by Lea Nolan
I run my fingers through my damp hair. “But it’s not like that has an exact date either. How does the curse know when to attack?”
“I suppose it just knows. Come inside and towel yourself off. Then you can tell me why you rode over.” She wheels her chair back into the house, a definite sign she’s done debating this point.
Fine. But she hasn’t answered one thing: if the Beaumont Curse isn’t causing him to be aloof and spend time with Taneea, then what’s up? Potential answers pop into my mind, most having to do with Taneea’s see-through clothes and plentiful cleavage, but I force them from my brain. That’s not Cooper. But still, he’s acting strange. I’ve heard Miss Delia’s side, but this time I can’t agree. She’s got to be wrong about the Beaumont Curse.
Hopefully Cooper’s weirdness can wait a couple days. Claude Corbeau may not.
Wringing out the last drops of fluid from my shirt on the cracked porch, I follow her into the house and head straight to the bathroom to towel myself off. Taking advantage of the privacy, I flip open my bag and pull out my vial of tea, uncork the bottle, then throw my head back and hope for the best.
The muddy liquid is tangy and bitter, like a crushed aspirin tablet that dissolves on your tongue, only a thousand times more potent. I gag, then force down the entire bottle of putrid liquid that could probably peel the paint off Miss Delia’s front porch.
My pulse thrums as my blood charges through my veins. The pads of my fingers prickle as they awaken to sensation, registering every single cotton loop on the towel still in my grasp. Glancing down at the sea-green fabric, each thread is magnified and distinct, a separate entity apart from the whole. Dragging my eyes from the wondrous detail of this simple cloth, I peer into the mirror hanging on the wall. My pupils are dilated like saucers, leaving only a tiny sliver of space for my irises. Drawing a quick breath, the flowery scent of the hand soap on the counter fills my nostrils.
Holy cow. I feel strong. Invincible. Like I could get back on that bike and ride to High Point Bluff without so much as breaking a sweat. This tea is amazing.
Miss Delia’s in the kitchen, clanging pots she shouldn’t be moving in the first place. A few short strides later, I’m down the hall, through the living room, then burst through the swinging door, accidentally slamming the door against the kitchen wall.
Miss Delia startles and clutches her chest. “Lord, Emma, you nearly scared the life from me. I told you before not to sneak up on me.”
“Sorry.” Clamping my hand over my mouth, I gasp, shocked by my own strength. I’d only thought I’d tapped the door. Better reel it in. Otherwise she’ll know something’s up. “I’m just really anxious to tell you the latest with Claude. Yesterday, after the funeral—”
She lifts her hand. “Whoa. Slow down, girl. You’re moving faster than a hummingbird at a bee balm plant. Sit down. Take a breath.” She gestures to the stool next to the worktable.
Oops. I guess I’m not hiding it as well as I thought. Sucking a huge breath, I pace across the kitchen as slowly as I can, but my heart’s beating a conga in my chest, propelling me forward. Concentrating on each deliberate step, I finally reach the stool and ease myself down on its well-worn top.
Miss Delia leans toward me, squinting through her good eye. “You okay?”
I nod. “Yes. Just at little antsy.” My pulse throbs in my ears.
“Squirrelly is more like it.” Crossing her arms, she takes me in for a long moment. “Well, go on, what’s got you so excited?”
Taking my time, I tell her about my encounter with Claude outside Beau’s office and his not-so-veiled threats against her and basically everyone else I know.
She sucks her teeth. “That man’s got some mighty strong convictions, doesn’t he? Not to mention a strong dislike of me.”
“Yeah. Why do you think that is? He’s new around here. He can’t possibly know your history with hoodoo, can he? For all he knows you’re just some old lady in a wheelchair. No offense.”
She smiles. “None taken. I’ve been thinking about our Mr. Corbeau. There’s always a chance someone has shared my background, but I doubt any binyahs would tell such things to a comeyah,” she says, using the Gullah words for natives and newcomers to the island. “And he is most certainly not from Sa’leenuh. But he is quite slick and persuasive, manipulative, even. I suspect he thinks you kids know more than you’re telling, and figures if he threatens me, it’ll tug on your heart strings enough to get you to roll over.”
