Page 10 of Last Resort

“That isn’t exactly comforting,” Erik muttered. “I’m not a witch. I can read energies and see ghosts, but I’m not even a full medium. Why me?”

She shrugged. “Sometimes what matters is finding someone who will listen.”

Erik didn’t think that was reassuring, although it made sense. How long had the poker chips gone unnoticed by people who were blind to their energy? While they weren’t exactly haunted, Erik had the sense that there was a story urgently wanting to be told, enough so to cross decades.

“This kind of thing always opens a big can of worms,” he said, condensing his train of thought.

Alessia gave a hearty laugh. “Oh, my dear Erik. That’s the truth about all occult talents in a nutshell. Now, how are you going to deal with the worms?”

Erik grimaced. “I’m not sure yet. And I hope that this time, it doesn’t involve either Ben or me getting shot. We’ve had entirely too much of that.” He paused to drink the rest of his cooling tea. “Tell me more about the thing with the Commodore Wilson.”

“The ‘thing’ is a genius loci—the spirit of a place—that either was always malicious or has gotten twisted. Maybe a little of both,” Alessia recapped. Erik knew this much from prior conversations, but it always made his head hurt a little to try to fathom the idea.

“While it existed, the hotel seduced and then destroyed its builder and everyone who owned it,” she continued. “That’s why I think it has always had bad energy. Many of the people who heard its siren song weren’t upstanding citizens—mobsters, fire-breathing evangelists, businessmen of dubious ethics. If the hotel’s energy acted on them, then it’s also possible that their…failings…echoed with that energy, which is where the ‘twisted’ part comes in.”

“I thought the autumn equinox was about cleansing,” Erik protested. “Why would the hotel’s energy surge then?”

Alessia set aside her empty cup. “Every ritual has a dark side as well as a light side. We tend to speak more of the positives, but many old autumn traditions recognize the darkness of the human soul in contrast to the light. It’s a commonality that stretches across time, location, and tradition. When something shows up in that many places to that many people, it’s wise to pay attention.”

“What can we do? You’ve already said that the energy can’t be banished or cleansed.” The longer they talked, the more Erik’s stomach tightened with a sense of foreboding.

“It can’t be eliminated—but it can be contained,” Alessia stressed. “That’s one of the primary responsibilities of the coven. We are the guardians who use all the assets at our disposal to minimize the damage the genius loci can inflict.”

Sometimes people swore they saw the ghost of the Commodore Wilson on the barren lot where it once stood. Stories varied, with some claiming only to have seen the hotel’s distinctive silhouette, while others said the building appeared nearly solid, although the illusion lasted only seconds.

The snake-bit history of the grand hotel was at odds with the fond memories of long-time Cape May residents who told of weddings, parties, engagements, and proms at the once-opulent venue. Despite its long decline into disrepair, locals spoke of the Commodore Wilson wistfully, with a wish it could have been saved despite the monumental expense of reversing the ravages of age and poor construction.

Its ghostly appearance had entered local folklore like a hometown version of Mercury in retrograde. Erik had heard people say things like, “it’s been that kind of day—must be time for the Commodore to show up.”

Having a massive, haunted—possibly cursed—spectral hotel appear and disappear on a regular basis would have seemed strange, but Erik reminded himself that Cape May was already one of the most haunted towns on the East Coast. People here just went with the flow.

“I don’t think the poker chips are cursed,” Erik said. “But there’s definitely something…unresolved. And in my experience, loose ends are dangerous.”

Alessia nodded. “True. So we need to take care of that. I’ll see what I can find from my sources. Keep digging at yours. If the chips have surfaced now, they want resolution. That will attract the attention it seeks.”

“What worries me is what else might get dragged along,” Erik admitted. “It’s never as simple as it looks.”

Erik headed back to Trinkets with a couple of fresh protective hex bags for him and Ben and a promise that Alessia would put the word out to her contacts.

He closed his hand around the hex bags and felt a warm, calming presence. It soothed him, although he knew that charms, however powerful, wouldn’t be sufficient to deflect the energy swell of the genius loci. He managed to push the troubling thoughts from his mind. Erik couldn’t do anything about the Commodore Wilson, but the poker chips had started to feel like a personal quest.

I might not be able to tackle the biggest issue, but if I can defuse the smaller one, at least the two problems can’t gang up on us.

The rest of the afternoon went quietly. Erik filled Susan in on what he had learned, and she assured him that she had spread the word about the Fun Factory to her network of contacts, which he sometimes thought included everyone in Cape May.

“I put in a call to Etta at the library and Steve at the archive,” Susan told him. “They take it as a point of personal pride to know everything about the area’s history. They might not learn anything about the owner of the chips, but you could find a clue in whatever they do turn up.”

“Great idea—thank you,” Erik said. “If we could narrow down the time period, there should be a police report of a shooting even if it didn’t end up being a murder.”

Susan nodded. “I thought about that. One step at a time.” She glanced at her watch. “Didn’t you say you were supposed to meet Ben for dinner? Go on ahead. I’ll finish here.”

Erik was surprised that the day had gone by so fast. He helped close the store and walked Susan to her house next door.

“Thanks for handling business so I could go off sleuthing,” Erik said. “I couldn’t do it without you.”

“I can watch the register anytime so you can help save the world,” she teased. “Now go meet up with that hunky boyfriend of yours, and don’t waste your time talking shop.”

Erik did his best to clear the day’s worries from his mind as he walked several blocks to meet Ben at The Spike, a popular restaurant and bar that stayed open year-round.

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