Southern Haunts by Stuart Jaffe

magic.”
    Mother Hope folded her arms and peeked at the bottle. “You are not being too helpful. More insulting, you are not being too observant. Either that or you’re simply rude.”
    “I don’t know what I missed, but I guarantee I have no desire to be rude.”
    “Surely, one who claims to be a detective would notice that I am not the same decrepit old woman he had met before.”
    The moment she said the words, Max saw it. She looked several years younger, more vibrant, less wrinkled, perhaps even stronger. But he had to put that out of his thoughts. Stay focused.
    “I guess you’ve got some powerful mojo,” he said. “I’d be grateful if you’d use some of it on the bottle now.”
    “Mojo? How quaint. The ability to cast off years is not some mere trickery. It is among the most difficult of spells. Do you want to know how I achieved it?”
    “I want you to look at the bottle.”
    “I succeeded because of that bottle.”
    Max paused. “Excuse me?”
    “In order to gain even a few years of youth, a witch must siphon off energy from an item already imbued with magic. Most items that have been cursed or favored don’t have enough energy, and so the spell fails. But this bottle is overflowing. A spell that should have taken a full hour, I pulled off in fifteen minutes. And look at the results.”
    “Yes, you don’t look a day over sixty-five.”
    A scowl flashed across Mother Hope’s face and disappeared. “Not bad for a woman nearing triple digits.”
    “I suppose. But so far, all you’ve told me is that the bottle has a lot of magic on it. I already knew that. I want to know what that magic is, why the bottle appeared —”
    “It appeared?” Mother Hope’s hand shot to the arms of her chair as if bracing for an assault.
    Max locked his mouth shut. Stupid. After a slow breath, he said, “I’ve already spent too much time here, and I can’t say I was happy about the welcome I received.”
    “I won’t apologize. My men may be rough, but they protect me from constant threats.”
    “I want to know if you’ll tell me about the magic on the bottle. Yes or no?”
    “Well, now, that depends.”
    “On what?”
    “If you’re willing to make me a small promise.”
    There it was. Even if he hadn’t been warned, the lust on her lips would have been enough to ring the alarms in his brain. She observed every motion he made, her eyes darting between his hands, his mouth, his legs, his mouth, his eyes, his mouth. Yearning for him to speak the words she needed.
    “Sure,” he said. “What do you want?” In his head, Max could hear Drummond cursing and screaming.
    “A simple matter. All I ask is for you to promise me that you do not go back to the house where you found this bottle. If it’s part of a case, then you’ll have to recuse yourself. For that, I will take the time to investigate your bottle, and I will report to you what I learn within the week. Sooner, most likely.”
    Max popped to his feet. “You already know, don’t you?”
    “The magic? No. Though I have my suspicions.”
    “You know something about this. It’s been right on your face this whole time.”
    “Oh, bless your heart, you think you can outwit me. Dear, I’m an old, old woman. I’ve been living here for a long time. Of course I know a lot about a lot that goes on around here. Why should that be a surprise? But information is valuable, and I haven’t survived this long by giving it away freely.”
    “Now what do you want?”
    She licked her index finger and made a mark in the air. “I already have you for one promise. That’s enough. Leave. I’ll contact you when I understand what has been done to this bottle.”
    Square-head and Chuckles moved forward, but Max put out his hands. “Easy, fellas. I can walk out on my own.”
    Though they followed him all the way out of the O. Henry Hotel’s lobby, neither one placed another hand on him. He got in his car and started back to Winston-Salem and the Darians’ house.