about how many people have died over the last thousand years, one percent is a lot.”
“Then there are people from the Revolution?”
“Heck, there’s a lady from 1502, so yeah, there’s a bunch from the Revolution, but not nearly enough to make it likely we’ll get anything worthwhile.”
“So, you got nothing.”
Wagging a finger, Drummond grinned. “Do I ever let you down? I found one guy who claims he fought the British during the war. Says he’s from North Carolina and that he could help us out. I don’t trust what he’s saying entirely, but I don’t know my history well enough to tell for sure. I figured I could bring him in, we’ll chat, and maybe we luck into something useful.”
Max nodded. “Set it up.”
“Who are you talking to?” Mrs. Porter said as she walked into the kitchen. She wore a floral housecoat that draped the tiles.
“Just myself,” Max said.
“Be careful about that. Wouldn’t want people thinking you’re losing your marbles.” She tittered at her own joke. “How about I make you an egg sandwich?”
Drummond clapped his hands together once. “I’ll get that guy right away. Enjoy your breakfast. I don’t need to be watching food. That never goes well for me.”
Max couldn’t respond, and Drummond knew it. The ghost opted for a simple wave good-bye and disappeared through a wall. Mrs. Porter dug out a pan and clanked it onto the stovetop.
“Easy, Mom. Sandra’s still asleep.”
“An egg sandwich was always your favorite growing up. No butter on the toast, though. I remember that. Do you? Probably not — you were so little.”
Max watched as she cracked two eggs into a small bowl. He had seen her do this so many times, and the sound instantly brought him back to the breakfast table in Michigan. “I remember,” he said. “The first egg sandwich you ever made me, you asked if I wanted butter on the toast.”
“You said you wanted gobs of butter. On both sides of the toast.”
“I loved that word back then — gobs. I’d find any excuse to use it.”
“I was a good mother. I warned you that it would be messy that way, but you didn’t want to listen to anything I had to say. So, you got your gobs.” She set two pieces of bread in the toaster and poured the beaten eggs into the hot pan.
The corners of Max’s mouth rose as he pictured that day. Sitting at the table, his chin resting on his hands as his mother placed the egg sandwich on his plate. For some reason that particular morning, he was famished. He grabbed that sandwich and never took a bite.
“I can still feel it today,” he said with a snort. “Butter all over my fingers and my palms, and even a bit ran down toward my elbow.”
“After that, you never wanted butter on your toast. But I give you lots of credit — especially because you were willing to try it again without the butter.” She placed the completed egg sandwich on a plate and handed it to him. “And you’ve loved them ever since.”
“Thanks, Mom.” He kissed her cheek before taking his plate to the table.
“Well, it’s not like I ever expect you to listen to your mother. But it’s nice to know that you come around to trust me once-in-a-while.”
Max picked up his sandwich and held it near his mouth. He tried to ignore the unsubtle comment, tried to focus on the simple pleasure of an egg sandwich, but he set it back on the plate. “Something bothering you?”
“Me? Not at all. I’m here visiting my wonderful son and his wife. Why should I be bothered? Here I am, getting to spend time with you, and it’s barely even morning. I’m dog-tired, but a mother has to do these things sometimes in order to see her child.”
“You didn’t have to get up special for me.”
“When else was I going to see you?”
“Well, maybe if you had given us some warning you were coming, we could have cleared our schedule so that you wouldn’t be stuck.”
“Who’s stuck? Your employee, J, is a lovely boy. I really like him. We had a great time together.”
Max couldn’t tell if she was being sarcastic or serious. “I’m glad you two get along. And I’m sorry I haven’t been available yet. I didn’t expect to be working a case so soon after ...”
“After what?”
Rubbing the mark on his chest, Max said, “After our last case. But business is good, and you always told me that you should never back away from good business.”
Mrs. Porter lifted her chin, and Max thought she might storm out of the room — she never liked having her words thrown back at her. “I’m glad your work is going so well, but that doesn’t change the fact that I’m your mother. Aren’t you the boss? Can’t you decide to take the day off to spend a smidge of time with me? After all, I came a long way to be here.”
“I promise we will get time together, but it’s not all that simple. I am the boss, but I have responsibilities, too.”
“I flew in a plane to get here. Do you know how much I hate flying?”
“We went to Disney in Orlando when I was seven. I think you screamed more than the infants on the plane.”
Max hoped his humor would ease her, but his mother’s eyes widened. “Don’t you get fresh with me. I deserve some respect here.”
“I’m sorry. I was only trying to —”
“I know exactly what you were trying to do. Your old mother isn’t an idiot. You clearly don’t have time for me, and you don’t want to make time. My ticket home isn’t for a few more days. I’ll try my best to stay out of your way.”
Though he wanted to remain calm, he couldn’t hide the way his jaw set in frustration. “Stop it. Please. I promised you that we’d get together and we will.” Max had an idea — one he recognized as a bad idea from the start, but at that moment, any solution sounded good to his ears. “How about we have lunch today? I’ll take you to a nice place. Real special. I’ll figure a way to rearrange my schedule.”
