Bone Island 03 - Ghost Moon (13 page)

Eventually she reached Front Street, passed by the Pirate Soul Museum and walked down around the wharf.

Jonas’s house was clean and whitewashed, welcoming as a bed-and-breakfast inn now. She saw couples out on the side patio enjoying afternoon drinks from the little tiki bar.

Finally she started out at the stretch to the Merlin house. She wondered how long she would think of it in that fashion. It was actually her house now.

She smiled.

It would always remain the Merlin house.

She walked up to the porch. At first, she smelled
nothing but the sea breeze. She slipped her key into the lock and hesitated.

An odd moment of fear swept over her. And once again, she thought that she smelled death.

She gave herself a shake. She was letting Liam’s fears get to her. She had grown up in this house. She had loved its oddities and curiosities.

She walked in determinedly and closed and locked the door. She leaned against it and inhaled deeply. It was gone. She wasn’t smelling death. She inhaled pine cleaners and every other substance they had used for their scrub down of the house.

She started into the kitchen, but again felt a creeping sensation along her spine.

Something had moved.

Someone had been in the house.

Someone was in the house, watching her.

She looked around. Nothing was out of place. They had carefully locked up when they had left. She walked through the house and assured herself that the back door was still locked, that the windows were closed and the locks were secured on the windows, as well.

That took some time.

But it was good to feel that the house was entirely safe and all bolted down.

She started up the stairs, then paused again, thinking that she had heard a sound from Cutter’s office.

She walked back down the stairs and into his office. She turned on the light and looked around. No one was there.

She walked to his desk and saw that a little figurine
had fallen to the floor. Laughing at herself, she picked it up and put it on his desk.

The house was safe and sound.

She hurried up the stairs, wanting to shower, wash her hair and dress for the evening.

When she reached her own door, she was surprised to note that she still had goose bumps on the flesh of her arms.

Giving herself a mental shake, she stepped into her room.

Wondering what she was locking herself in against, she firmly slid the bolt on her bedroom door.

She felt safe. Alone.

None of it made any sense.

And yet, when she walked into her bath and turned on the shower spray, she knew that she still trying to wash away a certain scent.

That awful scent of death.

A
s they headed for the library, Bartholomew said to Liam, “It’s all quite strange. I mean, Key West is famous for the unusual person here and there, for some great ghost stories and history. Anything that hints of devil worship and the like, though—that’s unusual. But then again, I think it might all have had to do with the fact that Key West went into the spiritualism craze along with the rest of the world when the Fox sisters started their whole craze.”

“The Fox sisters?” Liam asked. He frowned. He seemed to remember something about a movie that had featured the Fox sisters. They had begun an entire movement into spiritualism—but then they’d been proven to be faking their “manifestations.”

“I wasn’t alive when it all came about, so once again, I say you might want to do some research,” Bartholomew advised.

“But you were here. You were just dead.”

“Yes. But I wasn’t running around tapping three times for yes and twice for no or participating in any such ridiculousness!” Bartholomew said.

The library was quiet. Liam might have gone on the computer at home, but if the book that Bartholomew was referring to did still exist, he might be able to get it at the library. And with no one there, it seemed a comfortable place for his strange investigation.

It was extremely slow that afternoon. He had his pick of computers.

Bartholomew sat by him, talking as they went from site to site, starting with the Fox sisters and spiritualism.

The ghost pointed to an old picture on a page of three children—quite innocent and grim in appearance. Liam read, “‘When the Fox girls were children, they lived in a house with a reputation for being haunted. They soon found the attention they wanted when they spoke about the situation, and convinced the world that the house was indeed haunted, that there were taps and lights and all manner of manifestations within their home. The girls became mediums, and had the world fooled. When they were older, one of them recanted and proved how she could make a tapping sound with her toes. The girls’ words meant nothing—spiritualism had taken hold across the known world, and with it, man’s belief in the occult and paranormal in all varieties.’” Liam looked at Bartholomew, frowning. “All right. This all became a ‘movement.’ All kinds of people began to believe that mediums could allow them to talk to dead relatives. The Fox sisters
were
more or less proven to have invented the entire thing. But it didn’t stop people from believing—or pushing it all further?”

Bartholomew looked at Liam and shrugged. “The point is, the whole spiritualism thing went wild. And
with that, ‘witchcraft’ came to the fore again—and Satanism.”

“I can’t believe that Cutter Merlin was a Satanist,” he murmured. “Or even that he was afraid of Satanists.” But he thought about the afternoon when he had found Cutter Merlin. Cutter had been holding the book, a reliquary—and a sawed-off shotgun. Cutter had wanted to be prepared.

