Page 7
Story: Thunder Road (Badlands #7)
“ Thanks for coming with me.” Simon reached over to take Vic’s hand as he drove. Much as Vic might have liked the idea of a ride up the coast on his Hayabusa, Simon had argued for the comfort of the car for an all-day outing.
“Sure. It’s almost always a great day to take a drive along the ocean.” Vic lifted their joined hands and kissed Simon’s knuckles. “We’ve been too damn busy since the wedding to do stuff like this.”
They had a beautiful day for the trip, no rain in sight and reasonable temperatures. While they were working the case, Simon vowed to make the day memorable for good reasons and planned to enjoy their investigation as much as possible.
“I’ve wanted to visit the lighthouses since I moved here,” Simon confessed. “I just never took the time.”
“We’re saving the world. That counts as a priority,” Vic joked.
“I thought we’d start with the northernmost lighthouse and work our way south,” Simon replied. “The Georgetown Light is still active—one of two still operated by the Coast Guard.”
“I guess that improvements in navigational equipment and other technology made some of the lights less useful.”
“That and maintaining the lighthouses was expensive—especially when the lighthouse keepers lived on site,” Simon said. “Once they figured out how to automate the lights, the job of the keeper went away—at least, the part that the government knew about. Losing the onsite keepers made the supernatural part harder to manage.”
Traffic was light, making it easier to drive and have a conversation. A pop station played softly in the background.
“Even being automated, most of the lighthouses aren’t still in service,” Vic observed. “I’ll admit to doing a little homework yesterday to be ready. Two were never even real to start with; they were just built to be pretty.”
“We can skip those since they won’t have any impact on the magic or the wardings,” Simon replied. “Then there’s another one that got moved to a golf course once it was deactivated. We won’t worry about that one unless we have to.”
“Fake lighthouses are disappointing,” Vic replied.
“I’m mostly concerned with the two that are still functioning—the Georgetown Light and the Charleston Light—some people refer to it as Sullivan’s Island,” Simon said. “And the other lights that were once real and operational might still have magical value even though they’re decommissioned and dark.”
“If there aren’t lighthouse keepers anymore—and there won’t be again—what’s the plan?”
Simon tapped the steering wheel and let out a long breath. “I’ll get back to you on that. Still figuring it out. Ideally, I’d like to get volunteers who have some degree of psychic or magical ability to be the keeper of one of the active lighthouses. At least take the mantle for a while and then pass it to someone else.”
“Who’s going to be in charge of that? It’s a bit of a stretch for you to take on.” Vic sounded concerned.
“I’m hoping Father Anne and the St. Expeditus Society can oversee it since one of the lighthouses is near Charleston. I think they’d be the best suited.”
“That makes sense. You’ve got the incantation from one of the old keepers. What else do you need to pull this all together and reactivate the protections?” Vic asked.
Simon had grown even fonder of his husband for the way Vic had come to accept Simon’s reality.
“I’m still working on the details,” Simon replied. “I read the journal from one of the keepers, and it was helpful. But this is the sort of thing where the devil is in the details, and if there was something important that he didn’t know about, it would be bad to leave it out by accident.”
“How complicated is the incantation? I can’t imagine that the Coast Guard recruited highly powerful witches to man the lighthouses.”
“Unless there’s more to it than what I read in the keeper’s journal, middling natural power is sufficient,” Simon answered. “Good protections, laid down over and over again, add up to a strong spell layer by layer. The problem comes when the spell isn’t reinforced each year. I’m hoping we can turn that around.”
The Georgetown Light was the closest to Myrtle Beach and their first stop. It was a white cone with a black top, sturdy and unadorned.
“Looks like it’s been here a while,” Vic observed.
“Built in 1801, rebuilt several times between storms and the Civil War,” Simon explained. “The island used to have homes on it and then a pier and a pavilion for outings. Storms took out the homes, and a fire destroyed the pavilion. Now it’s a game preserve. Tourists can’t go up in the lighthouse or even land on the island. But I’ve got tickets for a boat tour that gets as close as we’re allowed to go.”
The breeze off the ocean made Simon grateful for his light jacket. They parked with time enough to use the restroom and get coffee before the boat left the dock. It was the first trip of the day, and only two other couples were on the tour.
“I’ve never done a tour like this,” Vic yelled over the sound of the boat and the wind. “I always wanted to.”
“I wish we had time to do some tours for fun when we go to the Charleston lighthouse.”
