Chapter 1 Erik #2
Or it’s causing him trouble, Erik thought.
By the time Thompson arrived, Erik was ready. He decided to err on the side of caution and assume the ring was actively or maliciously haunted. That meant doing the appraisal warded against dark supernatural energies.
Erik had also set out a cloth on the table that was blessed and woven with silver threads, and had a pair of gloves made of the same material so he didn’t have to handle the ring with bare skin.
A box covered with protective runes sat nearby, ready to hold the ring until Erik could put it in the spelled safe for one of his contacts to deal with safely.
A thin, middle-aged, balding man entered the shop and glanced around. He looked haggard and his clothing was rumpled and coffee-stained. His gaze settled on Erik. “Are you the owner? I’m Bill Thompson.”
Erik nodded. “I’m Erik Mitchell. Please, come in.” He ushered Thompson into the break room and gestured for him to sit down at the table across from the protective cloth.
“Tell me about your ring,” Erik said.
Thompson glanced from side to side as if he were afraid of being overheard. “You’re going to think I’m nuts.”
“I promise that I won’t,” Erik assured him. “You’d be surprised at what items come into an antique shop, especially one like ours.”
“I heard that you handle problem pieces. Is that true?”
Erik shrugged. “I guess it depends on the type of problem. Haunted or with a tinge of supernatural energy, yes. Questionable provenance or uncertain legality, no.”
“It’s not stolen,” Thompson said hurriedly. “Nothing like that. But ever since I brought the damn thing home, it’s been like one of those poltergeist movies. Things move from place to place on their own. Books fall over when no one’s near. A coffee cup exploded. And I feel like I’m being watched.”
Thanks to Haley just cleansing the area and strengthening the protections, those effects were muted, but Erik once again sensed nearby spirits that were much less agreeable than the shop’s resident ghosts.
“What would you like to do?” Erik asked.
“Throw it in a volcano, like in that movie,” Thompson replied without humor. “Sell it to you if you’ll buy. I’d be happy to get a fraction back of what I paid just to be rid of the damn thing.”
“Go ahead and set the ring on the cloth,” Erik instructed as he pulled on the gloves. “I can’t resell it. But I can make sure it doesn’t hurt anyone else.”
The ring tumbled out of the box Thompson withdrew from his pocket, a pretty circlet of silver with tiny carved runes that Erik was certain invoked magic of some sort. It was old but not particularly valuable for craftsmanship, although he wondered about the provenance.
Erik quickly put the ring into the spelled containment bag and felt the energy in the room ease. “Do you know anything about its history?”
Thompson shook his head. “No. I saw it at a swap meet that I went to a few days ago. A lady with a table had all kinds of baubles, and it caught my eye. I asked about it because it looked old, and she said it had belonged to several powerful women in her family, and it was time to pass it on.”
“Did you get a business card?” Erik asked, although he suspected he already knew the answer.
“No. It was an impulse buy. And when the weird things started to happen and I went back, she was gone, and no one knew how to contact her,” Thompson said ruefully.
“She took advantage of you. It’s not your fault,” Erik said. “I’ll make sure the ring never causes problems for anyone else.”
“How much can you give me for it?” Thompson asked.
Erik shook his head. “I can’t resell it, so I can’t pay you for it. But I can dispose of it safely and permanently.”
Thompson bit his lip, clearly having a silent argument with himself. Finally, he sighed.
“Then take it. I’d be willing to pay you to get rid of it.”
“Not necessary,” Erik assured him. “That’s part of what we do.
But when you go home, open the windows, burn a candle, and say a blessing or a prayer of protection.
If there’s any bad mojo left behind, that will help get rid of it.
And if it doesn’t, my friend Haley can help.
Susan can give you her contact information. ”
“Thank you,” Thompson replied, and Erik wondered if the man had slept since he acquired the ring.
“Glad we could be of help.” Erik walked him back to Susan, and wasn’t surprised when she gave the man one of Haley’s business cards from a new stack by the register.
“I figured the cards would come in handy,” she said when Thompson left.
“Good thinking. I suspect we’ll be doing a lot of business with Haley.” Erik went back to the break room to retrieve the bag and stashed it in the safe before removing the gloves and putting his other supplies away.
“Looks like we’re in for a big storm.” Monty Clark, keeper of the Cape May lighthouse, settled his six-foot-four-inch frame on the picnic table bench near the base of the tower. “Thanks for stopping in before the weather gets crazy.” He ran a hand through his black hair to tame it from the wind.
