Allure tha-2

by Lea Nolan

  “I wonder who that informant might be?” I stare her down as my fists clench.

  He shrugs. “They’re confidential for a reason.”

  Right. So they can spin their lies in private. “And has your informant helped you find any stolen artifacts? A master plan written out on the back of an envelope? How about blueprints with the layout of the museum?”

  Claude chuckles and turns to Sheriff Walker. “The children must watch a lot of television crime shows.”

  The sheriff laughs. “I’m surprised she didn’t ask if we discovered any DNA.”

  “Did you?” Jack asks, only half-sarcastically.

  Sheriff Walker’s smile falls. “No, but we didn’t need any of those things, because she hasn’t been charged with those crimes. Yet.”

  Cooper, Jack, and I exchange looks.

  “Then why did they take her away in handcuffs?” Cooper asks.

  “Our informant gave us a tip that Miss Delia’s a conjurer who dispenses medicines in the form of potions, oils, and gris-gris bags. It’s illegal to practice medicine in South Carolina without a license. She’s looking at up to a thousand dollars and two years of jail time for each offense.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Jack says.

  “No, it’s the law. If y’all really care about her, I suggest you find her a good lawyer. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to get back down to the station.” Sheriff Walker brushes past us to get to his car. Within seconds, he’s gone.

  Taneea approaches the gate. Claude’s smile stretches wider than normal. “Ah, Taneea. Our work here is done. I trust you’ll be returning with me to the museum? We’ve got to update the board on our activities.”

  Ignoring him, she keeps her eyes trained on Cooper. “I’ve been calling you all morning.” The words snap like the lash of a whip.

  “I know,” he says.

  “Why haven’t you picked up? And why aren’t you wearing your new clothes? Or your necklace?”

  “Because they’re heinous.” Jack snickers.

  “I’ll handle this, bro.” Cooper steps to the gate, meeting her face-to-face. “It’s over.” His voice is as deep as a well. Though his face looks perfectly calm, his body radiates anger.

  She laughs. “That’s not how this works. I’ll tell you when it’s over.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong. We found your doll. I’m done being your robot.”

  Taneea’s jaw drops and her lids stretch wide. “What—”

  Claude interjects, clasping Taneea’s shoulder. “It’s time to go. You two can work out this squabble later.”

  Jerking out from under Claude’s grasp, she plasters a big fake smile across her face. “Doll? I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re my Cooper Scooper, not my robot.” A nervous giggle escapes her lips as she reaches to brush a golden curl off his forehead.

  Jack and I exchange looks. Cooper Scooper? Seriously?

  Cooper steps aside. “Like I said. It’s over. Your power is gone.”

  She gawks at Claude, mystified. “But it was supposed to be unbreakable.”

  He bores into her with his stare. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about. You best learn to still that tongue of yours lest you insult those around you. We’re due back at the museum. I expect to see you there shortly.” He stomps to the Lincoln without so much as a good-bye, clearly miffed that she tried to drag him into this. But it doesn’t matter because we already knew he was involved. After roaring his engine to life, he throws the transmission in reverse, and peels out of Miss Delia’s yard.

  Straightening her shoulders, Taneea strolls toward us.

  Cooper crosses his arms. “Don’t ever try it again. If you do, Jack, Emma, and I will crush you in ways you never thought possible.”

  Defiant, she stares him down. “Sure. Whatever you say.”

  “And I want my mother’s locket back. Now. It was never intended for you.” He extends his palm.

  Her eyes turn down and her bottom lip quivers ever so slightly as she lifts her arms to unclasp the chain. “Fine. I wouldn’t want to keep a piece of junk like this anyway. I was just wearing it out of pity.” She slaps it in his hand.

  She takes a few steps but then pulls up short. “Oh, Emma, I almost forgot. I’ve got something for you, too. Obviously I don’t need it anymore.” She digs her hand into her purse and tosses something small at me.

  It’s a tube of her stinky hand cream. Gross. “No thanks. I don’t like the smell.”

  “That’s because you’re not a guy. Trust me, rub a little of that into your hands and he’ll do whatever you want. Worked like a charm for me.” She spins on her heels and strides toward her truck.