“Are there any places in Charleston where the tours aren’t haunted? I’d like you to actually be relaxed,” Vic replied, and Simon recalled a few times when ghosts had pestered him during an entire tour, trying to correct misinformation from the tour guides.
“Probably not. But that’s okay. I’m enough of a history nerd to put up with the ghosts.” Standing close to Vic against the wind, Simon closed his eyes and felt the sting of the salt air. The tour guide gave details about the city’s history and busy harbor, filling them in as they motored out to the island where the lighthouse stood overlooking the bay. “Maybe we can take a quick trip when the case is over.”
“When we get closer to the lighthouse, I’m going to let you listen for anything interesting in the monologue while I try to tune in and see what vibes I get from the lighthouse itself,” Simon told Vic.
“If no one is allowed on the island—let alone in the building—how is it going to work to renew the protections?” Vic’s voice was barely loud enough to carry above the wind.
“Father Anne and Teag are figuring that out.
The lighthouse loomed large against the blue sky. Simon closed his eyes and sent his psychic feelers in the direction of the structure.
He felt the relentless buffeting of storms and the drench of cold water. Winds howled and waves crashed. He caught glimpses of past keepers and sensed that the ghosts of at least two people, a man and a young girl, still haunted the lighthouse.
He pushed deeper with his senses, beyond the faces and lives of the people who had kept the flame, past the storms and shipwrecks, following a thread of power that illuminated the lighthouse with an old, resilient presence, an essential type of ancient magic.
The thread had grown faint, faded with the deaths of its keepers, but Simon could still make it out, linking the main lights together, protecting residents from storms both physical and supernatural.
He came back to himself with a start. Vic laid a hand on his arm, stilling him and reminding Simon there were other people nearby. Simon nodded in acknowledgment, thinking over what he had sensed as the tour guide continued his storytelling.
When they returned to the pier, Vic tipped the guide and led the way off the boat, keeping close to Simon. “Well?” he asked once the group that had sailed with them dispersed.
“There’s still power associated with the light, as well as a couple of faded ghosts,” Simon told him. “If it’s like that with the other lighthouses, it may be more a matter of restoring the magic than starting over. I think the spells sank deep enough into the land and the structure that they’re just waiting for a power boost.”
“That would be good, right?”
“It’s usually easier to improve something than start over from nothing,” Simon replied.
“Next up is Cape Romain.” Vic checked the map.
“It’s another one you can only get to by boat,” Simon told him. “Two brick towers from the mid-1800s. There’s a legend that one of the keepers murdered his wife and buried her on the island, and people say you can hear footsteps inside.”
The regular tour only went to the island once a month, but Simon had hired a private boat to take them as close as possible.
“It’s pretty here.” Vic watched a heron take flight. “Lots of birds. Peaceful.”
“I wouldn’t want to be out here in a bad storm. There’s nothing between you and the water.” Simon appreciated the view as the boat drew closer. This time, he picked up discordant vibrations.
Simon squirmed in his seat. Vic picked up on the uneasiness immediately. “Talk to me.”
“I don’t know if the legend about the murder is true, but there are bad vibes. Depression, isolation, instability. I’m guessing more than one of the live-in keepers didn’t deal well with being alone. Definitely haunted, and the ghosts are restless,” Simon replied.
“Glad we don’t have to go up in it. How will that affect a new guardian?”
The brief tour ended, and Simon pushed a windswept lock of hair out of his eyes. They headed back to their car. “That was one of the reasons I wanted to see the lighthouses myself so I could match the guardian with the site. This one needs someone with skill and power. I’m hoping Father Anne has someone from her group in mind.”
“Let’s go find some grub,” Vic said. “Sea air makes me hungry.”
Simon felt a shift, and everything went quiet. The light took on an odd reddish glow although it was close to noon. It took him seconds to realize that the world had gone silent around him—no birds singing, waves pounding, or wind rushing past.
He was alone in an empty world, trapped and helpless, doomed. Simon fought back panic, grappling with the nightmare reality of being all alone, forever ? —
“Simon!” Vic’s voice sounded far away, but the edge of panic in it roused Simon from his paralysis. “Simon—wake up!”
Everything shifted again, as if the whole world slid sideways and then righted itself, and Simon blinked, trying to clear his mind. He found Vic only inches in front of him, gripping his shoulders with a panicked expression.
“What happened?” Simon wondered how much time had elapsed.
