All Hallows Eve: A Krewe of Hunters Novella (1001 Dark Nights) (3 page)

Salem.

His home.

And while Jenna had come from Ireland as a child and grown up in Boston, her ties with Salem were deep. Her Uncle Jamie lived here, and she’d spent a tremendous amount of time, while growing up, with him. Salem was where he’d fallen in love with Jenna. And when they’d left, he’d assumed he’d open a law practice in northern Virginia. Instead, he’d found himself in the FBI academy.

And then part of the Krewe.

Thing was, though, until the call came, he’d never expected to be heading here. And he’d never expected that she’d close down. Jenna was an experienced agent. She dealt with a lot of bad things. She had a tremendous compassion for others and a stern work ethic. She’d been almost silent as they’d ridden to work, explaining only that they were going to have to change things up. No vacation right now. She’d gotten a call from an Elyssa Adair, someone he’d never heard her mention before. She was sorry, so sorry, about the trip, and she wanted to wait until they saw Jackson before explaining why this was so important. As soon as they’d arrived at work, he’d arranged for them both to speak with Jackson Crow at the Krewe of Hunters special unit headquarters.

He wasn’t surprised that Jenna had so quickly been given permission for the two of them to travel to Salem. Krewe cases were often accepted on instinct, or because there was a particular reason a Krewe member should be involved. He was surprised, though, by Jenna, who was usually open and frank and outgoing, especially with him. They’d been together nearly five years. He’d changed his entire life to work with her and, of course, to deal with the fact that the dead seemed to like to speak with him.

And he loved her.

With all of his heart, with everything in him.

He knew that she felt the same way about him, which made it so strange that she’d seemed to shut him out, even while asking that he accompany her and assist on the case. At the moment, however, there wasn’t a case. Not one that they’d been invited to join in on at least. A man was dead. He’d been associated with the old Mayberry Mortuary Halloween Horrors. Police were suggesting that he might have killed himself over financial matters. There was an ongoing local investigation. But, so far, the death was being considered a possible-suicide.

That much, he knew.

The minute Jenna had begun to talk about a cousin he’d never met, Elyssa Adair, and the fact that Elyssa had discovered the dead man in the haunted horror attraction, he’d probed for background.

John Bradbury, born in Salem, schooled in Boston, had returned to Salem to operate the mortuary under the business umbrella Hauntings and Hallucinations, Inc. The company was doing fine. However, the year before, Bradbury had gone through a tough divorce, and, apparently, due to past substance abuse problems, had lost all but supervised visitation rights with his three children. His ex-wife—while crying on a newscast—had told the world that it had been John’s mental instability that had led to his self-medicating with drugs and alcohol and their subsequent divorce.

This was still New England, and while Sam held his own devotion to his home sector, he was aware that some of the old Puritanical values still hid in the hearts and minds of many. Mental weakness was kept to one’s self. Everyone was shocked that the man killed himself, considering how calm he’d appeared to his employees and how happy he’d been when managing the mortuary in its guise as a haunted house. It would be easy to accept the death as an apparent suicide. Bad things happened around Halloween. Holidays seemed an impetus for those dealing with severe depression.

They were passing through Peabody—an old stomping ground for anyone who’d grown up in the area. Beautiful old Colonial and Victorian homes, big and small, grand and not so grand, were decked out in ghostly fashion, all the more eerie as night began to fall. Scarecrows, skeletons, ghosts, ghouls, black cats, and more abounded.

But the best was yet to come.

Salem prided itself on being Halloween central.

Jenna finally turned his way and said, “She’s a little scholar. Elyssa was in Europe when we were here last. She earned six months study abroad before she was even a freshman. She’s a great kid, a second cousin once removed or however you come about that. My dad’s cousin’s daughter’s daughter. She’s all grown up now, a senior and just turned eighteen. She’s never seen a dead body—much less a hanged dead body.”

Except in museums, probably. Many of Salem’s attractions had scenes of life’s finales, men and women convicted and executed after their so-called witch trials.

“I can imagine how bad it was,” he said.

