Page 65 of Last Resort

“Ick. Does it really work?”

“According to the legends…maybe? There’s certainly precedence with people making remarkable claims about other saints’ relics,” Teag replied.

“If Carr has the relic to help him find the treasure, then we’re screwed. We still have no idea where to look other than ‘the Pine Barrens.’”

“Not exactly.” Teag’s voice held a smile. “I think I cracked the code on the poker chips—with a little help from some friends on the Darke Web. The grouping of numbers looked right to be coordinates, but the numbers themselves didn’t make any sense. So I looked for a substitution code. Those codes swap out one digit for another, according to a key. They’re simple to make and can be challenging to break. Fortunately, I suspect Edwin was in a hurry. Once I cracked the code, it gave me coordinates that fit within the Pine Barrens. Check your inbox—I sent the info by encrypted email.”

“Thank you.” Ben felt like maybe, for once, they had an advantage again.

“Oh, and I did a little more digging into Tom Raines,” Teag said. “He was very careful about guarding his self-imposed exile in Maine, but the few times he slipped up were enough to find him.”

“How did he manage to hide so well all those years?” Ben wondered.

“He must have been working on his new identity for a while because it held up well,” Teag replied. “He showed up in Maine as Fred Bowers and paid cash for a vacation cabin on one of the islands. Looks like he paid cash for most things, which probably was just fine with his neighbors.

“His stash tided him over for a long time. I suspect he did some under-the-table odd jobs to stretch his nest egg, but the past few years, he must have been running dry,” Teag went on. “I found late notices on his utility bills, that sort of thing. Which would explain why he would risk leaving his safe haven to look for his grandfather’s hidden money.”

“He had a good run.” Ben admired Raines’s skill at hiding and staying hidden. “Too bad he couldn’t just quietly fade away.” Raines was a criminal, but Ben couldn’t work up too much judgment over stealing from the Mob.

“I guess he gambled that no one was looking for him anymore,” Teag said. “He lost the bet. I suspect that one of those mafia witches you asked about put some kind of spell on the area that would trigger if he came back, and that alerted the wrong people.”

“What did you find out about a ‘supernatural syndicate’ and the Bone Men?”

Teag paused. “You really want to know? Once you do, you can’t un-know it.”

“If it’s killing people in my rental units—literally on my doorstep—I don’t really have a choice.”

Teag sighed. “I’ll give you the quick version, and we can talk about the details later. Yes, there are crime syndicates of supernatural beings—witches, vampires, werewolves, psychics, and some fae. Even the mobsters are scared—or exceptionally respectful—of them. The ‘Bone Men’ are witches with deep ties to the Mob who are allied with the different mafia families and syndicates but are actually self-interested when push comes to shove.

“The supernatural syndicates are involved in everything from shifter trafficking to creating and selling pharmaceuticals engineered to work with paranormal metabolisms—for medicine and recreation. They’ve got connections to money laundering—hiding long life spans and multiple identities—online fraud, relic theft, and artifact appropriation, among other things.”

“Which makes sense with some of the stuff Erik ran into,” Ben mused.

“Exactly. We’ve clashed with elements of the syndicate and so have some of our hunter friends,” Teag replied. “There are the usual internal rivalries like with the normal Mob—and their grudges can span centuries. The syndicates are a nasty piece of work, and the Bone Men are the worst of the worst. I liked it better when we thought the monsters worked solo.”

“No kidding,” Ben agreed. “Thanks for the update.”

“Like I said, I can give you more details whenever you want or need them, but that gives you an idea of why Carr’s back is against the wall. He’s got nothing to lose. Be careful.”

Ben thanked Teag and promised to stay in touch. When the call ended, he brought out a paper map of New Jersey and plotted the coordinates Teag supplied.

The remote spot fell between hiking trails and public areas, accessible but not where people were likely to find it by accident. For a desperate man with a limited chance to stash his money, Edwin had made a smart choice.

Assuming it’s still there. If he buried a bunch of gold and silver and someone found it, it would be untraceable. The finder would just need a good cover story and a discreet person to fence it to. We could get there and it could be a bust.

Remind me again why this is our problem?

Unfair as it was, Edwin’s heist became an issue for him and Erik when the poker chips showed up at Trinkets and Tom Raines died in the rental unit. Until the treasure was found, the factions involved would never believe Erik and Ben weren’t involved. Carr’s use of dark magic also meant regular law enforcement was at a deadly disadvantage, requiring specialized knowledge to handle the threat—the kind of knowledge and experience Erik and Ben had.

Somehow, we’ve become the guardians of Cape May—along with Monty, Alessia, and the others with abilities.

I guess that’s not such a bad thing—or much different from being a cop. At least we’ve got friends who have our back.

Resigned, Ben reached for his phone and called Erik. “Teag’s got coordinates for the Pine Barrens. We need a plan—and then it’s time for a road trip.”

Next, he reached out to Alessia. “We could really use your help.” He explained the situation, including Carr’s relic and borrowed magic—and the possibility of a pissed off Mobstrega.

“Santa Romola? Wow—that’s dark stuff,” Alessia replied. “I’d warn you about crossing the ‘supernatural syndicate,’ but it’s too late for that. Santa Romola has the most devotees among the Sicilian Mob—and you never want to cross them when magic or money is on the line.”

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