“Oh, thank God you’re back.” Vic’s fearfulness slid into relief.
“Back?”
Vic’s eyes searched his. “What do you remember?”
Simon frowned as he tried to recall the past few minutes and found a blur. “We got in the car to go get lunch. Everything got last man on earth quiet, like there wasn’t anyone else on the planet. I knew I was going to die. And then you were shaking my shoulders.”
Hearing himself recount the episode made Simon question his sanity, but he feared he knew the explanation.
“Are you okay now?” Vic had gone into cop mode, watchful and wary, using his training to push aside his worry.
“I think so,” Simon replied as he did a quick assessment. “I don’t smell toast if that’s what you mean, and I’m a little young for a stroke. But…”
“What?”
“How long was I out of it? It felt like a minute, tops.”
Vic shook his head. “Simon, I’ve been shaking you and calling your name for at least five minutes, maybe more. You didn’t respond. Your eyes were vacant. You were just gone.”
Simon felt his heart speed up in response to Vic’s worry. “I’m sorry I scared you. Time seemed different to me. I wonder?—”
“More of the troll’s tricks?” Vic supplied.
Simon nodded. “The lore I found said time distortion along with visions and nightmares.”
He knew Vic’s expression from working cases together, analytical and focused. “If it’s the troll, he didn’t strike near the active lighthouse, which supports your theory that the working lights still have mojo,” Vic said.
“I think you’re right. I’m just not sure yet what to do about it.” Simon hadn’t missed that blanking out while driving or crossing the street would have been so much worse. “Although I think the amulets and protections are limiting what the troll can do.”
“He’ll get his strength back soon enough. We’re running out of time to figure this out,” Vic warned.
Simon took his hand and squeezed it. “I know. And I believe we’re going to find the answer.”
They stopped for lunch in nearby McClellanville, a tiny town known for its fishing industry. Vic opted for a restaurant that specialized in Cajun-Creole seafood, and they ate outside at a picnic table. The bright sunshine and cool temperatures made it a perfect day. Simon did his best to avoid dwelling on the time distortion incident, and Vic’s silence on the issue let him know that his partner was still analyzing what happened.
Next up were the Sullivan Island and Morris Island lights. The Morris Island tower near Folly Beach sat surrounded by water and marshland on a concrete footing, long defunct and deactivated. Simon got a very faint impression from it, barely a glimmer.
Sullivan Island, near Charleston, was still a working light, although no longer manned. Tourists weren’t allowed inside, but Simon and Vic got close, and Simon’s strong reading of its remaining power encouraged him.
“It’s still got a lot of juice,” he told Vic. “I think it and Georgetown will be the key anchors for this, with the other lighthouses feeding in.”
Hunting Island Lighthouse was a brick tower sheathed in cast iron. Over the decades, it had been relocated farther inland due to encroaching water. Despite looking to be in good condition after a recent renovation, it no longer functioned as a navigational tool. Simon picked up a faint resonance, enough to make him rethink keeping the less powerful lighthouses as part of the protections.
Simon remained alert but didn’t have the feeling of being watched. He and Vic added some extra protective charms in their pockets, just in case. He wondered whether the troll had exhausted his magic for the day or if their additional precautions made him draw back.
They stopped for dinner in Beaufort, another coastal town famous for its history, tourist attractions, and restaurants. The town was also known for its joking feud with Beaufort, NC, since while the towns were spelled the same, they were pronounced differently.
“North Carolina says ‘bow-fort,’” Simon told Vic. “Down here, we say ‘bew-fort.’ It’s an easy way to tell who’s from out of town.”
“Pittsburgh has the same kinds of things,” Vic replied, remembering his hometown. “Some of the river names are real tongue-twisters, like Monongahela and Youghiogheny. Or whether those potato-filled dumplings are pronounced ‘pi-ro-hee’ or ‘pi-ro-gee.’”
They treated themselves to a fancier restaurant with a water view. Since they were driving, they skipped the wine, agreeing to have a toast when they got home. Simon got crab bisque and fried oysters with a tall glass of iced tea. Vic ordered shrimp and grits with an iced coffee.
“I don’t think the other lighthouses are going to factor into the protections,” Simon told Vic as they ate. “The Governor’s Lighthouse and the Harbour Town Lighthouse were built as tourist attractions and never were actual working navigational lights. Haig Point was a private beacon, not a full Coast Guard lighthouse, and it’s now a hotel.”
