by Lea Nolan
I lean toward Cooper. “Please don’t.” But it comes out in a hushed whisper as shivers—definitely not the good kind—shoot up the back of my neck.
His gaze meets mine. He knows I’m right. I can see it in his jade-green eyes. He places his hands on the edge of the pit to boost himself out.
Cool relief spreads through my chest. Now that Cooper’s given up, maybe Jack will, too.
“I’ve never asked you for anything, Cooper,” Jack says. “I’m your best friend, the closest thing you have to a brother. Help me with this.”
Cooper squeezes his eyes shut, and his lips form a tight line. He doesn’t have to look at me or say a word. I know I’ve lost the battle. He looks up at me and mouths the word “sorry” before turning around and picking up the shovel he’d tossed to the ground.
Together they slide the shovel blades into the crease between the top slab and the tabby box.
“On my count, we lift on three, okay?” Jack asks.
Cooper nods. “Got it.”
Jack draws a deep breath. “One, two, three.”
They press hard on the shovels, biceps flexing and veins straining, forcing the blades farther into the crease. The muscles in Jack’s neck strain, pulling like thick cords, contorting his throat into a rectangle, while Cooper’s face flushes crimson, and the skin at his temples throbs.
My stomach clenches, and my chest constricts. No matter what Jack thinks, deep down in my bones, I know this is wrong.
The slab grinds against the tabby box, wiggling back and forth until a loud crack cuts the silence, popping the slab off the top and propelling Jack and Cooper to the ground.
A howl, long and mournful, bellows in the forest surrounding the ruins.
An electric jolt shoots up my spine. I gasp. “Did you hear that?”
Jack pumps his fist and erupts in giddy laughter. “We did it!”
Cooper stands, shaking out his arms. “Heck, yes. There better be something in there to make it worth our while.”
Caught up in their excitement, they don’t answer me. Either they didn’t hear the sound, or they’re ignoring me. “Hello? Am I talking to myself?” I scan the woods for the source of the sound. Nothing’s there. I whip back around to the pit.
Jack crawls over to the tabby box. He peeks in, then turns to Cooper, an almost maniacal smile on his face. “It’s not empty.” Reaching in, his eyes glaze over as he pulls out a carved wooden box about the size of a large loaf of bread.
Goose bumps rush over my arms and legs.
Cooper’s jaw hangs open. “I can’t believe it.”
Jack tucks the box into his chest and runs his fingers over the carving. “You guys doubted me, but I knew it was here all along. Look, it was Bloody Bill’s.” He holds the ornate box up just long enough for me to see the words “The Dagger” engraved over an etching of a three-mast ship. A black iron latch connects to a metal plate with a keyhole. Jack strokes the box like a lapdog. “I found you, treasure, and now you’re mine,” he murmurs, sounding an awful lot like Gollum.
“What do you suppose is in it?” Cooper asks.
Jack sets the wooden box on the edge of the tabby one. “Let’s see.” He flips the lid with his thumb and reaches for the top.
The nausea roars back, flooding over me like a tidal wave. My stomach seizes as if clamped by a giant vise. I grab my sides and double over in pain. “Don’t!”
He cracks the lid and screams as a flash of fire explodes in his hand.
CHAPTER THREE
Yelping, Jack drops to the ground and curls into a ball, cradling his body around his arm. The acrid scents of sulfur and charred flesh fill the clearing.
“Jack!” I jump into the pit while Cooper lunges toward him.
Jack shrieks and grinds his head against the packed dirt floor.
“Are you all right? Answer me.” Cooper’s voice is tight and strained as he reaches for Jack’s back. Jack screeches again. Cooper’s face turns ashen and slack.
Oh, my God. Jack’s hand. Could it have blown off? It’s the only way to explain his reaction. My eyes dart around the pit, but I don’t see blood anywhere.
Jack babbles and rocks as Cooper crouches over him, offering words of reassurance.
My stomach drops as I gape at my still-screaming brother, and I try to keep my voice calm. “Jack, I need to see your hand.”
Cooper steps aside to let me get close, his eyes wide with fear.
“No!” Jack tucks his legs closer to his midsection.
“Jack, please.” I squat next to him and place my hand on his shoulder, bracing for the metallic scent of his blood. But there’s only the rich smell of musty earth and sweat.
