Conjure

by Lea Nolan

  His jaw drops, probably because he’s not used to Angry Emma. Too bad. “Uh, I guess we’ll try.”

  “Good. Loosen the top of your blue pouch. Maybe the Law Keep Away potion needs to breathe a little in the air.” Cooper drapes all three gris-gris bags around his neck. The yellow one lies on top of the others, and I can’t resist a tiny dig. “While you’re at it, open the yellow one, too. You could use some bravery and courage so you don’t freak out like before.” His expression slips, and his eyes soften as he nods and tugs at the drawstrings. Dang, now I feel bad, which is totally unfair considering I’m the one with the crushed heart.

  I pick at the blue pouch around my neck, trying to loosen the knot, but it’s difficult because my hand’s still filled with the Semi-Invisibility Powder. Cooper notices my struggle and steps closer, taking the bag from my fingers. His lips curve into that sweet, gentle smile of his as he gazes at me through his crazy-long eyelashes. “Here, let me help you.”

  My heart skips a beat, softening my resolve. To be fair, I don’t really have a right to be angry with him, anyway. It’s not like I confessed my undying love to him—how embarrassing would that be?—so, he couldn’t possibly have known how much planting that kiss would hurt. And he was just trying to distract the guard and save us.

  Tapped out of reasons to stay mad, I sigh, and the last residue of my resentment melts away. “Thanks,” I murmur and offer an apologetic half-grin.

  His pale blue eyes brighten. “No problem.” He pauses for a moment, gazing at me as if he might say something else, but then shakes his head and tips the seaweed powder into his palm. “You ready to do this?”

  Forcing myself not to wonder what he was thinking, I nod. “As ready as I can be.”

  We exit the handicapped stall and walk to the bathroom door, cracking it open just enough to peek into the hallway. Neither guard is in sight, so we slip out, walking slowly and trailing a thin line of powder as we go. My heart thuds in my chest. As much as I believe in Miss Delia’s magic, it’s hard to accept this powder’s going to make us almost invisible. Maybe it’ll conceal us from living, breathing humans, but what about all the cameras mounted everywhere? There’s no way we can hide from the video. Our only hope is that no one’s watching the monitors until we’re gone.

  My mouth goes dry as we plod down the hall and into the African Legacy exhibit. With each careful step, the powder slips from my hand in a steady stream onto the museum rug. After what seems like forever, we finally make it to the back corner. I don’t know if we’re semi-invisible or not, but we’re alone and apparently undetected by either guard. The mortar is right where we left it, waiting to be plucked and brought home with us. It’s now or never.

  Cooper pokes me in the ribs with his elbow, breaking my concentration. “Emma, take a look at that.” He nods toward a display of ancient tools laid out just to the left of the mortar. “Doesn’t that seem familiar?”

  I lean closer to see what he’s talking about. Amid the rough-hewn spoons, measuring scoops, tweezers, and a few other medieval-looking things I can’t imagine how to use is a knife with an ornately carved handle. But it’s not your average vegetable-chopping blade. It looks an awful lot like a dagger. The knife’s grip is embossed with the same familiar scrolls, swirls, and flower reliefs that adorned the treasure box we found in the tabby ruins. The one that gave Jack The Creep. My stomach clenches. I peer even closer and see that some of the scrolls aren’t just decorations—they form the initials BBR.

  I gasp. “Cooper, look at these letters.” I point to the rounded engraving that runs down the handle. “I think this belonged to Bloody Bill Ransom.”

  He leans over my shoulder. “You’re right. But how did it get in here with all this stuff? And what does it have to do with hoodoo medicine?”

  I shake my head. “I have no idea. But there has to be some connection.” I stand there for a moment, transfixed, forgetting the ancestors’ mortar. My right palm tingles, then itches. I reach over with my seaweed-filled left hand to scratch it, but the itching only intensifies. An irresistible urge takes over, willing me to reach out and snatch the dagger. But I try to ignore it because one theft is enough for today.

  “We should take it,” Cooper whispers, prodding me toward further criminality. My eyes widen with disbelief that he’d want to take anything besides what we absolutely know we need. He shrugs. “Listen, if it was Bloody Bill’s, it could be connected with The Creep. Maybe Miss Delia can use it to cure Jack.”

