by Lea Nolan
She runs her gnarled finger down the page. “Shhh, I’m way ahead of you. There ought to be something in this here book that’ll help us.” She taps the yellowed page. “See this list of my ancestors? The very first name my great-gran could remember was Saba. I’m wondering if she’s the Sabina we saw in the vision. You know, names handed down for fifteen generations are bound to get mixed up a bit. The old stories claimed Saba worked a powerful black magic revenge spell. From what I saw in that vision, Sabina was getting back at a whole bunch of people.”
“She was pretty psychotic—cursing a whole family and turning people into skeletons. What could they have done to make her so angry?”
Miss Delia removes her glasses and pats my hand. “People are capable of unspeakable things. At my age, you’d think I’d have seen it all by now, but I’m still surprised by our evil.” She purses her lips and shakes her snowy head. “I don’t doubt Sabina had cause to do what she did. Root workers don’t turn to black magic easily.”
“But all we have to do is work some white magic to reverse it, right?” My voice rises with hope as the lessons from my hoodoo training fall into place.
She nods. “Yes, white magic is what we need. But it’s got to be the right spell.”
“So let’s fire up the mortar again and pull another memory.” Defying the extreme weariness that threatens to overwhelm me, I reach for some charcoal chips to create another fire.
She gently lays her hand on mine. “Not today, child.”
My brow creases. “What? Why not? It knows the answers we need.”
“The knife needs to rest. So does the mortar. And so do we. We’ve worked a bunch of charms today. It’s too much.”
Fury bubbles in my stomach once again. “That’s ridiculous!” My voice rises, and the space between my eyes pinches. I know it’s not her fault, but I’m so mad at Sabina and her stupid curses, I can’t help it. “I’m sick of waiting. It’s just a knife and a hunk of stone. They don’t need to rest. They need to tell us how to save my brother and Cooper now.” Forcing my eyes to stay open, I add, “And I’m fine. I’ll just sleep in tomorrow.”
Her brow softens in sympathy. “I know you want your answers, child. But we must wait.”
“Why?” Tears sting my eyes.
She sighs. “Because even if we were both at our top strength, ripping a memory from an object is traumatic, especially if it’s filled with as much anger and hatred as that one was. That knife needs time to settle and regroup, cleanse itself of all that negative energy. If we take another memory before it’s ready, it’s liable to break apart, and we’ll never get what we need.”
“Okay, then forget Cooper’s curse for now. We can still use the mortar to break The Creep, can’t we? That’s what we brought it here for, right?” I reach for the charcoal chips.
She grasps my wrist with more vigor than I thought she had. “Emma, you’re not hearing me. The mortar was disturbed by the dark energy in that vision, too. It needs to set awhile.” The crinkles in her forehead smooth, but her eyes are still serious. “It’s already cracked. I won’t have it split apart now, not after I just got it back.” She places her palms against the stony mortar, then flinches as if she’s been shocked. “If you don’t believe me, you can feel for yourself. It’s crackling with anger. If you push it, it’ll be destroyed.”
My shoulders sink, and I rest my aching head in my hand. She’s right, but I don’t have to be happy about it. “No, I believe you.”
She puts her glasses on and turns back to the spell book. “Besides, you’re getting ahead of yourself. Sabina said she cast The Creep. And we know she had that knife. When it’s ready, we’ll sort everything out. You just need a little more patience. In the meantime, I’ll work on figuring out what was in that powder Sabina tossed on that poor woman and child. Whatever it was, it was mighty powerful. Maybe I can come up with an antidote.”
I pick at a crescent-shaped scorch stain on the counter with my other hand. Normally the idea of a possible antidote would perk me up, but it barely registers now. I keep replaying the vision in my head—Sabina’s scarred face and the glint in her eye as she cursed an entire family for eternity. “Lady Rose was pretty surprised when Sabina threw that baby at her. Although I don’t think she believed in Sabina’s magic.”
Miss Delia scoffs. “I’m sure she changed her mind when the babe became a man. Sabina’s power was strong. He must have caused a mess of trouble.” She shakes her head. “You said you knew the mother?”
“Oh, not really. I’ve only seen her freaky portrait in the drawing room at High Point Bluff. Believe me, those scary bug eyes and giant forehead are impossible to forget. Beau makes everyone look at it and tell him how beautiful she was.”