I examine his abdomen, expecting his T-shirt to be covered in slick red-black liquid, but there’s only a thick smear of dirt. I blink, trying to make sense of it.
Jack falls over onto his side, his arms tucked against his chest, and writhes in pain. His face is maraschino red and swollen from all the screaming, but at least I can see his hands. They’re clenched into fists. And clearly still attached. There’s no blood. Not one drop.
Goose bumps rush up my arms. What the heck’s going on? I stand and step back, unsure of what to do next.
Cooper steps toward Jack and grasps his shoulders. “Bro, get a hold of yourself.” His voice is loud and firm.
Jack shakes his head and rolls over onto his other side, turning his back to us. He’s still screaming, but now that he’s facing the dirt wall, his cries are muffled.
“What’s wrong with him?” Cooper shouts.
I hunch my shoulders and search his panicked jade eyes. “I have no idea. But we can’t stay here. We’ve got to get him home.”
My nose burns as a putrid scent wafts across the clearing. It’s bitter and rotten, threatening to choke off my throat. And then as quickly as it appeared, it’s gone.
Cooper grips his shoulder. “Can you stand, bro?” Jack wails and shakes his head. Cooper sighs. “We’ll have to lift him out of here. But what do you want to do about that?” He points toward the wooden box that slammed back into the tabby vault with the explosion.
A high-pitched yowl echoes in the distance. It’s almost…happy, like a wolf baying at the moon.
A chill zips up my spine. I spin around to face the woods. “What is that?”
Over my shoulder, Cooper calls, “What’s what?”
“That sound, some kind of howl.” I rub my arms, which have gone cold and prickly.
“The only hollering I hear is coming from your brother.”
The forest is quiet and empty. I don’t even see any birds. Jack screeches again. I turn to watch him roll up on his knees again and tuck into a ball. We’d better get out of here quick.
But first we’ve got to take care of the so-called treasure. Afraid to get too close, I crane my neck toward the tabby vault to see inside. The wooden box is intact and somehow, despite the explosion, isn’t burned. My stomach churns. This is too weird.
“I don’t want anything to do with it.”
“Me, neither,” Cooper says. “It’s probably a booby trap. For all we know, it could explode again. But we can’t leave it like that. It’s not safe. We’ve got to cover it.”
We each take an end of the tabby lid and groan as we lift it off the ground. It’s heavy and brittle. The concrete crumbles under my fingers as we set it in place.
Jack’s wailing quiets, his stomach shuddering with each hitched sob.
“Okay, bro, think you can you stand now?” Cooper asks. Jack whimpers and shakes his head. Cooper sighs and turns to me. “If you help me get him out of the pit, I think I can carry him to the golf cart.”
I haven’t tried to lift my brother in five years. He might be tall and lanky, but he’s no lightweight. We roll him onto his side, and I grab his legs while Cooper gets his shoulders. The first couple feet aren’t too bad, but pushing his midsection out of the hole isn’t easy, especially since Jack’s shaking and so freaking heavy. But after tugging and p
ulling, we finally manage to roll him over the lip.
Hoisting ourselves out, we try to pry him off the ground. This time I reach for his hands, which are still balled into fists.
Jack clutches my fingers with his left hand, clawing into my skin, and stares into my eyes, almost boring a hole straight to my brain. His face is drawn, and fear etches his brow. “It hurts, Em. It really, really hurts,” he manages. He’s a total mess, eyes swollen and bloodshot, face muddied from all the tears. Dirt and snot run out of his nose.
My stomach twists. I’ve never seen him so bad. Even though he’s five minutes younger than me, he’s always been my bossy big brother. But now he’s lying crippled in the dirt, unable to drag himself to the cart.
I swallow hard, forcing back the lump in my throat. “I know, Jack. We’ll take care of you. I promise.” I reach for his right hand, the one he used to unhook the latch, and turn his fingers over in my palm to examine the tender flesh.
A nasty, puckered welt slices across his four fingers.
That’s it? I expected it to be blistered and oozing. Or worse. All I see are a few swollen red marks.
Cooper examines Jack’s hand and quirks his brow. “That’s pretty ugly, bro, but I’m betting you’ll live.” He chuckles. “And I think you can walk to the cart by yourself.”