  The itching increases, progressing well past an uncomfortable or even irritating sensation. Now it burns, and as crazy as it sounds, the polished knife handle seems like the only thing that will cool it. Even though the grip is covered with designs, my gut insists it will feel smooth against my flaming skin. I want the knife. I need it.

  Biting my lower lip, I extend my shaking red hand over the Plexiglas barrier. A cooling tingle flows down my fingers, prodding me forward, assuring me that everything will be better once I have the knife in my grasp. Inches away, my hand lurches as if out of my control and scoops it up. The burning ceases, replaced by a tranquil wave that floods over my body. Even though we didn’t plan it, I’m sure this was the right thing to do. I tuck the knife deep into my messenger bag, hoping I just figured out how to listen to my spirit guide. Although she could have been a little more subtle.

  With the knife in my bag and my single-minded focus satisfied, I suddenly remember the mortar and the reason we’re here in the first place. Stepping away from the medical instruments, I point to the mortar. “Okay, now it’s your turn. But don’t get any ideas about taking anything else. I’d like to limit our criminal charges if possible.”

  Cooper empties his palm of the remaining Semi-Invisibility Powder. He leans over the Plexiglas barrier, grabs hold of the mortar’s lip, and strains to lift it off the pedestal. It tips slightly but then falls back with a clunk. “That thing weighs a ton. I’m not sure if I can lift it.”

  The space between my eyes pinches. “You have to. This is our only chance. Just get it over the barrier, and I’ll help you from there.”

  He rakes his fingers through his golden-brown hair and sighs. “All right, I’ll try.” He leans over the railing once more, his gris-gris bags dangling, and grips the mortar at its base this time. He struggles to lift it. His shoulders broaden, and his arms tense, accentuating his thick forearms and round biceps as his face flushes like a cherry with the effort. With a grunt, he manages to lift the mortar off its stand and draws it toward us. His arms shake under the weight. Tiny blood vessels rise under his skin at his temples. The mortar inches closer, nearly reaching my extended hands when Cooper loses his grip and it knocks against the barrier. I lunge forward, adding my comparatively feeble strength to his, and together we lift the mortar enough to rest it on the barrier’s edge.

  “Holy crap, you weren’t kidding. This thing is heavy.” I keep a firm grasp on the mortar to keep it from tipping off the banister.

  Cooper’s chest heaves. “I’m pretty sure it’s solid granite. This isn’t going to be easy.”

  “I can help you carry it from here. That should make it a lot easier.”

  His lungs have calmed, and his face has returned to its normal shade. He shakes his head. “No, it’ll be too clumsy. I’ll carry it on my own.” He nods toward the side exit door, the one we’re gambling doesn’t have an alarm. “You just be ready at the door.”

  I nod and wait for him to lift the mortar again. A moment later, he inhales deeply and yanks it toward him, resting it against his abdomen. He takes a few slow steps and groans, then braces himself and moves toward the door. I stand at the exit, my hand poised on the push bar, waiting until the very last second to open it. If there is an alarm, we don’t want to risk it going off until we’re able to run. Cooper ambles close. Two steps, and he’s near enough to tap the door with his foot. He nods, giving me the signal to push it open.

  My heart races as my hand connects with the cold steel, and I push it open i
nto the bright afternoon sun. I burst outside and hold the door for Cooper.

  The silence feels strange. No alarms, no screaming guards, no police waiting to catch us red-handed. It’s almost too easy. But this is exactly what we hoped for, so I’m not going to second-guess it. Miss Delia’s hoodoo magic must be working.

  Cooper shuffles through the doorway with the mortar, the muscles in his arms on the brink of bursting. The door shuts, and I search for Jack, anxious to get into the car and away from here as fast as possible. But my stomach drops when I remember he’s parked at the front of the building. There’s no way Cooper can carry this to the car. First, it’s way too heavy, and second, we can’t risk being seen by the guards. I dig into my bag, carefully avoiding the sharp knife’s blade, and fish out my cell phone, pushing the speed dial to ask Jack for a pickup.

  A familiar low growl rumbles from the woods behind the museum, which is more than a football field away, shooting chills up my spine. This time the growl is heavier, thicker and deeper. I swallow hard. Cooper’s gaze whips to the tree line. Despite the fact that his face is red from the weight of the mortar, he somehow manages to look ashen.