And he had died anyway.

Liam keyed in a different series of words that included Key West, Satanism and books.

He scanned another site quickly. “A ship called the
Queen Caroline
wrecked off Key West in the 1840s, and a large majority of her cargo was salvaged by a local character, Peter Edwards, a man known for his love of magic and his reputation for using occult practices. As a young man, he was feared for his abilities to ‘curse’ his fellow Southerners, thus helping the South’s defeat in the Civil War. Edwards was a staunch Unionist. While many in the area were suspected of abetting Southern ships during the blockade, Pete was known to report any possible activity of Southern ships to the Union military. It was an uneasy time in Key West, since Key West was part of the state of Florida, which had seceded from the Union, but with the Union firmly holding both forts in Key West. The activity at the forts is believed to have been effective in preventing numerous blockade runners from bringing needed supplies to the South, and Peter Edwards was credited with supplying the officers at the forts with valuable information. Historians suspect that his alliance with the Federals caused a great deal of
hatred among his fellow citizens, and so his reputation for the practice of ‘black magic.’”

“There. That’s him. The Pete Edwards prowling the Key West cemetery,” Bartholomew said.

“Makes no sense,” Liam murmured.

“Here,” Liam noted, pointing to another reference. He moved onward. “The end of the ‘War of Northern Aggression’ was as strange in Key West as all else. Old hatreds died quickly. Northern soldiers went home, and little of what was suffered in areas of the Deep South was felt in Key West. Peter Edwards soon began a practice of magic again for the purpose of entertainment. It’s during this time when he told friends that he had turned to his book—the book he had salvaged from the
Queen Caroline
—to make amends for whatever deaths he might have brought about during the war. He was living for a long time in peace and harmony and the eccentricity known to exist in many a
conch
when another visitor headed down to Key West, Abel Crowley, a man who claimed to be related to the notorious Aleister Crowley.”

“Aleister Crowley,” Liam murmured. Sadly, he remembered his days of studying rock bands who had been obsessed with Aleister Crowley better than some of Crowley’s history. But he knew that Crowley had practiced black magic, supposedly worshipped Satan and, according to some, offered up human sacrifices in his pursuit of dark arts. During his time, he had been known as “the wickedest man alive.”

In retrospect, he might have been nothing more than an extreme exhibitionist, rebelling against the Victorian society into which he had been born, Liam thought. Give
a man enough money, enough time, boredom and curiosity, and he might delve into anything.

Not to mention the fact that he was fond of hallucinogenic drugs.

Liam noted a link on the page to a book—possibly the book that Bartholomew had learned about from Pete Edwards. Liam hit the key to the link and found that a book had been published titled
Key West, Satanism, Peter Edwards, and the Abel and Aleister Crowley Connection.

Liam hit the connection and began scanning the publisher’s and reviewers’ information on the book.

“An intriguing look into little-known historical figures who brought the dark arts to the bright sunshine of Key West!” read one review.

Another touted the book as “A little-known treatise on some most unusual men.”

It went on:

Bartholomew poked Liam and whispered, “I think you need to check
this
book out of the library. I’m thinking Key West may be one of the only places to have this book now.” He sighed. “Maybe I can get you to see the fellow I met. Pete Edwards. Pete Edwards believes that he remains walking the streets of Key West because he tried to practice some of Aleister Crowley’s rites—taught to him by Abel Crowley—in his house on Margaret Street that was bulldozed years ago—at the end of his life. He tried to use the book,
In Defense from Dark Magic
—which had been salvaged off the
Queen Caroline
—in order to atone for his actions during the war, and for the evil he had done during his time with Abel Crowley. Pete Edwards believes he began his way back to goodness and grace through the use of
In Defense from Dark Magick
—but he died before he could fulfill his task of freeing others.”

Liam looked at Bartholomew, grateful and yet not sure of what the information might give them that they didn’t already have. He knew, whether Kelsey ever wanted to admit it or not, that Cutter Merlin had suffered his fatal heart failure because he had been afraid.

Liam had returned the book and the reliquary to Kelsey, but Ted and Jaden now had the reliquary and would hopefully find out what they could about it. He
needed to get
In Defense from Dark Magick
back from Kelsey, read it and hope that the library had the other book, about Pete Edwards and his friend Abel Crowley, as well.

The librarian was a friend—Key West was a small community. Jeanie Fry was tall and slim and tanned and loved books. She was surprised when he asked about the book and told him that they didn’t usually lend it out. “It’s in the room with our special editions. It’s very old, and we only have one copy.”

“Oh,” he said, looking at her with disappointment.