“Figured you could use the caffeine.” Erik nodded toward the carrier of large coffee cups in the middle of the table. He and his partner Ben Nolan had picked up coffee and freshly baked cookies on their way to the visit.
“Definitely.” Monty reached for the cup and let out a hum of satisfaction at the first swallow. Then he glanced at the seat beside him. “Get your mind out of the gutter,” he said to his ghostly partner, Jon.
Erik chuckled. He and Ben could sometimes see and occasionally hear ghosts if they were strong enough to manifest, and Jon usually made himself visible for at least part of the time when they visited.
The wind gusted, and Erik tucked a strand of blond hair out of his blue eyes.
“You need a haircut,” Ben joked. His dark hair was cut in a fade, too short to be bothered much by the stiff breeze.
“You like my hair,” Erik retorted with a knowing look, thinking of the way Ben had tugged on it the night before in bed.
Ben returned a naughty smile. “Sure do.”
Erik grew serious and looked to Monty. “Do you have everything you need to ride out the weather?”
Monty nodded. “Yes, thanks for asking. I always have some food and drinks stockpiled and a generator, if things get really bad. They’re not calling for a full hurricane, so I’m hoping we don’t get anything too dramatic.
Jon’s good company.” Monty nodded at a spot next to him, and Jon faded in and out.
Jon Richards was a stuntman who died seventy years ago and chose never to move on to whatever came next. Jon and Monty had become friends and then partners. Erik didn’t completely understand how their relationship worked, but he figured all that mattered was that they were happy together.
“Jon says it’s not just the storm. The ghosts are restless,” Monty told them.
“Because of the weather or something else?” Erik asked.
“Like we talked about before, Jon acknowledges that something’s up,” Monty replied. “But he doesn’t know what, just that it’s not good. He says he’s seen a woman in white a couple of times.”
“Bad omen,” Erik said. “But about what?”
“Is there a significant anniversary of some disaster coming up?” Ben pulled out his phone and did a quick search. Cape May’s storied history made for a long list of results.
Monty cocked his head as he listened to the reply.
“The SS Mohawk went down in a bad storm. Might be from that,” Monty repeated what Jon told him.
Over the decades since his death, Jon had befriended other ghosts who still retained a sense of self.
Some he helped to pass on, while he kept track of others who wanted to remain.
More than once, Jon had used the strength he had gradually gained as a spirit to save people from drowning or sinking boats.
“I read about that,” Erik chimed in. “Back in the 1920s. Passenger liner—something in the hold caught fire. But the article I read said that while the boat was a loss, no one died.”
“She was a stowaway.” Monty looked surprised as he relayed Jon’s comment.
“Do you know her name?” Monty asked.
“Lila. That’s all she remembers,” Monty repeated Jon’s answer.
“I thought a woman in white was an omen but not necessarily the ghost of a real person,” Ben said.
“There are hundreds of stories, and they don’t all match.” Erik shrugged. “That’s the tough part about the lore. Look into the Mohawk’s history. If it’s showing up now, maybe there’s a story we’ve missed.”
“I don’t remember that particular ship causing trouble,” Monty said.
“I’ve heard divers say it’s a dangerous wreck because of the current.
It’s been a hundred years, so maybe the anniversary is giving Lila a boost.” He paused.
“I’ve tried to make contact with Lila’s ghost and see if I could send her on, but there’s something blocking me.
Makes me wonder if there was some sort of magic involved. ”
“Magic?” Ben echoed.
Monty shrugged. “Lila appears to be the only ghost from the wreck. If she worked a desperate spell trying to save herself or the ship, it might not have gone as intended.”
“Interesting angle.” Erik was already thinking of possibilities.
Monty sipped his coffee. “Other than the storm, are things staying quiet for the two of you?”
Erik nodded. “For now—don’t jinx us. We could use some downtime.”
“Better get some rest before the festival plans ramp up,” Monty warned. “You know what a big deal that is.”
Erik and Ben both nodded, and Ben groaned. “Yeah, we know. Great for tourism, and a ton of work to prepare.” The Awesome Autumn Festival created a week-long celebration with plenty of special events, with participation by the town’s Arts Council and business owners.
“Still beats the downsides of my old job,” Erik joked.