  “We can’t just wait here.” Cooper’s voice is tight and strained as he hitches the mortar higher on his hips.

  “Emma?” Jack calls through the phone. “It’s about time. Do you realize how hot it is out here? Where are you guys?”

  The growling intensifies. Two giant black dogs emerge from between the slash pines. Like identical twins, each has the same long, glossy fur and eyes that gleam with fluorescent yellow light. As if programmed, they bare their jagged teeth at the same time, curling their lips and snarling as gooey white froth drips from their mouths. I lift the shaking phone to my ear. “We need you, Jack,” I whisper. “Around the side of the building. Now.”

  He huffs. “Do you have the mortar? Because I don’t care whether you think it’s safe or not. You better get back in there and get it. While you two were playing tourist, that strip of skin exploded all over me and burned through my shorts. You’re lucky I managed to keep it off the leather, because Beau—”

  “Jack!” I interrupt his monologue. “Get your butt over here now!”

  “You didn’t answer me. Do you have—”

  “Now!” I yell and hang up.

  The gigantic demon dogs stalk in unison, approaching the edge of the parking lot.

  How could Jack not hear the panic in my voice? I jam the phone into my bag and turn to Cooper, who’s braced against the museum’s exterior wall, trembling under the weight of the granite mortar.

  A car engine starts in the distance, and a moment later, the dogs snarl in eerie harmony, their deep, ferocious voices melding in gravelly resonance. Their yowling boomerangs across the nearly empty parking lot, bouncing off the building wall, and echoing through the still summer air. They crouch low, their eyes narrowing into electric slits. Like spring-loaded fiends, they quiver, waiting to pounce.

  “Emma, they’re coming,” Cooper’s voice shakes. His eyes skitter around, frantic, searching for Jack and the car. Tires screech somewhere on the other side of the building.

  Where is Jack? He should be here by now. But then I remember he doesn’t know what he’s doing behind the wheel of my dad’s truck, much less a car he’s never driven before.

  The dogs lurch forward in a full gallop, pounding the ground as they charge toward us.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  I reel and collide against Cooper and the outside wall. We’re trapped. My pulse pounds. The woods aren’t an option—there’s no telling how many other psycho dogs are in there, waiting to pounce—and we can’t run to the front of the building where we’d get caught with the mortar. We’re stuck, and we’re about to be eaten.

  The station wagon hurtles around the back of the museum, careening straight at us. Jack went to the wrong side of the building. My mind screams hurry, hurry, hurry!

  The dog-beasts close in, gaining yards with each tremendous stride of their enormous legs. Their massive jaws snap open and shut, exposing their sharp teeth in a terrifying demonstration of what they’ll do when they get here.

  Speeding toward us, the station wagon swerves at the last moment, wedging itself between the demons and us. The brakes squeal, and Jack stretches toward the open passenger window. “Get in!” His eyes are wide with fright.

  I yank the back door open and whirl out of the way so Cooper can heave the mortar across the backseat. It bounces once against the far cushion, then ricochets off the opposite door. I dive in after it. Cooper follows close behind, his heaving chest smashing into me, as he throws out his arm and slams the door.

  The dogs howl and launch their gigantic bodies against the back half of the car. The station wagon rocks under their weight.

  “Drive, Jack!” I yell, scrambling to right myself, but I’m sandwiched between the stone mortar and Cooper’s almost equally hard abs. But Jack doesn’t take his foot off the brake or step on the gas. Instead, his mouth is agape, frozen.

  Vicious barking assaults the air with staccato bursts of bloodthirsty hate. Intent on tearing us apart, and undeterred by the closed car door, the dogs stand on their hind legs and furiously claw at the back windows. I cringe and scream as thick white foam spews from their colossal mouths, caking the glass and their dirty paws. Up close, their strange yellow eyes are even more frightening. Although they crackle with energy and promise a deadly electric charge, they’re hollow and expressionless. Dead.

  Cooper reaches forward and slaps Jack’s shoulder. “Go!”

