by Lea Nolan
Jack sneers. “Unclench a little, will you?”
Maggie nuzzles Jack’s ear. “Emma is correct. You must help your friend. It is the only way to set things right. We will have our own time, Jack Guthrie.” She winks at me.
With a shrug, Jack laughs. “Sure, why not? Beats sitting around waiting for another chunk to fall off.”
“You have made the right decision.” She pats his leg, then hops off the settee. “Now I must be going. I am certain my grandmother is searching for me.” She chuckles to herself as she walks toward the screen door.
Jack’s face falls. “I thought we’d spend the rest of the afternoon together.”
She smiles. “You have a job to do with your friend, do you not? Now is as good a time as any to start.” Jack and Cooper stare at her, unsure what to do. She tips her head toward the door. “The afternoon is still young. Do not waste this valuable daylight.”
Without another word of protest, the guys get up and march off the porch.
Holy impressive persuasion. This moment is so priceless, I can’t help but stand with her, watching them jog down the path toward the Big House. Her perfume tickles my nose. I think I’ve finally figured out the fragrance. It smells just like the bouquet of stargazer lilies Mom’s boyfriend Gary sent her right before Jack and I came south.
She flashes that gleaming smile of hers. “I am sure they will find the necklace, and you and the Grannie can work some hoodoo magic.”
My chest swells with gratitude. Clearly, I was wrong about her. She’s not some wicked brother stealer—although she could lighten up on the intense public affection. She knows the stakes and just proved she’s on my side. If it wasn’t for her, I may not have convinced them to get the necklace. I owe her big time.
Thrilled by her assistance, I reach out and throw my arms around her. The sweet, cloying scent of those lilies overwhelms as my fingers register the ice-cold temperature of her skin. A shock of energy raises the hair on my arms, and my eyes fly open.
She jumps backward, out of my grip, and throws open the screen door. “I must be going now. I will see you soon, Emma Guthrie.” She races down the steps toward the path that leads to the beach.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The big yellow moon hangs low over St. Helena Island Sound, reflecting off its tranquil surface. Low waves lap at the shoreline in a meditative rhythm. It’s a peaceful refuge from the curse craziness, illuminated by the bright summer stars. Because goodness knows, between Maggie’s supreme and growing weirdness, The Creep inching up Jack’s arm, and Cooper’s doomed soul, I need a place to think.
Sitting on the beach, I sift the cool, powdery sand between my fingers and take in the balmy night air. There’s so much to do in an ever-dwindling amount of time. It threatens to overwhelm me until I remind myself that Miss Delia’s on my side, and now Maggie is, too. Soon we should have Lady Rose’s necklace and, thanks to the Psychic Visions, the key to how Sabina worked The Creep. I’ve got to believe everything will work out, because the alternative is, well, unthinkable. I force the tension from my worried brow, then off my neck and shoulders.
Cooper’s scent carries on the breeze, fresh and piney. I don’t know how he found me or why, since I didn’t tell anyone where I was headed. But my heart swells, anyway, happy just to be around him—for now—while he’s still the Cooper I know and love.
“Emmaline?”
Slapping on a smile to hide any remnant of concern, I swivel to face him. “Hey, Cooper.” I pray my voice sounds bright and normal. He’s wearing fresh clothes. He must have taken a shower.
“I hope you don’t mind my coming out here. I was in the living room in the Big House, and I saw you making your way down the bluff from the picture window. That shirt of yours kind of glows in the moonlight.”
I look down at my white T-shirt. He’s right, it is sort of luminescent in this light. “No, of course not. Why would that bother me?”
“Well, you’re on the beach, alone and at night. That only happens when you’ve got trouble on your mind.”
I love that he knows that about me. But will he remember after his change? Still, he makes me blush. “I’ll admit I’ve got some stuff to work out, but I’m fine.” I wrap my arms around my bent knees.
“I know you are. We’re all under a lot of pressure. It takes a toll. I only came down because I don’t like you being alone with everything that’s going on. Mind if I stay?”
Although I thought I needed to be by myself to slip away from the gloom and find some clarity, now that he’s here, I realize all I need is him. “Of course not. Have a seat.”
He sits beside me and shakes the sand from his flip-flops. “You want to talk about it?”
Um, that you’re about to turn dark and nefarious? No, not really. I’d much rather switch subjects. “How did your necklace scouting go? Any luck?”
He shakes his head. “No, Missy wore it all afternoon, even in the hot tub. I’ll work on getting it tonight after they’ve gone to bed.”
“Good plan.” I tilt my head to look at the brilliant Seven Sisters constellation, the one that kind of looks like an upside-down Little Dipper, and try to ignore how close his body is to mine. But all I want to do is rest my head against his big, broad shoulder and wrap my arms around him, offering what little protection I can against the Beaumont curse.