She smiled and shrugged. “But you are an upstanding citizen, and I suppose we could trust you with it. After all, we trust you with our lives, right?”

He smiled appropriately in return. “Thank you. I really appreciate it, Jeanie.”

“Follow me,” she said, heading for the reserved and special-editions section of the library. “This isn’t your usual reading, Liam,” she said as they walked. “In fact, it’s not the usual reading for anyone I know. Is this all about Cutter Merlin?”

“Yes, he was a strange old fellow, and once, he was my friend.”

“I heard his granddaughter has come back. And I saw the announcement that there’s a viewing tonight, and he’s going to be buried tomorrow.”

“True.”

“So—was he practicing some kind of dark magic?”

“I don’t believe so.”

“Then why the interest?”

“I’m not sure.”

“He died of a heart attack, right?”

“Yes. There were a couple of break-ins over there, though. I’m just trying to hunt down what someone might have been looking for,” Liam said.

Jeanie rolled her eyes. “That house must be like a mystery treasure trove, delving into an attic of lore!”

She used her passkey to allow them entrance, and then signed in at the stand that held a ledger keeping track of all who entered the section holding the library’s rare editions.

“Hmm. Looks like we’ve been busy in here lately.”

“Oh?”

“Cutter himself was here about a month ago,” she said. “There—see where he signed in?”

“Yes, and there are a half a dozen entries after—or seven,” Liam noted, frowning as he read the names. He was surprised to see several that he knew.

“Barney Thibault. He’s a professor who comes down from the University of Miami. And Mary Egans—she teaches high school down here. Actually, Liam—”

“Yes, I know Mary. She was my high-school English teacher.”

Jeanie nodded and then shook her head. “Ah! Old Joe Richter was in here. The attorney. I don’t know George Penner. I do know Jonas Weston—oh, so do you, I’m sure! Here—your friends Ted and Jaden were in, but that’s not in the least surprising—Jaden uses the library frequently. And I don’t know this last fellow or woman, maybe? This Bel Arcowley.”

She shrugged and moved over to the shelves, searching along them until she came to an empty position.

“Oh my,” she said.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s gone.”

“The book is gone? I thought you said that you didn’t lend it out,” Liam said.

She turned to look at him, shaking her head. “We don’t. I’ll talk to my fellow librarians, Liam. I’ll get right on it.”

“Maybe it’s just out of place,” Liam suggested.

Jeanie nodded. “Well, you can help me search,” she told him.

Bartholomew was in the room with them, of course. He searched along with Jeanie and Liam. But the book wasn’t on any of the shelves. They looked thoroughly for at least thirty minutes.

“I suppose it might have gotten put back outside the room,” Jeanie said, sounding weary. “We’ll start a general search for it.”

“Thanks. Tell me, is someone always with visitors in this section of the library?”

“Sadly, no. We don’t have the funding.”

“It would be too much to hope for a security tape, right?” he asked, looking around. He didn’t see any cameras.

“No. We don’t have the—”

“Funding, right.”

They looked at each other for a minute. Liam grimaced. “All right, let me take that list of names. I’ll give all the visitors a call after you check with your coworkers.”

“Thanks, Liam. Do I need to fill out a report or
something? I mean, once I find out one of my coworkers didn’t suddenly decide to read up on Satanism in Key West?”

“Yes, we’ll fill out a report,” he told her. “I’ll go ahead and get an officer out here for you to do that. I don’t think you’ll find that any of your coworkers took the book.”

She thanked him, flustered, and they went out. Liam headed to his house to change for the viewing at the funeral home. He was determined to be there when Kelsey arrived.

Kelsey left the house, locking it carefully as she did so, ridiculously pleased that she was leaving while it was still daylight.

She thought she smelled the scent of death and decay again, but she was impatient with herself; she had it set in her mind that she could still smell the horrible lonely end that had met her grandfather, and she wasn’t going to change what was set in her mind. She felt oddly irritated with Liam, though at the same time, she wished that he was with her. She wasn’t a scaredy-cat. He was turning her into one.

She walked slowly to the funeral home, knowing she was a little bit early. But that didn’t matter. Liam was there when she arrived. He was extremely handsome in a dark pin-striped suit, clean shaven, his hair still damp. He met her at the entrance.

“You’re early,” he told her.

“You’re earlier,” she noted.

He smiled. “I didn’t want you to be alone.”

“Thanks.”

They walked on in. As Liam had predicted, the hallway was alive with flowers. The funeral director came out to greet them, telling Kelsey that her grandfather’s was the only viewing that night, and so they had been liberal with the layout of the arrangements, which he hoped was fine with her. She assured him it was.