“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,SALEMPIRATEEXPERIENCE. A smaller sign on the door said,CLOSED FOR THE SEASON. SEE YOU INMAY!
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 redEXITsign 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 plasticthud. 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.