“You know, you’re not in this alone.”
I nod. “Yeah, I know.” Actually, I sort of am.
Cooper grasps my arm. “No, really. I’m here for you.” He strokes a few stray hairs off my face and tucks them over my shoulder. He’s staring directly into my eyes. I’m pretty sure I’ve stopped breathing.
I nod, trapped in his consuming gaze. “Okay.”
He draws a huge breath. “I’ve got a confession to make, Emmaline.”
My chest tightens. I need to confess, too, but telling him about the Beaumont curse right now will definitely spoil the mood. I know I should tell him, but he’s so beautiful, and he’s never looked at me this way. The ethical debate rages, overloading my brain, so all I can manage in response is, “Uh-huh?”
He cups my jaw with his palm. “I’m worried for you.”
That’s so not where I hoped this was going.
“Oh?” My brow furrows, and I pull away from his muscular but comforting hands. “Look, I know I lost my cool earlier, but I’m fine. Really.” My voice drips with irritation. Maybe I should tell him now.
He shakes his head. “No, that didn’t come out right. What I mean is, I find myself worrying about you. A lot.”
The sincerity in his voice soothes the anger in my chest. “Thanks. I’ll be okay.”
He sighs, scratching his temple. “Aw, heck, this is harder than I thought,” he says out loud, then clears his throat. “Um, what I’m trying to say is, you’re pretty much on my mind every day. All day.”
“Oh.” Miss Delia and her stinking Follow Me Boy charm. That powder must have worked its way into his sinuses, because he’s still feeling its effects. Which totally sucks. I’d give anything for this to be real. “Listen, I know that day in the museum was exciting, but believe me, it’ll pass. Everything will go back to normal.”
Deep creases mar his handsome face. “But what if I don’t want things to be normal? I like thinking about you, worrying about your safety. Caring about you. From the moment you got here this summer, I knew I wanted things to be different between us.” His eyes turn down. “I thought I sensed you did, too.”
My heart seizes. “Um, did you just say, when I got here? Like, do you mean, when Jack and I came south from D.C.?” I can barely force the words from my constricted throat, afraid to hope it’s true.
His lips curl into a hopeful half-grin. “Yeah. You were at your dad’s, wearing that funky skirt of yours, and your hair was pulled up in a ponytail. I couldn’t believe how pretty you were.”
Holy. Sticklewort. Cooper Beaumont likes me.
I gulp, processing the words I’ve longed to hear for more than
a year. This is way better than my fantasies. “Um, really?” My voice trembles with awe, and my hands quake. All other thoughts flee my brain. The only thing I focus on is what’s happening here, in this moment, now.
He inches closer, his lips hovering near my mouth. “Was I wrong? Did I misread you, Emmaline?”
“N-n-no,” I finally manage, then gush, “Gosh, no.” My lids shut, and my mouth parts slightly, yearning for him. A moment later, his velvety lips are on mine, soft and gentle. He’s smooth and so very kissable. Every inch of my skin sizzles.
His head tilts as he runs his cheek along my jaw, then plants another kiss in the hollow behind my ear. Tingles explode, reducing me to a hunk of jiggling, boneless jelly. The only thing that keeps me from collapsing back onto the sand are his strong hands that reach to caress my back. I melt, consumed by the electric inferno bubbling in my belly.
“You’re amazing,” he whispers. “Kissing you is better than I imagined.”
My chest flutters with the knowledge he’s been thinking about me. Maybe even dreaming about me. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this, Cooper. I can hardly even believe it now.”
His brow quirks, and he pulls back to look at me. “Really? I had no idea.”
I snort, shocked that I covered my crush so well. “Um, yeah. It’s been a year.” I roll my eyes in embarrassment.
A sly grin cracks his lips. “Wait, do you mean to tell me we could have done this last summer?” He leans in for another kiss, then nuzzles my opposite ear, shooting a shimmering charge through my body.
If he doesn’t stop, I might have a heart attack. It’s a risk I’m willing to take.
“Sorry,” I giggle, then nudge his jaw so I find his lips again. This time it’s my turn to direct the kiss. I’ve got a lot of lost time to make up for.
A few blissful minutes later, Cooper pulls back for air. “Yeah, I definitely don’t want things to go back to normal.” He grasps my hand and squeezes tight.
I laugh. “Me, neither.” My heart pounds, then sinks as I realize how not normal he’ll be if I can’t find a way to save him.
That’s not an option. I will save him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“Emma? Are you listening, child?” Miss Delia’s voice jolts me from my thoughts. She places Bloody Bill’s dagger on the kitchen counter. “I said the angry vibrations have calmed. It’s ready to pull another memory.”