“There’s no way we’re going to do that. Ever.”
She cackles. “I know you won’t. But you won’t need to. ’Cause we’re going to cast the strongest Keep off the Law charm that’s ever been created and nip this business in the bud.” She points to her shelf. “Fetch me my spell book.”
Forgetting myself, I bolt across the kitchen, snap up the ledger, and set it on the table in front of her in about two seconds flat.
Setting her glasses on her nose, she peers over the frames. “Emma, if you don’t stop ricocheting around here like a jackrabbit, you’re going to give me a coronary.”
I bite my lip. “Sorry.”
“Okay, now, get me some devil’s dung and…” She leafs through her spell book, then stops, lingering over a page. Tilting her head, she asks, “Have you been using my spell book without my knowledge?”
“No. The last time I used it was when we made Cooper’s projection mojo. Why?”
She hitches a brow. “You sure? Maybe you decided to cast a few charms on the side?”
My heart throbs even harder. Does she know about my tea? I can’t see how that’s possible since it’s not listed in her book, and besides, it’s not technically a spell, just a drink made from ingredients that should increase my strength and energy. Really, when you think about it, aside from a lack of sweeteners and a handful of rare ingredients, it’s not all that different from those high-performance energy drinks sold in every convenience store in the country. “Um, no. Why?”
“Because I don’t recall mixing anything with Dyer’s Bugloss lately, but this page is smudged and there’s a dusting of powder in the crease.”
My stomach twists. I’d never, ever let anything get on her spell book. It’s too valuable and represents too much history. I charge across the room to the table, spin the book around, and scan the entry. Dyer’s bugloss, also known as alkanet, or anchusa, is a root bark used to make dye and is considered lucky in bringing good fortune in business and money matters. The page is marred with a bright red stain, as if someone wiped their thumb against the paper. I drag my index finger through the dark green powder that’s caked between the pages and then lift the dust to my nostrils. The scent of sweet, wild strawberries fills my nose. “I’ve never used this before.” I turn the book back in her direction.
“You know anybody who’s been gambling lately?”
“I don’t think so.”
“This is a green magic charm used to bring in all kinds of money. Legal and otherwise.” She lifts a nearby dishrag and brushes the remaining powder from the spine. “Normally I might be inclined to wonder if your brother had gotten in here trying to make himself a quick buck, but Jack’s taken a nice turn since he’s been cured, and I doubt he’d disrespect me that way. Besides, he couldn’t pull off this kind of spell on his own. It takes advanced knowledge of scripture and knowing how to smoke ingredients without burning them. The only two people in this house with that kind of expertise are you and me.”
I shake my head. “I swear. I haven’t broken my promise. I’d never share your secrets with anyone. Even Jack and Cooper.”
She pats my hand. “I know that.” Rubbing her chin she looks out the window into the backyard, slipping into her thoughts once again. Her brow furrows. “I don’t see how it’s possible,” she murmurs, barley above a whisper. Ordinarily I doubt I’d be able to make out her words, but my tea’s working overtime allowing me to hear every syllable. She sits in silence, mulling over something in her head.
“Miss
Delia?”
She turns toward me. “Yes?”
“Everything okay?”
She smiles, though it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Of course, Emma. We’ve got some Keep off the Law spells to cast, don’t we? And while we’re at it, I’m going to work a few protection charms of my own to make sure we cover all our bases. Let’s get to it.”
Like I’ve done a hundred times before, I follow Miss Delia’s directions and gather an armful of crocks and apothecary bottles from the shelves and deposit them on the worktable. As we work, the usual breeze kicks up, circling the house and rustling the surrounding trees. An occasional blast of wind blows through the house, rattling the doors and windows and bringing only temporary relief from the summer heat. What we need is a nice, big, fat thunderstorm to douse the parched garden and drop the temperature. But these spells aren’t strong enough to draw that kind of elemental energy.