  Of course. Why hadn’t I realized it earlier? That lotion of hers was just another coercion charm. I drop the tube on the ground. As far as I’m concerned it’s as toxic as poison.

  Desperate for understanding, I charge after her. “Why did you do it?”

  She climbs on the running board and tosses me a hateful scowl. “You’re so perfect, it makes me sick.”

  Whoa. That’s the last thing I expected. Despite how screwed up she is, and how horrible the allurement was, I laugh. “Obviously, you don’t know the first thing about me.”

  “Really? Look at you. Smart. Pretty. You’ve got my great-gran wrapped around your skinny little finger, your brother’s sort of cool, and you’ve got Cooper. I don’t think it’s fair that anyone should get everything they want. Plus, it was sort of my duty. Cooper’s superhot. Way too hot for you.” She opens the door and climbs into the cab.

  “That’s so warped.”

  She shrugs. “Maybe. But it was still worth it. He and I had a lot of fun together.”

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Jack, Cooper, and I race back to High Point Bluff to carry out Miss Delia’s instructions. I’ve got a Psychic Vision to pull off. With any luck, the mortar will have rested enough and it’ll show us what we need to prove that Claude was involved in Missy’s death. And maybe even that he’s a boo hag.

  After I take a purifying bath and brew a fresh batch of Psychic Vision tea, we pull up to the cemetery and then trudge down the now-familiar path through the kudzu-infested landscape, making our way to the crypt where Jack and Cooper stored the supplies to work the spell.

  The crypt air is cool and smells kind of musty like my grandmother’s old basement. One of the side walls is lined with sealed cement vaults that contain the caskets of several of Cooper’s distant relatives. There’s a low bench on the opposite side of the room. I wipe it off as best I can, then pull out my supplies and arrange them on top.

  Jack hovers in the crypt’s doorway, blocking some of the streaming late-afternoon light. Cooper’s right behind him. “Em, is it okay if we watch this time? Coop and I never got to see the visions that helped you figure out The Creep. We think they’re really cool.”

  I have to think about that for a second because I don’t want to break any of Miss Delia’s rules. After the energy-tea debacle, I’m pretty much done coloring outside her lines. So long as I don’t reveal any secrets about how to conduct the spell or its ingredients, I think it’ll be okay. There’s more than enough Psychic Vision tea to share.

  “Um, sure. But just so you know, you have to listen to everything I say. Because if we mess up, we’re going to have to wait another three days.” Which we don’t have, considering the boo hag is likely to strike again before Cooper turns sixteen at midnight.

  Jack smiles. “Got it. No problem.”

  But then another thing occurs to me. “You know what, on second thought, you might not want to watch.”

  “Why?” Cooper asks.

  “The spell pulls the last memory of whatever object is being used. Since the dagger was covered in boo-hag blood, I’m guessing it’s going to show us the last few minutes of Missy’s life. I know we didn’t love her, but she was still a person. And if her passing was painful, it’ll be difficult to see.”

  Cooper nods as his shou
lders droop. “I see what you mean. Except, if the boo hag was there, shouldn’t I see what it’s capable of? Since, you know, it’s coming after me next.”

  “He’s got a point. Maybe the vision will give us a clue how to fight it, or at least how to stop it from possessing Coop,” Jack says.

  They’re both right. We’ve got to watch, no matter how bad it is. I nod. “Okay, but no puking in the mortar.”

  Jack salutes me. “Yes, ma’am.”

  A few minutes later, we’re sitting cross-legged on the crypt floor around the ancestors’ mortar. When the charcoal chips are ready, I layer the herbs and roots on the burning coals as I’ve done so many times before. To my relief, the wind whips up outside, blowing through the leaves on the live oaks. A cool burst of air sweeps through the crypt.

  I pull the thermos from my messenger bag and pour enough to fill up the cup and pass it to Cooper. “Now for the hardest part. This stuff tastes nasty, but you’ve got to drink it down in one gulp. No cheating. Otherwise it won’t work. Oh, and another thing. The vision will start as soon as we’ve all had a drink so keep your eyes open and alert and don’t let go of the knife until the vision fades.”

