Chapter 20. Annette
Annette
Blake jumped to his feet when he saw me carrying Morgan down the stairs. Behind him, Ava’s eyes filled with tears.
“He’s getting worse,” I said bluntly, before he could speak. “Ronnie’s taking him to Second Life. I need to borrow your car.”
“What the hell, Mom?” Blake moved to block our path. His body tensed, and his face set into that old, familiar, my-mother-is-the-worst grimace. “You’re handing your own grandson off to a stranger for what? So you can play detective again?”
I wished he would have yelled. Anger would have been easier to take than the raw hurt and disappointment.
“Morgan told me where to find Alex,” I said.
Blake’s expression changed. His lips thinned and his eyes narrowed. He pulled his keys from his pocket and gestured to the door without another word.
They watched as Ronnie and I strapped Morgan into the van. Morgan mumbled unintelligibly, but he didn’t struggle.
I patted his hand. “Jenny and Temple will take care of you. You’re going to be all right. I promise.”
I couldn’t tell if he heard or understood.
“I’ll get him there safely,” said Ronnie. “You have my word as a Kensington.”
He was so damned earnest, but I appreciated the sentiment.
“Do you need any weapons before you go?” he asked. “I have an Inuit bullwhip that was given to my grandfather. It’s laced with silver thread to slay werewolves. I think there’s a blessed wheellock pistol in the back, too. I can check—”
“I’m all set, thank you.” I drew my Bowie.
He gave a low whistle of appreciation as the green flames raced along the edge. “Yeah, that’ll do.”
Once Ronnie and Morgan were gone, I took Blake’s car and followed the directions from my phone’s GPS through the heart of Salem to a brick-fronted building. I parked at a meter across the street and double-checked the address I’d gotten from Morgan. “You’ve got to be shitting me.”
Faded murals covered the front wall. To one side of the entrance was a pirate ship sailing through rough waves.
On the other was an overflowing chest of gold and jewels.
Over the doors, a black sign with silver lettering read, SALEM PIRATE EXPERIENCE.
A smaller sign on the door said, CLOSED FOR THE SEASON. SEE YOU IN MAY!
I crossed the road and cupped my hands to the window to peer inside. The lights were off, but I could see life-sized figures of pirates standing around a small gift shop and ticket sales counter.
“They’re closed,” a man said as he walked past, probably taking me to be a confused tourist.
“I see that,” I said without looking up.
I felt his attention as he slowed. “Try the Real Pirates Museum. I think they opened up earlier this month. It’s on Derby Street.”
“Yes, I know, thank you.” I smiled and nodded and waited for him to go the hell away.
Instead, he gave me a closer look. Had I been so upset I’d started sending out succubus vibes without realizing it? I didn’t have time for this, dammit.
He appeared to be on the upper end of middle age, tall with a strong jaw and cheekbones. Nice brown eyes. Fine brown skin with very few wrinkles. Silver wedding band on his finger, but I got the sense that wouldn’t slow him down.
He moved closer and asked, “Where are you from?”
I flexed my fingers and made a show of studying my nails as they lengthened and tightened into claws. “Hell.”
He vanished fast.
I relaxed my claws and tried the door: locked. Not that I’d expected it to be open, but you never knew.
Around the side of the Salem Pirate Experience, a row of young linden trees and a low, black fence separated the museum from the next building over.
I strolled past, checking windows and other entry points.
The back door was the most promising, being mostly shielded from view.
The only hiccup was the security camera mounted above the door.
Back when we first installed our security system at the shop, I’d pored over all the user guides and tutorials, paying special attention to potential problems that could interfere with our shiny new cameras.
Things like shining a high-powered laser pointer directly into the lens, which could damage the sensors and blind the camera.
I pulled a high-powered laser pointer from my purse and shined the green beam directly into the lens for twenty seconds. I kept the beam on the camera as I strode up to the back door. A minute later, I had the door unlocked and was stepping inside.
There were no windows in the back. The only light came from the red EXIT sign above the door. I returned the laser pointer to my purse, swapping it for a small flashlight with an adjustable beam.
To my right, an old refrigerator hummed and buzzed in a small break room. An employee changing area was to the left.
The wood floor creaked as I walked. My skin twitched with the same sense of being watched that I’d felt at Sage Parker’s house. I swept my light over every corner, from floor to ceiling.