A couple hours later, our supercharged, full-frontal offense is almost complete. Along with a couple new mojo bags for her, we’ve cast a few protective spells around the house and property. There’s just one last charm, and I’m grateful my energy tea is still in full effect. Perched on a stepladder, I hammer a line of eight nails into the threshold above her doorframe.
“Don’t bang them all the way,” she reminds me for the tenth time.
“I know.” I grunt as I pound the last nail, making sure it doesn’t go in too far.
“Now, set the penny between the first two nails and bend them,” she instructs, craning her neck to make sure I don’t do it wrong.
I set the first Indian Head penny, dated 1889, in the first open space. Keeping my finger on the copper coin, I carefully tap the head toward the left to fold it diagonally over the penny, then do the same with the nail on the right. When I’m done, the nails form a perfect “X” over the figure in the feather headdress. Three coins later, the task is complete, and if the spell works, we’ll have “X’d-out the Law” from Miss Delia’s house.
I lean back. “What do you think?”
She peers at the row of Indian Head pennies. “That’s good. The best we can do. Now we wait to see what Mr. Corbeau tries to do.”
An engine roars in the distance. An instant later, wheels screech and brakes wail. Glancing toward the road that leads to Miss Delia’s, I squint and listen as the engine revs again and a horn blares, heralding its arrival.
My jaw hangs wide. “Holy crap.”
Chapter Sixteen
Taneea is at the wheel of a hot-pink pickup truck with giant monster tires and matching pinwheel spinners that rotate counterclockwise. The truck chews up the road, spitting dirt, gravel, and rocks in all directions until she slams on the brakes a couple feet from Miss Delia’s white picket fence. She cuts the motor, then beeps the horn again as if we didn’t hear it the first time.
I climb down from my stepladder and gape at the cotton-candy monstrosity on the lawn, then steal a glance at Miss Delia. Her expression is hard and angry. And frankly, terrifying.
“What in the world is going on here?” Her voice resonates with fury.
I shake my head. “No clue.”
Another engine, this one familiar, rumbles nearby. A second later, Cooper’s beige station wagon glides around the bend in the road, driving considerably slower and more safely than the pickup did a few moments ago. He pulls up to the gate beside the truck. He’s not alone. Jack’s in the front passenger seat, his arms crossed and brows pinched. They exchange a few words before Jack climbs out, slams the door, and mutters to himself as he makes his way up the garden path. Cooper heads straight to the truck’s driver’s side and extends his hand to help Taneea clamber down from the giant vehicle.
Is she kidding? It’s not that high. If she can’t get out, she’s got no business driving it in the first place.
Stomping up the porch steps, Jack stands between me and Miss Delia. “I’m sorry, Em. He called me early this morning to go out on the boat. On our way there, she called wanting to go car shopping. The next thing I knew she was in the front seat and we were driving her to every dealer in Charleston.”
“Don’t worry. I get it.”
He shakes his head. “No, I don’t think you do.” His voice wavers with apprehension.
Taneea opens the door and extends her bare legs from the cab, setting her matching hot-pink espadrilles on the running board. Standing straight up, she slings her ugly purse over her shoulder and loses her balance, squealing as she totters into Cooper’s awaiting arms. Nestled securely in his sturdy biceps, she throws her head back and erupts in peals of laughter. The sound is like the tinkling of a thousand tiny shards of glass.
Supersonic rage ignites in my gut and then explodes through my body. My fists clench, toes curl, and cheeks burn as my vision literally flashes red. I tremble, straining to contain the deep scream that’s working its way up my throat. Jack doesn’t need his twin sense to know I’m about to blow.
He grabs hold of my arms, boring into my eyes. “Don’t give her the satisfaction.”
Somehow the cool blue of his eyes penetrates the lava swirling through my mind. I take a breath and realize it’s the first I’ve drawn since she fell out of the cab. Jack’s right. I can’t go crazy in front of her. Later, when I’m alone with Cooper, most definitely. But not now. It will only make her feel like she’s won. Dragging a few deep breaths into my aching lungs, I work to screw my lips into a smile and watch as Cooper sets her on the ground, steadying her once again because evidently she can’t take a step without falling. Which of course is another load of crap designed to make her look weak and defenseless and in need of Cooper’s aid. Pathetic.