  He takes a deep breath and chugs. Gagging a couple times, he clamps his lips tight and forces it down.

  Jack’s face is filled with horror. “Is it really that bad, dude?”

  Cooper nods.

  I pour a refill and hand Jack the cup. “Drink.”

  Pinching his nose, he tilts back his head and guzzles. He shudders as the reddish-brown liquid slides down this throat. Then belches a sour-cherry and burned-spinach-flavored burp.

  “Gross.” The scent is so strong, I nearly taste it myself.

  Cooper laughs, but it’s high-pitched and kind of woozy so he must be starting to feel the effects of the tea.

  It’s my turn. As usual, it’s terrible, but it’s nothing compared to my vile energy tea.

  The sky darkens and thunder rumbles in the distance.

  I grasp the hilt of the pirate’s dagger and direct Jack and Cooper to each grab hold of some part of the metal.

  A wave of fatigue hits me as the spell begins to take hold. The sensation feels good. It proves I’m doing hoodoo the right way, allowing the spell to drain my energy, without taking any shortcuts. The knife suddenly feels like it weighs ten pounds.

  The spell incantation slips from my lips.

  “Smoke and mist reveal the past

  And how this object was used last.

  Reveal the truth about Missy’s death,

  And whether the boo hag stole her last breath.”

  Another clash of thunder booms, this time much closer. Cooper and Jack jump.

  “Ignore it. Keep your eyes on the smoke,” I whisper.

  Rain patters on the roof and ground outside the crypt.

  I open my eyes and breathe a sigh of relief. The mortar is working. The incense thickens and condenses, creating the magical movie screen for the vision. A bright light flickers in the middle of the gray haze and images sputter on the illuminated canvas. My head sways. I fix my eyes on the vision as the pictures speed up and come into focus, revealing the master bedroom at High Point Bluff. Missy’s wearing her pink nightie and is seated at her vanity table, madly smacking a brush at her rat’s nest of frayed blond hair. She’s laughing and mumbling to herself as she stares at her mirror.

  The vision zooms in on her, as if we’re standing next to her shoulder. She cackles as the brush snags on a tangle. “Little brat will finally get his. Everyone thought I was crazy to keep searching, but I showed them. I knew I’d find something if I looked hard enough!” Though the back of her hair is still a matted mess, she slams the brush down and picks up a pot of sky-blue eye shadow. Leaning toward the mirror, she smears it on with the tip of her index finger and then applies some blush with an extra-heavy hand. “You, Missy Tiffany Cartier Beaumont, have bought your ticket to the big time. That nasty old goat can’t last too much longer, and with the brat in jail, you’ll get everything!” She throws her head back and laughs, then grabs a tube of bright red lipstick and slathers it around her mouth. “Now you just have to convince the goat to call the cops. Which shouldn’t be too hard.” She squirts perfume on her cleavage and winks at herself.

  Beau lumbers into the room, leaning heavily on his cane. “Missy!” he growls.

  “Dad?” Cooper says.

  “Where’s Claude?” Jack asks.

  The vision loses focus and begins to flicker.

  “Shh, you’ll ruin it,” I snap.

  The guys hunker down and direct their attention to the vision. The movie picks up pace and the images brighten.

  Missy rises from her vanity. “Beau, sugar!” Her mouth is twisted in a big, red, garish smile. “I’m surprised to see you upstairs.” She baby steps across the carpet in her stilettos. “After our little tiff, I thought you were going to punish me by sleeping in your study again. I was fixing to come down and surprise you with a little midnight snack.”

  Beau doesn’t look amused or grateful. “I thought I made my position on your incessant destruction perfectly clear.” His jowls jiggle with each word.

  She reaches her hand to stroke his massive chest. “You did, baby, but what’s the expression? Nothing searched for, nothing found?” She bats her lashes.

  His eyes narrow. “That’s not it.”

  She shrugs. “Oh. Who cares anyway? The point is—”

  “The point is, you’ve wrecked my son’s room.”