Jack bites his lip and swallows hard as he rolls onto his side to push himself up. As soon as he places his hand on the ground, he howls and flops onto his back. Tears flood from his eyes, cutting fresh rivulets through his dirt-caked face. Cooper and I exchange confused glances. Jack’s carrying on as if he’s dying. Can it really be this bad?
Cooper stares at Jack, whose shoulders quake with each new round of sobs, and drags his fingers through his hair. “We’re going to have to carry him.”
At first we try to split Jack’s weight, with me at his legs and Cooper taking his arms, but with all Jack’s convulsing, it’s nearly impossible. Finally, Cooper slings him over his shoulder and carries him fireman-style to the cart.
It’s a miracle Dad isn’t there when we get back to the house. Normally he’s slouched on the couch with a beer, watching the six o’clock local news, but the driveway’s empty and the house is quiet, even though it’s eight o’clock. I’m just glad we don’t have to explain to him what happened. Because we couldn’t even if we tried.
Knowing how much of a neat freak my dad is, Cooper throws Jack, clothes and all, into the shower. While they’re busy upstairs in the bathroom, I race to my room to change my clothes, then sprint to the kitchen sink and scrub with the dishwashing liquid. Cooper and I don’t get many chances to be alone, and I’m not spending this one filthy.
Just as I’m blotting my face with a dishtowel, Cooper plods down the stairs, stretching his neck and rubbing his shoulder with a freshly rinsed hand. Judging by his soaked head and T-shirt, which, by the way, clings at just the right places, he must have taken a dunk, too. “Well, he’s in bed and clean enough not to wreck the sheets. I figure he’ll sleep it off.”
Distracting myself from the way he rakes his fingers through his golden-brown hair, I attempt to focus. “Hey, our Internet’s down. Do you mind if we go over to your house to use yours? I want to research how to take care of a burn.” Accidentally on purpose I neglect to mention that, as the caretaker of High Point Bluff Plantation, my dad’s got a fully stocked first-aid kit, and I know how to use every ointment in it.
He smiles. “Of course. Let’s go.” He takes the dishcloth from my hands and tosses it on the counter.
A few minutes later, we park the golf cart and plug it in to recharge its battery, then sneak up the steps of the Big House, creak open the shiny double doors, and try to make a stealthy getaway to Cooper’s room. As we’re ascending the stairs, his dad, Beau, stops us in our tracks.
“Cooper? Is that you?” he calls from down the hall, his southern accent as thick and goopy as maple syrup.
“Uh, yeah, Dad. Emma’s with me.”
“Emma? Well, come on in and set awhile.”
Cooper grunts as we backtrack and head through the grand foyer to the library.
Beau and Missy, his very blonde and very young fourth wife, lounge on the two oversized red silk sofas that somehow look small in the enormous oak-paneled room. Beau’s chewing on an unlit cigar, reading a business newspaper, and she’s leafing through a gossip magazine, cracking her gum.
Even though he’s the same age as my dad, Beau strains to push himself off the couch to stand. “Emma! It’s always a pleasure to see you, darling.” His jowls shake with every syllable, and a faint whiff of something rotten wafts through the air. It’s pungent, sort of like cold cuts that have been in the refrigerator too long. Even though it’s always the same, the smell still takes me by surprise. He gestures toward an empty club chair next to the sofa.
Keeping my eyes down and my breath shallow, I sink into the plush leather. I’ve always hated this room because of the creepy portrait of Lady Rose Beaumont, the original mistress of High Point Bluff, mounted above the fireplace. I’m sure she was considered beautiful a few hundred years ago, but today that high, bald forehead and gray-white skin are just plain scary. And worse, no matter where you go, her bug eyes follow you. Nothing made of paint and canvas should be able to do that.
Missy peers over her magazine. “Hey, Emily.” She chews her gum in a slow circle.
Cooper stares hard as he leans against the arm of my chair. “It’s Emma.”
I resist the urge to lean over and hug him.
“Oh, that’s right.” Missy shrugs. “Sorry. Any idea where your daddy is, Emma? I sent him on an errand to Charleston this afternoon and I haven’t seen him since.”
I shake my head. “No clue.” Not that I’d tell her if I did.
She sighs. “I hope he isn’t wasting my time. There’s plenty of stuff for him to do around here.”
