Valerie is pretty much an expert on Charleston’s history herself, so I knew that part was total bunk. But I did remember what Drea had told me, about Valerie being worried about something she saw on a ghost tour, and I figured she really wanted me to ride supernatural shotgun. And despite the potential danger, it sounded like fun.
“Count me in,” I said. “Just give me a call and let me know when.”
After Valerie and her carriage had moved on, Baxter and I continued on our way. Up ahead, I saw another Ghost Bike with its memorial photo and plaque. I was going to go around it when I noticed a man on the other side of the street who seemed to be more interested in Bax and me than he was in just taking a walk on a nice night. I stayed on the sidewalk, and picked up my pace.
If someone gets hurt on the ghost hunts, it’s because you weren’t on top of things, I found myself thinking. I had been in a pretty good mood before, but now my thoughts circled the drain. You’re supposed to be protecting Charleston, and you’re failing. People are going to die, and it’s all going to be your fault. I felt such a sudden flood of guilt that I teared up and stumbled. I put my hand out to catch myself, and steadied myself on the white painted frame of the Ghost Bike.
That’s when Baxter lowered his head and began to growl. All of a sudden, the Ghost Bike shuddered so violently that it felt like it was going to break away from the fasteners that held it to the light pole. The wheels spun like they were caught in a hurricane, and the chain securing the bike whipped back and forth. Baxter was barking his ‘stranger danger’ bark, doing his best impersonation of a Doberman. All of that seemed far away. Steadying myself against the Ghost Bike plunged me into darkness.
A beautiful day, sun on my shoulders, wind against my face. Then a car swerved too close. By the time I heard the crunch of gravel, it was too late. I felt myself flying through the air, landing on the road, almost unconscious but still aware enough to see the grill of the car and the undercarriage coming right for me… pain… then darkness.
I wasn’t alone in the dark. There was something in the shadows, some new dark terror. It stalked me, after so long alone. Predator. Before I knew it, the Darkness had its claws or its teeth into me, ripping, tearing. Tried to pull free, tried to push it away…
My left hand found the agate spindle whorl in my jeans pocket and closed around it. That old Norse magic anchor sent a jolt of power through me. I felt magic radiate from me, separating me from the spirit of the dead bicyclist. In another heartbeat, within wherever-it-was the ghost and its stalker existed, my magic formed a wall of flame in between the bike’s ghost rider and the supernatural predator. The predator drew back with an ear-splitting screech and the ghostly rider retreated, injured but still himself.
The blast of magic broke me out of the vision of the Ghost Bike spirit, just in time to see that the man who had been watching us was now striding closer. Something about the way he moved made me think he wasn’t coming to help.
I didn’t want to summon Bo’s ghost. I didn’t want whatever had taken a bite out of the Ghost Rider – and Tad – to get its spectral claws into Bo. And I didn’t know who or what the guy headed my way was, but he looked like trouble. My wooden athame slid down from my sleeve into my hand. Steadying myself against the light pole, I focused my power into my athame, and let loose with an icy white blast of power that caught the stranger in the chest and knocked him back across the street, against a fence and flat on his ass.
Baxter was still barking his head off, and I hoped that someone would get annoyed and come out to see what was going on. I didn’t plan to wait around. While my would-be stalker was climbing to his feet, I grabbed Baxter and ran.
The street was strangely deserted. Normally, I’d have passed a half dozen people by this time. I wondered if there was something about the weird