Southern Graves by Stuart Jaffe

Author:Stuart Jaffe
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: paranormal mystery, supernatural suspense, graveyard island, salisbury prison
Publisher: Stuart Jaffe
Published: 2021-02-21T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 19

DRY CLOTHES. Warm house. Hot coffee. In that order. Max, Sandra, and J indulged in the simple luxuries of life, permitting each bit of normalcy to restore them physically and mentally. Graveyard Island, Madame Ti, Ruby, the inhuman spirits — all melted away into the rich aroma of fresh-brewed caffeine.

When they first arrived home, they found Drummond waiting and anxious. “I know you had swimming to do, but did you have to joyride on the way back?”

Max laid out all that had happened and the conclusions they had made. Once he reached the main point — that they needed Irene Beck — Drummond left to fetch her. Max could have phoned the psychic, but she had a special bond with Drummond and considering that the clock read 1:37am, Max thought she might be more receptive if woken by a dear friend rather than a work-related acquaintance who tended to put her in life-threatening situations. Time was a factor, of course, but waiting an extra ten minutes for a more beneficial visit would save them more in the long run.

As they waited for Drummond and Irene to return, the Porters curled up in the living room — Sandra on one end of the couch, J on the other, and Max taking one of the reading chairs. Max and Sandra worked at their laptops while J hunched over his phone. Other than the occasional sip of coffee and the clack of keyboards, they stayed silent.

Until Sandra asked, “Do we need to talk?”

Though the question had been clearly directed toward J, the sentiment touched Max, too. He paused a moment to consider an answer. But before he could formulate the words, J covered them all. “I’m all talked out,” the young man said.

Max returned to his laptop. The photos he had taken on Graveyard Island were all copied to the Cloud. Thankfully. His phone sat on the bedroom nightstand — back cover opened, lake water drained, and innards drying out. He didn’t hold out much hope that the device could be salvaged, but he would try. In the meantime, he downloaded image after image and sipped coffee during the process.

The pictures of the various gravesites had come out clear. Part of him wondered if there would be blurry or strange formations — ghosts caught on camera. But he saw nothing so dramatic. Still, he had solid shots of Miller’s grave, and that alone might provide them with crucial information.

Or perhaps not. Perhaps he was spinning his wheels while watching the clock count down.

He did have about ten pictures of the two casting circles Madame Ti had used for the spells. Those he sent over to Sandra, and she got working on them right away.

“A lot of the symbols we used on these spells were new to me,” Sandra said as she tried to connect the pictures with her memory, then with her favored online witchcraft resources. “A few of them looked like combinations of older, basic symbols every witch uses, but I think that Madame Ti may have been building her own.

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