I force a smile as I swallow my response. My dad’s been High Point Bluff’s caretaker for eight years, ever since he and Mom divorced and he moved south from D.C. He doesn’t need a twenty-two-year-old new plantation mistress to tell him how to do his job. As much as I’d like to tell her off, I don’t because Dad doesn’t need any trouble.
Beau plops down on the cushion, shaking the sofa with his girth. “Now, Missy, you don’t have to worry about ole Jedidiah. We were boys together, just like our daddies, and their daddies before them. He’s practically family. Besides, you can’t run him off. He’s the only decent help I can find.” He swigs some scotch from a glass on the side table. “So, Cooper.” He chuckles and eyes his son’s mud-stained shirt. “What have you kids been up to?”
Cooper shoots me a sideways look before answering. “Oh, nothing much.” His voice shakes.
Beau leans forward. “See to it you don’t get into any trouble.” His gaze then shifts over to Missy as he grinds the soggy cigar between his yellow teeth. “Doesn’t that necklace look spectacular around her pretty little neck?” he asks nobody in particular and gestures to the giant ruby pendant every Mrs. Beaumont has worn since Lady Rose.
It’s mounted like an enormous red camellia blossom, surrounded by thick, pointy gold leaves. It’s even in Lady Rose’s spooky portrait, but back then, it hung low on her chest on a thick gold strand that appeared more like a bicycle chain than a piece of jewelry.
“It’s beautiful.” I can’t help wonder why she’s wearing it with cutoffs and a tank top.
Beau sucks his teeth. “Eighty carats of pure fire.”
Missy strokes the ruby’s face. “It sure is.”
“Enjoy it while you can, baby, because thanks to my trusty prenup, that bloom’s basically a loaner.” Beau turns to Cooper, who’s grinding his teeth. “And one day it’ll be yours, son, to lend to whichever little filly, or fillies, you decide to harness.”
Cooper nods stiffly.
Missy glances at Cooper, her eyes narrowed and jaw set, then releases the ruby, slapping it against the hollow at the base of her throat. “Well, I’m bored.” Sh
e gets up, stretches her arms up over her head, and yawns, then baby steps over to Beau in her stilettos. Leaning down, dangling the ruby in his face for a moment, she drapes her arms around his neck.
How can she be that close and not gag? Either she’s madly in love, or her nose doesn’t work.
Missy nuzzles his ear. “I’m going out to the hot tub. You coming?”
“In a minute.”
She kisses his flaky bald patch. “Don’t make me wait.” She sashays to the door, swaying her hips with each exaggerated step.
When she’s gone, Beau licks his lips. “So, Emma, I’ve been meaning to mention something.” He rolls the cigar over his tongue with his stubby fingers. “You sure have matured, haven’t you?”
My stomach seizes. I slump into my seat and tuck in my shoulders, hoping he’s referring to the extra inch I grew this past year and not the reason I graduated out of a training bra. Just in case, I drape a long hank of hair over my chest.
“Um, yeah, thanks. I guess,” I mumble into my lap.
Cooper groans. “Come on, Dad.”
Beau scoffs and waves him off.
Cooper holds his hand out for me to grab and pulls me out the chair. “Emma and I have something we need to do.”
Upstairs? With Cooper? Away from his creeper of a dad? I’m totally there.
CHAPTER FOUR
I flip on Cooper’s computer and tap my fingers on his desk, waiting for it to boot.
“Hey, Cooper,” I twist and call over my shoulder, about to ask him for his password, but the words freeze in my throat.
He’s tugged off his shirt and is standing in the middle of his room, bare chested.
I swallow hard and avert my eyes. But that doesn’t stop the flitty somersaults in my belly.
“Sorry, I couldn’t stand the stink of that shirt.” He laughs, balls up the dirty fabric, and tosses it in the hamper.
A rocket of red-hot embarrassment flushes my cheeks. I gulp and turn back to the computer.
“Oh, here, let me get that for you.” He leans across me, poking the keys with one hand, entering his encrypted code. Not that I’m even looking at what he’s typing. I’m too busy reveling in his Cooperness—which just happens to be the perfect mixture of sun and salt—and trying not to faint. He might claim to stink, but that couldn’t be further from the truth.