Page 4 of Ghostmaker

“Maybe,” Fitz said, going quiet.

Jude wasn’t a fan of the current energy in the SUV. They were ten minutes away from the station and he could feel his guts churning with anxiety. It was possible Fitz was barking up the wrong tree, but with thirty years of law enforcement experience under his belt, his instincts were never wrong.

Resigned to his fate, Jude sat back and watched Salem float past his window. Whatever the meeting was about, the three of them would handle it together.

Then complain to anyone who would listen.

2

Cope

The smell of freshly brewed coffee hit Cope full-force when he stepped through the front door of West Side Magick. He hadn’t eaten anything that morning, what with getting the kids ready for their first day of school. He headed for Cassie’s bakery and ordered a coffee and a cinnamon roll.

After asking how Laurel, Brady, and Lexi’s first morning on the bus went, he headed to his reading room to prepare for the day. Cope had three in-person readings and one on Zoom. He loved that clients of the shop who’d visited while on vacation were able to get readings online. It kept money flowing into the shop.

Cope looked over the latest news headlines while he drank his coffee. There was never any good news, just more bullshit; crime, politics, and war. What he needed was something to get his mind off the current state of affairs. Maybe a day trip to the beach would be just the thing, as Jude suggested.

He got out of his seat intent on going to see Ten, when there was a knock at his door. It couldn’t be his first client, she wasn’t scheduled to arrive for another half hour. When Cope opened the door, Ten and Carson stood on the other side. “Hey, guys.”

“Have you heard the news about Jonas Crawford?” Carson asked, taking a seat at Cope’s reading table.

“What, is he going solo?” Cope asked.

“He’s not one of the Jonas Brothers,” Carson rolled his eyes. “He’s the new psychic who moved into the storefront on Essex Street that used to sell homemade soaps.”

“Poor Lindon, business was booming until the fraud squad showed up on his doorstep and arrested him for his part in a multi-national Ponzi scheme. I think he got forty years for that. You never really know your neighbors, huh?” Ten shook his head.

“The name doesn’t ring a bell. Who is he?” Cope hadn’t heard anything about a new psychic coming to town. Usually that sort of information lit up the Salem grapevine faster than school teachers with OnlyFans accounts.

“I have no idea and his online bio doesn’t help much,” Carson said. He tapped on his phone and turned it around to show Cope.

“Wow!” The image of Jonas Crawford reminded Cope of Bela Lugosi in Dracula. Crawford was all charm, dressed in an immaculate, black bespoke suit, with his dark hair slicked back from his face. Dark mysterious eyes stared back at Cope through the image.

“He looks like Count Dracula,” Ten sighed dreamily. “I vonder if he vants to suck my blood?”

Carson snorted. “All his bio says about him is that he’s originally from Denver and had his gift from a young age. He’s doing free readings today at his new store as a way of opening himself up to the people of Salem and the tourists.”

Cope shook his head. “More like he’s helping himself up to our clients.” He’d never heard of a psychic giving away free readings as a way of attracting business. Even when he and the others worked street fairs, they still charged for readings, even if it was at a lower cost than in the shop.

“Oh, well,” Carson said. “There’s more than enough room in Salem for one more psychic. Plus, the Halloween season will be starting up in two weeks or so. We’ll all be busier than we can handle after that. Maybe we should go see this guy later. I’m free from noon until three.”

“Me too,” Ten said. “Just promise you won’t let me make a fool of myself in front of this guy. I’ve had the biggest crush on Dracula since I was a kid. I think it was the cape.”

“For me it was the accent.” Cope’s friends had spent the summer they turned twelve watching old black and white horror pictures. While his friends were scared of The Mummy, Frankenstein, and Count Dracula, all Cope could think about was fucking the monsters. Those Golden Age of Hollywood stars really floated his boat.

“What about you, Cope? Are you free this afternoon to go see this guy or are you gonna be busy fantasizing about fucking the Wolfman?” Carson snickered.

“All that yummy fur.” Cope was practically drooling. “And the fangs and claws and that giant furry monster cock!”

Ten eyed his friend. “I don’t know what movies you were watching, but I’ve never seen a giant furry monster cock.”

“Would the Wolfman’s cock be hairy?” Carson asked. “I mean for practical sake wouldn’t it have to be bare? Otherwise the fur would be matted and dripping in juices and god knows what else.”

“How is this my life?” Ten asked. “I’ve got a client coming in. I’ll let the two of you haggle over monster dicks.” Ten paused at the door. “If Dracula came inside you would his monster jizz turn you into a vampire or does he have to bite you? Asking for a friend.”

“For that matter, is the Mummy allowed to unwrap his dick his to get his freak on?” Carson shot back. “Or would it crumble to dust in your mouth?”

“Okay, where does the Creature from the Black Lagoon keep his package? Does it drop down like airplane landing gear when the moment is right?” Cope giggled.