She shakes her head and chuckles, but her laugh has a sad, pitiful ring. “We Gullah knew there was something wrong up there. Something dark and depraved. That’s why none of us have set foot on that plantation since we were set free.”
Something niggles at the back of my brain. “Miss Delia, how can someone live without their soul?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know, child. The Gullah believe we have both a soul and a spirit. When we die, the soul moves on to heaven, but the spirit stays behind to help our loved ones who are still alive. Perhaps it’s possible to live with only one of these, perhaps not. Maybe it’s a mystery we’re not meant to understand.”
My mind races, thinking of Cooper and how he’ll change. Hot tears well in my eyes once again.
She reaches out and pats my hand. “We’ll see what we can do to spare your boy. Now I need some time to rest and think on this antidote. Why don’t you take those young men of yours home and come back in a few days? The mortar and knife should be ready for another go ’round by then.”
A few days? For real? By then the tips of Jack’s fingers could be dried out, and he’ll have lost more flesh. Not to mention, Cooper will be that much closer to sixteen. My shoulders sag, and my stomach churns. But it won’t do me any good to argue with her. Once she’s made up her mind, it’s locked solid. Plus she’s right about needing to rest. I’m so wiped, I bet I could sleep for a month.
I inhale and suppress the tangled knot of fury and despair that chokes my throat. “Okay. I’ll see you then.” A sob threatens as I slip off the stool and slink toward the swinging kitchen door. “You have my cell phone number in case you need me before then.” When she was sick, I found her only phone hooked up in her bedroom.
“Uh-huh,” she murmurs without lifting her eyes from the book. “Take care now.”
I cross the living room and pause to regroup before opening the screen door. Jack and Cooper are sitting on the bench under the bottle tree, just as Miss Delia told them. They’re laughing, elbowing each other in the ribs and chucking pebbles into the woods. Cooper must have convinced Jack we’d fix him before his bones turned to dust and floated away with the wind. As far as they’re concerned, it’s only a matter of time before Miss Delia and I break The Creep and set everything right.
They have no idea what she and I just saw, what we know, and how bad things are about to get. I doubt I can even find the words to explain it all. How do you tell your best friend, the unrequited love of your life, that he’s about to lose his soul? And even if I do find a way to tell him, I’m not sure I can handle the aftershock. Because I know one thing for sure: Cooper would rather die than turn into his father. And to be honest, I’m not sure Jack and I could survive watching that happen, either.
As much as I wish I could, I can’t hide this from him. He deserves to know the truth.
I gulp and step out onto the front porch and let the dark blue doorframe slam behind me. Forcing one foot in front of the other, I make my way down the steps and through the herb garden.
Cooper stops mid-chuckle when he sees me, and his eyes turn down. “Are you okay?” His voice is soft and caring. Someday soon it’ll be callous and indifferent.
Dread oozes over me, trickling from my scalp all the way down to the tip
s of my toenails. I have to keep this simple and straightforward. Just stick to the facts. I can’t wallow in all the gory implications. He’ll figure them out on his own.
I gulp back the welling tears.
Before I can form any words, Cooper pushes off the bench and rushes to my side. “What’s wrong, Emmaline?” He wraps his hand around my shoulder and rubs the top of my arm. Even though I tossed the gris-gris bag, he’s still obviously stricken by its effects. “You look like you’ve been crying. Is Miss Delia all right? Did we get the wrong mortar?”
Ugh. My face is probably as puffy as a pincushion. I should have splashed it with cold water before I came out here. I’ve got to tell him now. I shake my head and try to force the words from my locked throat, but it’s no use. They’re stuck and lodged deep in my burning chest. My mind races as I grope for something to say. This is so not how I wanted this to go. I was supposed to downplay the catastrophe, not emphasize it.
Jack rolls his eyes. “Come on, Emo, knock it off and just spill it. It’s obvious you haven’t broken the curse yet.” He lifts his gloved hand in my direction.
“I…um…well, you see…” I gnaw my bottom lip and twist away from Jack’s piercing stare, only to be caught by Cooper’s tender gaze. His pale aquamarine eyes are so sympathetic, so gentle, I’m not sure I can bring myself to tell him and shatter everything he thinks he knows about himself and what the future holds. How can I darken that light?