“She was nearly hysterical on the phone, and, of course, her folks are upset that she called me. They seem to think she’s having a bad reaction to what happened. But I told her mom not to worry, that I was happy to come and see Uncle Jamie and that we had some vacation time coming anyway.” She paused and looked at him apologetically. “I said I was happy to help her in any way that I can. The thing is—”

Her voice trailed.

He waited.

He knew her dilemma, listening intently when she’d explained the situation to Jackson Crow. Elyssa believed that a dead man had called her for help. Then that same dead man had appeared to her later to thank her for finding him, fading away with a warning that a killer had to be caught before more people died. Elyssa’s parents would want Jenna to assure the young girl that what was happening in her mind was because of the horror she’d seen, not because a dead man could really speak to her.

“It’s going to be hard,” Jenna said. “I can’t tell her that she’s imagining things if, in fact, she’s not. And if this man was really murdered, someone has to discover the truth about his death.”

He reached across the car and squeezed her hand. “You’ll do what’s right. You always do.”

She nodded and squeezed back.

They really hadn’t talked about this much at all. Instead, they’d left the office, packed, and hopped onto the first plane. Angela had seen to it that a rental car was waiting for them. Normally, she would have seen to it that they had a hotel room too.

But, not in Salem.

Sam still owned a house here. His parents’ home, where he’d grown up. Once, he’d wanted to sell the house and say good-bye to Salem. But Jenna and her Uncle Jamie had changed that. He’d learned something about his childhood home because of them, because of all of the bad that had happened.

Three things.

People made bad things happen.

Places weren’t evil.

And when the dead remained, it was for a reason, usually to make sure that the living finally got it right.

He entered Salem and drove down Walnut Street, heading into the historic district. People, off to early holiday parties, filled the sidewalks in costume. Around this time of the year it was difficult to tell the practicing Wiccans from all the amateurs.

“How cute,” Jenna murmured, noting a group of children, all in costumes themed to
The Wizard of Oz
.

They stood at a stop sign, and Sam took a minute to look at the group and smile. He was about to move through the intersection when he suddenly slammed on the brakes. A costumed pedestrian had rushed into the street and thrown himself on the hood of the car, grinning eerily at them. He stayed for a beat while Sam felt his temper flaring. The person in the costume stared at him through the windshield, donning a red latex mask. It seemed the entire body was red beneath a black cape, the eyes blood-streaked yellow. The person suddenly pushed off the car, cackling with laughter.

“Ass,” Sam yelled.

“Total dick,” Jenna said.

“Vampire, demon?”

“Boo-hag,” Jenna said.

He didn’t know about a boo-hag. “What’s that?”

“I guess it’s a regional thing, from the Gullah people. They’re from regions of Africa, mainly brought to this country as slaves. They got together and formed a group hundreds of years ago. They have a language, kind of like a Haitian
patois
joined with English, and all kinds of cultural stuff. And of course now, with time passing, the mix is African, Creole, and so on. They’re known to have lived in the low country of South Carolina, down to north Florida at one time.”

“And what do these boo-hags do?”

“To the Gullah, there is a soul and a spirit. The soul goes to Heaven, assuming the person was good, the spirit watches over the family. Unless it’s a bad spirit. Then, it becomes a boo-hag. Like a spiritual vampire.”

“A spiritual vampire?” Sam asked.

She turned to him, grave and knowing, a slight smile in her eyes. “When you slept eight hours and woke exhausted, that might have been a boo-hag. They suck energy out of the living. Usually, they leave their victims alive so they can feast off of them again. If a victim struggles, that’s when you find that person dead in the morning.”

“And how do you fight a boo-hag?” Sam asked.

“You need to leave a broom by your bed. Boo-hags are easily distracted. They’ll start counting the bristles and forget they came to suck your energy. To rid yourself of a boo-hag, though, you have to find their skin while they’re out of it, and fill it with salt. That will make them insane with agony when they put it back on.”

“Guess we need to sleep with salt and brooms,” he said. “Easy enough to find at Halloween. How the hell do you know about all this? This is Salem, Mass, not the Deep South.”

“You had to have known my mum’s mother. She taught me all about the banshees and leprechauns. She loved legends. And she also had a dear friend from the low country who lived in Charleston.”