Ahead of me, a velvet curtain the color of red wine hung in front of an arched doorway. A sign to the left read, AHOY, CUSTOMERS AHEAD! ARRRR YE SMILING?
I used the tip of my knife to slide the curtain aside. My flashlight beam fell upon a tall figure standing to the left, a machete or cutlass raised to strike.
I threw the knife. It struck the center of the chest, not with the soft sound of steel piercing flesh but with more of a plastic thud. I focused my light on the face and confirmed I’d successfully killed a pirate mannequin.
“At least Jenny wasn’t here to see that,” I murmured.
As if my words had summoned her, my phone buzzed with an incoming text from Jenny: Where are you???!!!
Ronnie must have arrived and brought her up to speed. I thumbed a quick response: Busy. brB.
I retrieved my knife and searched the storefront. It didn’t take long. This was little more than a waiting area, with souvenirs and pamphlets and an unplugged snack machine for people to spend their money on while they waited for the next tour.
I paused briefly to check the small bookshelf. I noted two titles to add to our stock at Second Life Books.
In the back corner was a door painted to look like wooden planks with wrought iron hinges. Above it hung a pirate flag and a sign with blood-red letters that said, ABANDON ALL HOPE, YE WHO ENTER. A smaller addition read, NO REFUNDS BEYOND THIS POINT.
The door was unlocked.
If Alex was here, I’d lost the advantage of surprise when I killed that poor plastic pirate. I pulled open the door and shined my light at eye level to blind anyone who might be lurking.
The room was empty, save for a small exhibit of pirate “treasure” behind glass and another mannequin, this one gussied up like a pirate captain.
A velvet rope blocked an open doorway to the left. Two orange light bulbs flickered like flames in fake sconces on the wall to either side. Beyond, a wooden ramp led onto the deck of an impressively large partial replica of an old pirate ship.
I unclipped the velvet rope and stepped through.
Cold air struck me. It had a sharp smell like burnt meat and just-welded metal.
A sign by the ramp informed me that no food or drink was allowed on board the Widowmaker. Old, chewed wads of gum were stuck to the front of the sign.
The Widowmaker stretched roughly fifty feet long. The bottom rested on the basement floor twenty feet below. Between the side of the ship and the wall was a narrow aisle where the floor had been painted blue and white to mimic ocean waves.
I walked up the ramp onto the main deck. Two more pirate mannequins stood at the helm. One held a telescope while the other manned the large wooden wheel. A third hung from the netting that stretched from the deck to the stump of a mast.
All three mannequins turned to look at me.
Speakers crackled to life. Over the low beat of a sea shanty, a too-perky voice said, “Welcome to the Salem Pirate Experience, mateys. Salem is best known for its witches, but many pirates sailed our seas in the sixteen and seventeen hundreds.”
The pirate with the telescope drew a very real-looking cutlass and staggered toward me. Not animatronics, then. The one in the netting jumped down and immediately fell on his face. But he recovered quickly and pulled a dagger from the sheath at his hip.
The one at the wheel was held in place by large bolts through the hands. He simply tore himself loose, leaving gaping holes in both hands.
Alex had enchanted himself a trio of guards.
I sensed no desire or hunger, no emotion at all. They weren’t alive, which admittedly made them harder to kill, but at least I didn’t have to worry about hurting innocent thralls.
The pirate with the stigmata hands was the first to reach me. I retreated half a step to dodge a clumsy roundhouse, then stepped close and slashed his arm. My knife sliced clean through the plastic limb.
The pirate didn’t slow. It just stepped closer and tried to club me with the stump. At the same time, the second pirate came at me with sword and telescope both.
I wrenched the first one around, and the attacks thudded into his back and shoulder. The impact knocked me backward. These things were stronger than they looked.
“You’re on board the Widowmaker, a genuine replica of a type of pirate ship called a sloop. The Widowmaker has eight guns and would have carried up to fifty pirates.”
There had better not be fifty of these damn things.
I ducked another sword and stabbed the closest pirate in the neck. A twist and slice left the head wobbling, connected by a flap of plastic. A backfist finished the job, sending the head bouncing across the deck.
The pirate collapsed.
As spells to bring inanimate things to life went, Alex’s pet pirates didn’t hold a candle to professional work like Duke’s gargoyles.
“One of the region’s most famous pirates was Edward Teach. You might know him by his pirate name, Blackbeard. Legend has it that Blackbeard’s skull is hidden in a Salem museum.”