An odd, electric tingle flutters in my chest. Maybe there’s a chance I won’t have to. There’s still time before he turns sixteen, and Miss Delia could come up with an antidote.
Maybe I’ll wait to tell him when I have to. If I have to.
CHAPTER TWENTY
I couldn’t tell him. At least not the truth. Instead I chickened out and fumbled a lame excuse about working on an antidote, then blamed my freak-out on how guilty I felt for taking so long to break the curse.
I bit my tongue when Jack agreed, saying I should feel even worse for not saving him by now, but Cooper’s reaction nearly killed me. He tucked me into his warm embrace, cradled my head against his broad chest, and whispered soothing, shushing noises into my ear. All I kept thinking as I inhaled his spicy freshness, was that I am the worst fraud in history. Okay, maybe that’s an exaggeration. I mean, I’m not a murderer or an embezzler or anything like that. But there’s no debating I’m a horrible friend who’d keep a life-changing secret just to spare herself the hurt of telling the truth.
So as penance, and since I can’t stand to be near him without crumbling under the crushing weight of my epic guilt, I’ve exiled myself to the beach with my art supplies. If nothing else, the meditative waves of St. Helena Island Sound will give me a chance to figure out how to tell him the truth.
In the meantime, I’m having trouble with his face. I’ve worked this sketch three times already, ripping the thick drawing paper from the pad and tossing the crumpled ball into the fine white sand every time Cooper’s features turn heavy and dark. I don’t want to draw Dark Cooper, the soulless being I imagine he’ll become when Sabina’s curse takes hold. I want to capture the light in his eyes, his bright energy, and that loose, easy smile of his. But the charcoal pencil has a mind of its own, carving deep creases around his mouth and across his forehead, and pinching his lids in an angry glare. This is not my Cooper, and he can’t stay in my sketchpad. I grab the page to tear it from the spiral binding.
“Emma Guthrie.”
My heart skips, and I yelp in surprise, then twist around to see Maggie looming over me, her bright red skirt billowing in the balmy sea breeze. Her flowery scent dances around my head.
I exhale a gust of relief. “You scared the crap out of me. I didn’t hear you come up.” Dang, how long has she been there? Was she snooping? I flip the cover on my pad, hoping she hasn’t seen this frightening version of Cooper. Because if she did, she’s going to think I’m a pretty horrid artist. Which, humbly, I am not.
She laughs. “You did not hear me because I meant to surprise you.” She settles herself, uninvited, on the sand next to me and smooths her crisp cotton skirt over her lap. Then she slips her leather sandals off and wiggles her bare toes. Of course, her feet are beautiful. Just like the rest of her. Sickening.
My lip curls, and an involuntary grunt leaps from my mouth. Oops, that wasn’t supposed to be out loud. I scramble for the words to cover it. “It’s not nice to surprise people like that. You could give them a heart attack.”
“True, but it is entertaining nonetheless.” She chuckles. “Besides, you are still young and have no need to worry about your mortality. At least not yet.” Maybe it’s just her strange Jamaican-British accent, or the formal cadence of her words, but she really sounds weird. I still haven’t figured out why she always calls me by my full name. And so is everything else about her, including her bizarre attraction to my brother.
“If you’re looking for Jack, he’s not here. He’s somewhere with Cooper. You should check our house, but they could be up at the Big House, too.”
She nods. “Oh, I know where he is. I check on him regularly and have been watching your progress.”
“Uh-huh. Well, then you know we haven’t gotten very far.”
“Nonsense. You have accomplished much in a short time. You will achieve much success with the Grannie, I am sure of it.” Her smile is dazzling.
Sure, now that we’ve met Miss Delia and knocked off a museum, maybe we’ll break The Creep before Jack’s bones dry up or he loses so much flesh he collapses dead in the street. Maybe. But there’s a new wrinkle that only Miss Delia and I know about. One we’re not sure we can iron out in time.
My brain throbs, reasserting the headache I’ve had for the last two days, ever since I lied to Cooper, and we left Miss Delia’s to recuperate and let the knife and mortar rest. I rub my eyes with my thumb and forefinger, then squeeze the bridge of my nose to get some temporary relief.