  At the same moment, one of the dogs slides toward the open driver’s-side window. Its sharp nails breech the cabin and just miss scraping Jack’s face. Jolted out of his paralysis, he screams and punches the accelerator. The car jerks forward, and Cooper and I slam against the backseat. Jack’s hands quake as he steers, turning the wheel too far to the left and carves a doughnut hole in the parking lot blacktop. The dogs snarl and lunge as we loop around.

  “Cut it straight!” Cooper cries. For once, Jack obeys without hesitation, fishtailing as he speeds toward the exit and skids into the turn onto Sea Island Parkway.

  The dogs give chase, but we’re going so fast, we leave them in our dust. In the distance, two uniformed figures round the corner from the front of the museum and stop short where Cooper and I were standing just a few moments ago. But we’re long gone, and so are the dogs, and that’s all that matters. With a shuddering sigh, I slump into the seat, my arm wedged against Cooper’s. My heart’s racing, and for once, it’s not because of him. After stealing the knife and mortar and escaping those hellhounds, we’re lucky to be alive. I shut my eyes and try not to imagine all the things that could have happened.

  Cooper grabs my hand. “We did it, Emmaline!” His voice is bright as he stares for a second, then squeezes me in a tight hug.

  Uh, okay. Since I don’t get many chances, I’m not about to miss this one. I wrap my arms around his broad back and embrace him, nuzzling against his neck. He grasps me tight, overloading my brain with ecstasy. A long moment later, he pulls back and flashes that amazing, blissful, gorgeous smile of his. I’m not sure if he’s proud of our larceny or if he’s just happy we eluded jail or death. Either way, I have to agree with him.

  I nod and find myself slipping into one of those huge, apple-cheeked grins, too. “Yeah, we did. And we didn’t get eaten.” I laugh.

  Jack stares at us in the rearview mirror. “What the heck happened? And what were those things? They could have killed us.” The car swerves sharply to the right, onto the thin shoulder on the side of the road.

  “Hey, pay attention!” Cooper yells, then sinks back into the seat when Jack rights his steering. Cooper’s still got a firm grip on my hand, which is, of course, all right with me. “They’re the psycho dogs we tried to tell you about.”

  I lean forward enough for Jack to hear, but not so far that I’ll risk losing Cooper’s grasp. “Yeah, remember the day we tried to break the curse but couldn�
��t, and Miss Delia collapsed, but you didn’t care why? Well, that day there was only one of those disgusting creatures. Today he brought a buddy. Aren’t we lucky?”

  Jack gulps and clenches the wheel. “And Miss Delia thinks the mortar will get rid of them?” His speech is slow and methodical as he concentrates on the road ahead.

  “Something like that.” I settle back into the seat, jammed gloriously close to Cooper because the giant mortar takes up most of the seat next to me.

  Cooper laughs. “You should have seen it, bro. Just as we were about to take the mortar in the museum, a pack of kids started tearing up the place, and two guards rolled in, so we had to create a diversion to fool them. And then we hid in the bathroom, and Miss Delia’s magic powder kept the law away and made us semi-invisible so we could steal the mortar.”

  Jack hitches his eyebrow and glances into the rear mirror. “What kind of a distraction?” Of all the things Cooper just ticked off (hello—we were invisible!), he’s got to zero in on the distraction, the one thing I don’t want him to know. Curse our freaky twin sense.

  The station wagon swerves again, this time into the opposite lane. Jack yanks the wheel hard with his gloved hand, turning back to the right. But he overcorrects and tosses us straight through our lane, past the shoulder, and off the road. He slams on the brakes, and the car lurches to a halt on the grass at the edge of the woods. My heart pounds in my chest. Thank goodness this “highway” really isn’t, and we’re the only ones on the road. If there had been any oncoming cars, we’d have been toast.

  Cooper lunges forward, letting go of my hand. “Jeez, bro. Watch what you’re doing. You could’ve gotten us killed! Not to mention if you wrecked my dad’s car doing it, he’d kill us again.”

  Jack thunks his head against the wheel as the engine idles. “I’m doing the best I can. In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve only got one good hand. And I haven’t seen Maggie in days. Why hasn’t she visited?” His voice breaks, and his chest heaves silent sobs. A minute later, he lifts his head, sucks up the snot dripping from his nose, and wipes the tears from his eyes. “Look at me. I’m a frigging mess.” He laughs, sounding more embarrassed than amused. “If you don’t like my driving, you can do it yourself.”