Seizure(45)

“But that’s not why we’re here, is it?” Smiling wickedly, Chris pointed to steps descending the building’s side. “We came to see … the dungeons.”

Sallie lit and distributed candles, then, single file, we trooped down the narrow staircase. At the bottom, a door led into a gloomy basement with a low ceiling constructed of barrel-vaulted brick. Archways divided the space into murky, shadow-filled alcoves.

The sundress ladies tittered as their husbands exchanged jokes. The Packers couple snapped shots with their Nikons. Brincefield scouted the room, excited, a kid at Disneyland. Marlo and Tree Trunk stood at the back of the group, silent and still.

Sallie spoke in hushed tones, candlelight dancing shadows across her features. “The Provost Dungeon served a sinister function during the Revolutionary War. Beneath the beautiful fa?ade of the Exchange above lurked this nightmare.” Sallie swept her free hand in a wide arc.

“Cruel men converted these cellars into a ghastly prison.” Sallie’s whisper forced us to draw close. “Dark. Dank. Without heat or light. Those caged within these walls faced sickness, despair, even death. The British used this hole to jail American patriots.” The flickering light distorted her face, Halloween style. “Brave Charlestonians were clapped in irons, locked underground, and forgotten.”

Chris’s voice sounded dull in the subterranean gloom. “Deserters. Women. Slaves. Highborn sons. All those suspected of aiding the rebel patriots were crowded into cages and left to die.”

Chris told the story of Isaac Hayne, an American war hero captured and hanged by the British.

“Hayne refused to surrender,” he whispered. “His ghost now haunts these dungeons, searching for enemy redcoats, even in death unable to lay down his arms.

“So.” Chris smiled. “Shall we proceed?”

Huddled close, our little band tiptoed through the cellar and eventually descended a second staircase, steeper than the first.

At the bottom was a wide, dark chamber, older than the room above. Clammy, bare-earth floor. Low, claustrophobic ceiling. Stale, fetid air.

Shelton fiddled an earlobe, face tense in the glow of his candle. I placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, knowing how much he hated tight spaces.

“We’ve traveled further back in history,” Sallie whispered, “to a time before the Exchange existed.”

My heart threw in a few extra beats. This was what we wanted.

“For you see,” Sallie intoned, “the Exchange was constructed atop an even older fortification, one dating to the town’s founding.” She paused for effect. “That bastion, too, had a dungeon.”

Chris picked up the narrative. “Half-Moon Battery.”

My elbow found Hi. Just as his found me. We listened intently.

“You are standing in the linchpin of Charles Town’s original defense system,” Chris said. “Half-Moon Battery was so named because it jutted into the harbor in a half circle. This vault was discovered during a renovation in 1965. Rumors persist of older, deeper spaces yet to be discovered.

“Every town needs a prison. Long before the Provost Dungeon was established, dangerous criminals harried the streets and waters of old Charles Town.”

“Pirates,” Sallie whispered.

“From its founding, pirates plagued the city,” Chris said. “Blackbeard. Stede Bonnet. Ruthless marauders captured dozens of Charles Town vessels and held their occupants for ransom.

“At the urging of terrified merchants, the colonial governor finally commissioned privateers to end the reign of terror. In October of 1718, Stede Bonnet was captured.”

“And brought here.” Sallie’s flame spluttered as she arced her candle in the blackness. “The dungeons of Half-Moon Battery became Captain Bonnet’s new home.”

He’s not the only one.

“Bonnet and his crew were tried and sentenced to death,” she continued. “On December 10, 1718, they were hanged at White Point on the Battery.”

Theatrical pause, then the Fletchers led the group back to the staircase. I hung to the rear. Tried to melt into the shadows. The other Virals did the same.

I blocked my candle by cupping the flame with one hand. As the others clomped up the stairs, the chamber went darker and darker, eventually black. We were alone.

Now or never. If Bonny was down here, we have to find some evidence.

We’d agreed. To search the dungeon, we needed our abilities unleashed. It was time to test what our powers could do.

“Burn,” I whispered.

In the darkness, four gleaming orbs suddenly appeared. Eyes of golden fire.

Hi, always quickest. And Shelton, tapping his fear of the dark.

SNAP.

Almost instantly, the flare tore through me, washing my innards with ice and fire.

From deep within, my powers emerged and stretched their legs.

Beside me, Ben cursed. Then, “No go. I’ll watch the stairs.”

I heard rubber soles on hard-packed earth as he headed to the door.

“Spread out,” I hissed. “We only have seconds.”

Hi and Shelton nodded, their faces distinct. With my hypervision unleashed, the candle lit the room like a bonfire.

Seeing a wall a dozen yards ahead, I fired in that direction, senses casting a wide net. Searching.

Shelton’s voice stopped me short. “Hear that?”