“What is wrong, Emma Guthrie?” Maggie’s voice is soft and sympathetic.
I watch the red and yellow sparks zoom behind my closed lids. Everything is wrong. Devastatingly, earth-shatteringly, horrendously wrong. But I couldn’t even tell Jack and Cooper the truth, why should I confide in her? It’s none of her business.
“Everything’s hunky-dory. Couldn’t be better, in fact.” I force a smile and hope it’s enough to shut her up so she’ll move on and leave me to get rid of Dark Cooper in peace.
“That is a lie.” She doesn’t even try to sound nice about it or turn it into a question. The ugly accusation hangs in the air, absolute and definitive. Her face is blank as she waits for me to fill the uncomfortable stillness. The only sound comes from the waves lapping at the shore and the osprey squawking overhead.
I feel like I’m locked in an interrogation room, under the relentless glare of a high-wattage spotlight. I set my jaw and stare, debating whether to tell her to go screw herself, or shove her down into the sand and run away. She hitches her brow and smiles, as if she’s daring me to do one or the other, or maybe both. My fingers clench, tightening into a fist around my charcoal pencil. I know which option would make me feel better.
She clears her throat. “Why don’t you try speaking the truth? Perhaps it will lead to the answers you seek.”
An exaggerated sigh escapes my throat. I glare out at the rolling waves. As if she knows anything about what I’m dealing with and can offer even the slightest bit of help. I don’t think so.
Her smile softens, and she nudges my arm with her elbow. “Please, Emma, I am just as interested in your success as you are. We both want the same result. Confide in me. Sometimes just talking about a problem helps reveal its solution.”
I don’t like being cajoled into doing anything, especially by her. I’m so angry, I’m ready to throw that punch, but something about her eyes catches me off guard. For the first time, there’s a depth and genuine sincerity to her gaze that makes me believe she might actually be worried about Jack. Maybe she really does care about
him. He’s definitely gaga over her. Who am I to judge their relationship, as peculiar and unfounded as it may be? She’s probably just scared for him, and my lying has only increased her worry.
I swallow hard. “Listen, I’m sure Jack’s going to be fine.” I bolster my voice with more certainty than I actually have to reassure her. “Miss Delia and I are working on it, and based on some of the…complications we’ve encountered”—I figure it’s best not to try and explain the devil dogs—“we’re getting there. So don’t worry. I’m not concerned about him.” It’s not entirely the truth, but it’s close.
She leans in. “But you are anxious about someone else.” Once again, it’s a statement. Can’t she at least pretend this is a real conversation where we tell each other things we don’t already know? Her head tilts, begging me to continue.
I stare, my lips pursed, debating whether to spill the beans. She certainly seems to care. Maybe I can confide in her, just a little bit. I don’t have to go into all the gory details. Plus it’s probably the only way to get her to stop staring at me.
I nod. “Yeah, I’m worried about Cooper.”
She pulls back in surprise. Finally, something she didn’t expect. Ha, victory is mine! Her perfect brow crinkles. “What could possibly trouble you about Cooper Beaumont?”
This is exactly what I was trying to avoid. I blow out my cheeks, wondering how far I want go with this. Normally I wouldn’t expect anyone to understand what hoodoo is or how curses work, much less to believe that all this stuff is real. But Maggie’s different. She was there at the beginning when we thought Jack only had a burn. Right away, she knew otherwise and sent us to Miss Delia. And she’s stuck with Jack even though he’s turning into a rotting, stinky pile of bones. But her believing me isn’t the problem. I’m just not sure I can trust her.
Her dark brown eyes bore into me, beckoning the words that are locked deep in my throat. She seems famished, desperate for any crumb of information I’m willing to toss her way. Which is weird, considering this has nothing to do with Jack, and until now, she’s barely seemed to notice Cooper exists. Her gaze deepens and grows so warm, so needy, it’s hard to remember why I didn’t want to tell her in the first place. Her eyes soften and turn down, overflowing with compassion and sympathy. My chest aches to see her so sad, especially since I’ve got the answer that will make her happy again. There’s no reason to keep it from her. I want to tell her.