  Her shoulders slump and her lips pucker in a cherry-red pout. “How else am I supposed to find that goll-darn ruby necklace?”

  His nostrils flare and his pasty gray skin flushes pink. “I fail to see what that has to do with Cooper. Your thieving friends weren’t on the second floor the night of the party.”

  She pats his chest. “Now, sweetie, don’t get yourself upset. You know how poorly your circulation is. You’re liable to have a coronary. And you know I’d be plum lost without you. Besides, I’m sure my friends didn’t take your ruby.” A smile crosses her lips.

  He totters on his cane. “I must have that necklace. Why hasn’t Corbeau identified the thieves yet?” Beau starts to sway. Missy plants her arms against his chest to steady him, but she’s far too small to keep him upright. Instead, she uses his momentum to push him toward the sitting room area at the far side of the bed. Heaving for air, Beau plops his massive girth in the love seat. His face turns alabaster and his lips are an almost purply-black hue. Gasping, he points to the small console table by the wall. “Scotch!” His voice ripples with mucus.

  She scampers to pour him an extra large tumbler. “Here you go, baby. Drink up!” She tips the crystal glass to his lips and he swills it down.

  Within seconds, his skin returns to its normal pasty gray.

  She smiles as she saunters to the bureau opposite the bed. “There, there. Now, I don’t want to upset you, but there’s something you need to see. I was going to bring it to you later, but now’s just as good.” She slides open the drawer and slips her hand under a cashmere sweater. Spinning around, she thrusts the pirate’s dagger at Beau.

  He perks up, launching himself forward on the love seat. “That was stolen from the King Center.”

  “I know. Yet I found it here at High Point Bluff.” She walks toward him, but rather than using her normal, cutesy-baby shuffle, she takes several long, determined strides to the love seat.

  He quirks his head. “I don’t understand.”

  “Your son stole it.”

  His wide brow creases. “Impossible.”

  The blade shines, reflecting the light in the corner of the bedroom.

  “It was hidden in his bookshelf. One of those fancy textbooks of his is really a secret compartment, probably uses it to hide drugs or something.” Knife in hand, she flicks her wrist and stabs the air with each word. “I thought he’d been acting squirrely, being helpful when he was really trying to see if I found his stash. Well, sonny-boy has met his match.
It’s just a matter of time before I find that other rock-thing that was stolen… What’s it called? A mortal?”

  “Mortar.” Beau deadpans.

  Her lips curl. “What?”

  “The other artifact that was stolen. It’s a mortar. Not a mortal.”

  She shrugs. “Whatever, it doesn’t matter, because when we get Mr. Corbeau and the sheriff involved they’re going to cart Cooper and his freaky little friends off to jail. I wouldn’t blame you if you disinherited him tomorrow.”

  With a grunt, Beau hoists himself off the sofa. “Oh, but it matters a great deal. You see a mortal is a living human being who is subject to death. A mortar, on the other hand, is used to grind spices.” Leaning hard against his cane, he advances toward her, then lifts the dagger from her hand and sets it down on the console with the scotch decanter.

  “Okay, I’ll be sure to use the right word when I call the sheriff.”

  He shakes his head, waggling his jowls. “You won’t be doing that.”

  “Why?”

  He steps toward her. “Because I have plans for Cooper and his friends. Crucial, long-range plans that require his utmost freedom and access to his inheritance. He will not be arrested, nor will he serve even a minute’s worth of jail time. Nor will Emma and Jack. You see, Emma and Cooper are to be married, and Jack will, as every Guthrie before him, become Cooper’s faithful servant.”

  She inches backward. “But he stole from the museum.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “He probably took your ruby.”

  “That, I care about. But if he does in fact have it, my problems will cease to be problems. All will be well and our future will be secure.”

  “Huh?”

  He snickers. “You are pretty, but you are so stupid.”

  “No I’m not. I’m the one who figured out who the burglars are.”

  “And I sincerely thank you for that because now I can rest comfortably knowing that I need only to make it to Cooper’s birthday and then all my plans will come to fruition, just as they have for nearly three hundred years.”