“Wish I could have known her,” Sam said. He was suddenly glad of the obnoxious drunk who’d thrown himself on the car. Jenna had finally become Jenna.

“Those eyes,” she said, with a shiver. “Spooky.”

“Contacts, most likely.”

“Good ones, too. But there are a lot of great costumes at Halloween. You know that.”

He did. “And no costume parties, huh?”

She grinned. “No costume parties. But you’d make a great John Proctor. He was supposed to have been a big, tall, strong dude.”

“Before he was hanged,” he said.

She grimaced at that.

They were nearly in the historic section.

He turned to her sheepishly. “I forgot to ask. My house? Or is Uncle Jamie expecting us?” Sam asked.

She turned to him, more relaxed than she’d been. “Uncle Jamie is expecting us.”

“Okay, just so I know where I’m going.”

She nodded, and he noticed a darkness settle over her again. There was something so pained about her eyes, and yet there was so much appreciation in them he felt a tug at his heart. He remembered meeting her when Malachi Smith had been accused of the brutal murders at Lexington House, and how strong and determined she’d been. Between her and Jamie, he’d found himself representing the young man pro bono. Even in the height of danger and true horror there, she’d never looked like this.

But this time her family was involved.

“I’m here,” he said. “Jamie is here. And you’re the best damned agent I know. Things will work out fine.”

“Thanks,” she said.

He drove to Jamie O’Neill’s eighteenth century house, not much different from his parents’. Jamie kept the place in excellent shape. He was an exceptionally good man who’d almost gone into the priesthood. Instead, he’d studied psychiatry and donated an awful lot of pro bono work, always helping the underdog. Sam had known Jamie before he’d returned on the day of the Lexington House murders. He’d even met Jenna, though all he remembered of that day was being called upon by his parents to supervise a group of rowdy teenage girls.

Today, Jamie’s house seemed strange as he eased onto the old stone drive in front. Like a dark cloud had settled over it. But the afternoon was waning. Massachusetts’s autumns brought night quickly. Still, it seemed to Sam that clouds sat over the house and nowhere else. Jenna’s family was certain that the property was haunted, but by nice ghosts they claimed. Ghosts that went about their business and left the living to their own. He was curious about Elyssa Adair and her family. Apparently, they didn’t possess Jenna’s mom’s and dad’s ability to shrug off anything that might be paranormal.

The door opened and he saw Jamie O’Neill step out on the porch. He wore a sweater and jeans, but cast a grave look about him that Sam could not remember seeing often. He lifted a hand in greeting, as Jenna ran up the walk to hug him. Sam opened the trunk of the rental car and grabbed their bags.

A young woman burst from the house behind Jamie. She had red hair, similar to Jenna’s. Tall, lean, pretty, upset, yet relieved.

“Jenna. Thank you for coming.”

Sam knew that the young lady had to be Elyssa Adair.

“That was never in doubt,” Jenna said, engulfed in a tight and enthusiastic hug.

Sam moved forward, setting the bags down as Jenna disentangled herself and turned to make the introductions. “Elyssa, this is Special Agent Sam Hall. We work together and we’re together, too.”

“Uncle Jamie told me all about that,” Elyssa said.

The younger woman stared at him with beautiful eyes that weren’t quite as rich a green as Jenna’s. Then she threw her arms around him and hugged him.

Withdrawing at last, she said, “I knew you would come, too.”

He was puzzled. “Can I ask how?”

“The ghost told me. John Bradbury specifically said you were coming, and that was before Uncle Jamie ever mentioned you. He said he knew you when he was alive.”

Chapter 2

“Come in,” Uncle Jamie said after greeting Jenna and Sam.

Jenna looked at her uncle anxiously, wondering why she had such a bad feeling about what was going on. Elyssa had calmed and smiled at Jenna.

“Are you all right?” Jenna asked, hands on her young cousin’s shoulders. She hadn’t seen Elyssa for years, although they kept up on Facebook. Their lack of a visit hadn’t been on purpose, just the way life had fallen into place.

“I’m fine,” Elyssa said. “Now that you’re here.”

There was that unshakeable faith Elyssa seemed to have in her. Which was a lot to live up to.

“Let’s talk,” she said to both Elyssa and her uncle.