Giggling, she adjusts her black corset top and miniskirt, then waves. “Hey, did you see my new truck?”
“How could we miss it?” The astronauts can probably see it from the space station.
Miss Delia’s nostrils flare. She’s rounded the bend past irate, and is now at full-on seething.
Cooper and Taneea finally make their way up the porch.
“So what do you think?” Taneea asks.
“I think you’re going to call whoever let you borrow that eyesore and tell them to get it off my property.”
She scoffs. “I didn’t borrow it, Great-gran. It’s mine.”
“Really? And how’d you manage that?” Miss Delia asks.
“I just picked it up at the dealer. Cooper helped me choose the color. I couldn’t decide between this or a black one with pink running stripes.”
He smiles. “I figure if you’re going to get a truck like that, you might as well go all out.”
“Is that so?” I plant my hands on my hips.
He nods. “Yeah.” His eyes are nearly colorless, a frosty gray that reminds me of ice. And from the oblivious grin on his face, he doesn’t seem to have the faintest clue of why I might be upset.
My jaw drops as I stare at him, transfixed by the strange hue of his irises. His eyes have always appeared to change shades, but I’ve never seen this one, ever. It’s cold. Lifeless. Perhaps even soulless. A chill ripples through me. Is this proof that the Beaumont Curse has begun to set in?
Cooper turns his attention back to Taneea, as if I’m not even here.
I glance at Jack who looks equally perplexed. He leans over and whispers, “I don’t know what to tell you. He’s been like this all day.”
Miss Delia tilts her head. “How’d you buy the truck, Taneea?”
Jutting her jaw, she meets her great-grandmother’s gaze. “With money.”
Narrowing her lid over her good eye, she points her gnarled index finger at Taneea. “Where did you get the money?”
A stiff breeze whips around the front yard, shaking the bottle tree. The branches bend and sway, causing the bottles to swing farther then I’ve ever seen. A few slam together, smashing on contact, their broken pieces crash to the ground. A fat crow squawks, then zooms off one of the low-lying branches, nearly grazing the porch roof on its escape.
Taneea’s shoulders te
nse as she spins to look at the front yard. “What just happened?”
“The beginning of something far worse if you don’t start talking,” Miss Delia answers.
I gulp. I didn’t know Miss Delia could control the elements with her mind. I thought the weather stuff was just a side effect of doing magic, not a part of it. Jeez, every time I think I understand hoodoo, I realize I don’t know the half of it.
Taneea shakes her head as a nervous laugh escapes her lips. “You’re bluffing. You can’t make the wind blow.”
“Oh no?” Miss Delia looks out onto the lawn and turns her eyes skyward. Thunder booms above the bottle tree.
My heart jolts. I clutch my chest but stay rooted in place while Cooper steps back and grabs the porch railing.
“I’m out of here.” Jack throws open the porch door and races into the living room.
Taneea cowers, inching backward.
“You going to answer me?” Miss Delia levels her gaze at her great-granddaughter.
“I don’t have to tell you. All that matters is it’s mine.” Taneea tugs her purse straps over her shoulder. The alligator-foot key fob dangles from the chain connected to the purse.
Miss Delia’s eyes bulge. “An alligator foot! You’ve been gambling. And you dipped into my spell book to do it.”
So that explains the powder caked in the spine.
Taneea lifts her chin. “So?”
Miss Delia flicks the joystick on her wheelchair and zooms close. “So? Do you think I don’t know where you’ve been playing cards and dice? Backroom clubs and other secret places filled with shady characters. Not to mention, tricking hard-working folk out of their money.”
“Please, most of the dupes are rich tourists who come down from Hilton Head looking for some action.”
“You don’t know what you’re playing with, girl. Forces you couldn’t possibly understand.”
Taneea stands her ground. “And whose fault is that? You won’t teach me.”
“This is my house. I alone choose to whom I’ll pass my mantle.”