“That’s creative.” Vic dug into the grits with gusto.
“The Bloody Point Lighthouse got turned into a private home. And the Leamington Lighthouse—said to be haunted—was moved inland, and now it’s on a golf course.” Simon finished his soup, which was excellent, before moving on to the oysters.
“I’m hoping that we can do what needs to be done without either Bloody Point or Leamington because there would be ongoing problems with access,” Simon pointed out. “I’m supposed to talk with Father Anne tomorrow to see what she’s come up with.”
They finished the meal with large slices of Key Lime pie and tall coffees for the road. The sunset over the ocean was a beautiful ending to the day, which, while it had been primarily research, offered a long-overdue couples’ day out as well.
Simon couldn’t resist turning up the radio on a Top 40 channel and putting the windows down as they drove.
“I feel like I’m in a road trip movie.” Vic rested his arm on the door and let the breeze ruffle his dark hair.
Simon’s man bun kept his long hair out of his eyes. “Works for me. Once we fix this lighthouse mess, we’re going to need another vacation to de-stress.”
The drive home didn’t seem to take long as they sang along with the music and talked about the highlights of the day. When they finally arrived at the blue bungalow, Simon leaned over to kiss Vic before they got out of the car.
“Thanks for going with me. Even research is better when we’re together.”
Vic kissed him back. “I like having a better understanding of what you’re doing and how you think. So much of it is still new to me, but I’m learning.”
“You’re a quick study.” Simon paused as he reached for the door handle.
“Something wrong?” Vic immediately moved into cop mode.
“Validating that whenever we were close to one of the working lighthouses, the feeling of being watched went away,” Simon replied. “It’s back again.”
“That wouldn’t surprise me.” Vic got out of the car and walked around to Simon’s side like a security detail to accompany him into the house. “Didn’t you tell me that power can sink into the land itself and the bones of a structure?”
“Glad to know you’re listening.”
Vic stayed alert, watching their surroundings as he unlocked the door.
“And you’re right—it can sink in,” Simon said. “But without being renewed and strengthened, I suspect that the range gets smaller and smaller. Instead of protecting the whole coast and keeping the troll constrained, the power is in a more limited area around the lighthouses.”
They turned on lights, clicked the television to life, and checked to ensure nothing was amiss. Simon believed that the wards he had placed around the house and shop were strong enough to hold against most attacks, but he had never gone up against a troll and didn’t want to push his luck.
When he returned to the living room, Vic poured glasses of wine. They settled onto the couch and turned on the end of a sci-fi movie they had seen a dozen times.
Simon slipped his arm around Vic’s shoulders, and Vic leaned into his side. “Next time, let’s go up the coast and see stuff that isn’t haunted,” Simon suggested.
“Do places like that exist?”
“Yeah, but not in the historic tourist areas—which are interesting because they’re old. The deeper the history, the more ghosts,” Simon replied. “Of course, even in places we consider relatively new, there were always people before us, and they had their own stories and ghosts.”
“So everywhere is haunted, and we’re tripping over ghosts everywhere we go.”
“Pretty much.”
Now that they were off the road and safe at home, Simon felt the effect of driving all day, especially after drinking a glass of wine. “I’m all for sexy times in the morning, but I’m fading fast,” he told Vic after they had exchanged heated kisses. “Rain check?”
Vic laughed and kissed him on the nose. “Gonna give me blue balls,” he teased. “But I’m not surprised between the driving and being outside all day. Let’s lock up and cuddle tonight, and we can go at it like sex-crazed ferrets in the morning.”
Simon drew back and gave Vic a skeptical look. “Okay, not the most romantic image, but?—”
“Just wanted to see if you were paying attention.” Vic laughed. They carried their goblets to the kitchen. Vic turned off the lights while Simon again checked the doors and wardings.
“Come on, it’s time for bed.” Vic held out his hand for Simon and gave him a kiss.
It didn’t take either of them long to get changed and through the bathroom. Simon pulled Vic against him in bed, loving the way they fit together. “Sweet dreams,” Simon murmured, already starting to drift off. “Looking forward to sexy times in the morning.”
Simon stood on the small pad of concrete that surrounded the Morris Island Lighthouse. The sea loomed just a few feet away, deep and cold.
When it was built, the lighthouse had been reasonably inland, but storms gradually left the tower surrounded by water. The wind buffeted Simon, and he shivered.