I knew the stories about the Hallen House, how the owner had been a rum smuggler and a pirate, then turned respectable when he gave up his ship and swore off the sea. Rumor said the house was haunted by members of his dead crew who had followed him home, or by ghosts from the islands trapped in cursed trinkets the captain brought back from his voyages. Nowadays, Hallen House was home to an accounting firm. The building was said to have a ghost or two, but so did every old house in Charleston.
I reached up and touched the agate necklace I wore. Agate is a stone of protection, as is the onyx in my bracelet and the black tourmaline in my ring. Just feeling the gemstone under my fingertips calmed me and stilled my jittery magic.
No rocks flew as we strolled past Hallen House. But despite the street lights and the glowing porch lights, the house seemed darker than it should be. Something moved in the shadows. I reached for my athame. Its magic is powerful, and not quite as destructive as the cane.
“You see it?” Teag murmured.
“Yeah,” I replied.
“I feel like we’re in one of those movies where the monster pops out of the shadows,” Anthony muttered.
As we passed in front of Hallen House, the gate to the walled garden suddenly slammed shut. Shutters began to rumble against the fasteners holding them open. Too-dark shadows gathered around the sides of the building.
“Look!” Anthony said, eyes wide, pointing toward one of the upstairs windows. We could see a corpse-white face against the darkness, staring down at us. The apparition couldn’t have gotten any clearer if she had lifted the sash and stuck her head out into the night. Valerie gasped as she turned to look. After another few seconds, the ghost vanished.
“That wouldn’t be hard to fake,” Anthony said, although from the uncertainty in his voice, I think he was trying to convince himself.
“No,” Teag replied thoughtfully. “But why would they? It’s an accounting firm. I could see where a bar might benefit from being haunted, but accountants aren’t supposed to be interesting. I wouldn’t think their clients would like the notoriety.”
“Now you see what the problem is,” Valerie said. “Visitors want to get a thrill, not get scared out of their sneakers.”
I suspected that Teag and I were taking this all better than the average tourist because we had faced down much worse. Anthony might be spooked, but he was used to keeping a poker face in the courtroom. Tourists looking for a mild shiver wouldn’t consider this fun. Are the ghosts amped up because they’re afraid of the Reapers? Is that why they’ve suddenly gotten aggressive, because they’re scared of being eaten by wraiths?
I knew most of the ghost stories that Valerie told, but she was such a good storyteller I didn’t mind hearing them again. Charleston had more than its share of pirates, rogues, gamblers, tragic love affairs, and scandals, so tales of dirty deeds and tawdry goings-on made for thrilling fare. It’s all fun and games until someone ends up as a ghost…
Valerie took us past St. Philip’s Church and its beautiful cemetery. Behind crumbling brick walls, tombstones stretched off into the darkness. These were old graves, some dating back to the early 1700s. The cemetery had long been said to be haunted, and it seemed right out of Hollywood’s idea for a horror movie: stones that were sometimes crooked or barely legible, lonely corners shadowed by huge trees, and a Southern Gothic moonlight and magnolias vibe that was the real thing. But tonight, none of those ghosts showed up, not even an orb. “Consecrated ground,” I murmured to Teag.
“I was thinking the same thing,” he replied.
When we reached the Old Slave Mart, it was a different story. Charleston is a beautiful city with a bloody past. Tens of thousands of enslaved Africans and people from the Caribbean were auctioned like cattle at the Old Slave Mart. Anyone with a hint of a psychic gift finds the building very uncomfortable because of its stone tape images and the impression so much grief and misery left in every inch of its construction. Although the building has been converted to a museum and gallery, I couldn’t bring myself to visit after the first time, which went badly, to say the least.
Moans rose from the darkened building. As we passed in front of the big stone façade, I heard screams and wails. Something