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Located right on Myrtle Beach’s boardwalk, Grand Strand Ghost Tours drew plenty of foot traffic, from true believers in the supernatural and occult to curious skeptics.
Despite having left academia several years earlier, Dr. Sebastian “Simon” Kincaide still looked the part of a university professor with shoulder-length hair in a bun, fair skin, hazel eyes, and a lean build. At five foot ten, he stood a bit shorter than Vic, who topped six feet by a couple of inches and had the darker hair and coloring of his Mediterranean background.
“You doin’ okay today, boss?” Pete asked as he brought a fresh cup of coffee, Simon’s second, out to the counter while he helped arrange the store for the day. “Something on your mind? You seem a bit…off.”
Simon shrugged, undeniably moodier than usual. “Bad dreams, and a funny feeling I can’t shake that something is going to happen.”
Pete gave him an assessing look. “Something like rain, or the Apocalypse?”
Simon chuckled. “Neither. Just a presence and energy I haven’t sensed before, and it doesn’t seem particularly friendly.”
“That’s not good.” Pete had been around Simon and the shop long enough to overcome any doubts he might have ever harbored about the paranormal. He was a true believer in Simon’s abilities and a good behind-the-scenes helper to keep the store running when Simon got pulled into supernatural situations.
“It might not be anything big,” Simon hedged, although he personally worried that it could turn out to be. “But I keep an eye out for shifts, and I don’t like when I can’t explain them.”
“What kind of presence?” Pete asked, since no one else was in the shop.
“There’s been an uptick in people reporting ‘dark’ ghosts—shadow people,” Simon replied. “Not souls of the departed, but a different kind of energy that causes problems. There’ve been minor injuries and some small, unexplained fires. Someone called me to say they’d had a vision of a flaming lizard. Lots of weirdness. But why now?”
“Maybe Gabriella has heard more,” Pete suggested. Simon’s friend was a bruja who ran a local botanica. Her magic was real and powerful, and she was usually in the know about any changes in the local supernatural community.
“Maybe,” Simon agreed. “Although the feeling I picked up is new. It wasn’t pinging my radar before I went to bed, but it was definitely there when I woke up.” Simon suddenly sensed that Vic was sending someone his way. He pulled out his phone and called.
“Got vibes you were sending someone to me. Psychic, you know? Something going on?” Simon listened as Vic told him about the fire at Ocean Visions, and the distraught hotel owner Vic had sent Simon’s way for help.
“He hasn’t shown up yet, but we’ll watch for him,” Simon assured Vic, getting the man’s description. “In some ways, it might take a little more courage to come see a psychic than to talk to the cops. There’s more of the known process about the police. People have the funny idea that we go rummaging around in their brains. We don’t; it would be a complete violation of ethics, and other people’s thoughts aren’t usually all that interesting.” Simon paused, getting more of a read on his husband even across town. “You’re rattled. What’s the matter?”
Vic tried to explain how the encounter with Sanderson went. Simon listened as much with intuition as his ears and nodded. “You’re picking up on his fear and disorientation,” Simon told Vic. “Go outside in the sun. Drink water. Hold onto the amulet. Eat some mint. Those will all help cleanse away any shadows. I’ll let you know if Sanderson shows up and how it goes.”
“Be careful,” Vic warned. “I can’t vouch for the story itself being true, but Sanderson certainly seemed to believe it. And if it’s real, watch your back.”
“Will do,” Simon promised. “See you for dinner. Love you.”
“Love you too,” Vic said before ending the call.
Simon leaned against the counter and put the phone back in his pocket, staring into space for a minute as he ran back through everything Vic had told him.
“Problems?” Pete asked.
“Don’t know yet.” Simon recounted the conversation and his perception. “I’d bet you a pizza that Vic is going over to the hotel that caught on fire to have a look around for himself.”
Pete frowned. “The Ocean Visions? I heard something on the news this morning. It’s one of the last big remaining Victorians. It’s a shame to lose those.”
Simon took his phone out of his pocket, pulled up the local news, and read the lead article about the fire aloud to Pete. “Fire of unknown origin,” he noted. “When they start using words like that or ‘suspicious,’ you know they think it was set.”
“Tough to bust a spook for arson,” Pete pointed out.
“The big question is which spook, and why now? In a hundred years, a lot of unhappy people probably passed through there. I don’t remember any recent scandals or celebrity deaths. If the fire happened because of an old situation, what changed?”
Just then, the bell rang at the front door, and Simon turned to see a middle-aged man enter, waving a Grand Strand Ghost Tours card. He zeroed in on Simon.
“Are you Simon Kincaide, the psychic? Your husband sent me. I need your help.”
“You must be Fred Sanderson. I’m Simon Kincaide. Please come in.”
Simon guided Sanderson to a table in the back. Pete brought the man a glass of water, which he downed in one go.
That gave Simon a moment to get a read on his visitor. Fred Sanderson looked to be in his late fifties or early sixties, with thinning brown hair going gray and light blue eyes. He was average height, with a bit of a pot belly suggesting desk work.