“Huh? Oh, yeah, I’m totally with you.”
No, I’m not. I’ve been up in my head all day, reliving what happened at the beach last night with Cooper. I barely remembered to take the cleansing bath Miss Delia prescribed. And then, when Cooper and Jack dropped me off this morning on their way to more Missy-necklace-stalking, Cooper secretly planted another kiss on me, giving me yet another thing to think about. But I can’t dwell on his unbelievable hotness, or how giddy I am. I’ve got a Psychic Vision to cast.
Suppressing the idiotic smile that threatens to give me away, I reply, “Awesome. Let’s do it.”
She purses her lips and gives me a hard stare, sizing up my readiness. “All right, but you can’t be dreaming about that boy of yours. You need your wits about you, especially since you’re conjuring the charm yourself today. Do you remember the ingredients we used?”
How the heck does she always know what I’m thinking? Rather than admit she’s right, I nod, hoping I do remember what goes into the potion.
I fill a kettle with water, set it on the stove to boil, and then assemble the earthenware crocks and vials I’ll need for the spell. Before long, the homemade psychic tea bags are steeping, and the charcoal in the mortar is ready for the plants and roots. Feeling proud of myself for remembering all these steps without any help from Miss Delia or her spell book, I layer the acacia leaves and buchu, feeling the energy drain immediately. When they begin to smoke and crackle, I forge ahead to sprinkle some anise powder on top and reach for the myrrh.
“No!” Miss Delia grasps my hand. “You forgot the celery seed and dragon’s breath.”
I shake my cloudy head. “No, I didn’t. They’re right there.” I point to the crocks on the counter. “I was going to add them next.”
She wags her gnarled finger at me. “The order is as important as what you add. If you do it wrong, you’ll have to start from scratch. And depending on how far you’ve gotten, you’ll need to let the mortar rest before working another charm.”
Jeez, that would’ve been good to know before I started tossing ingredients around. “Thanks for the tip.”
I bite my lip and focus so I don’t screw up. We can’t afford to waste another three days. My arms are so weak, I can barely lift them to drop the celery seeds and dragon’s blood on the smoking mixture. Somehow I manage to add the myrrh, frankincense, and mint. Soon the scents merge, evoking a dessert-filled church, so I know it’s time for our tea. For luck, I rub my collier just like last time and clink my mug against Miss Delia’s before gulping the sour brown mixture. Clutching Miss Delia’s hand, I lay my other arm against the rim of the mortar and fight the encroaching drowsiness to grab hold of the bottom of the knife and share its weight.
A gust of cold wind blows, encircling the house and yard, then whips through the house, rattling the front and side screen porch doors as it passes. The sunlight dims as the clouds collide and block out the light. Rain pelts the roof, and thunder booms over the forest.
“Ah!” The violent crash makes my heart skip and jolts me out of my dreamy lull.
“Never mind that, child.” Ms. Delia squeezes my hand. “It’s just the elements at work, helping us with the spell.”
Oh, that explains a lot.
“Remember, since we already lifted the knife’s last memory, this charm is going to pull its second-to-last cut. We’re moving backward in time.”
“Okay.” I nod. Despite the crazy fatigue and life-and-death circumstances, the thrill of doing this flutters in my stomach. Jack’s right, hoodoo is cool.
“Do you want to say the incantation this time?” Miss Delia waggles her eyebrows. “You can change it up a bit if you like, to be more specific.” I freeze, my eyes wide, unsure of what to say. She chuckles. “Don’t fear, child. Remember the red and white beads on that collier of yours give you the power of spoken word and prayer. Just clear your mind. The words will come to you.”
All four gas burners on the stove flare up. I gulp and try to ignore them. It must be another elemental thing.
Focusing my dwindling energy, I close my eyes and inhale, willing the dark space behind my lids to stretch and grow until it envelops me. The words spring to my mouth just as the tea’s fuzzy effects begin to hit. “Smoke and mist, reveal the past, and how this object was used last. Reveal the truth about The Creep, so flesh and muscle Jack will reap.” My speech is slurred, but I laugh, surprised it was so easy to come up with the charm.
Miss Delia squeezes my hand and chuckles. “You might want to open those eyes of yours.”
Oops. One of these days I’ll remember to look into the fog. I open my eyes to find the vision has already started. Bright images sputter on the thick smoke curtain, then pick up speed to create their own little movie. My head spins under the tea’s power as I peer at the flickering light.
A large wooden ship with three tall masts sits anchored close to shore, its sails strapped down. The Jolly Roger, the pirates’ calling card, hangs from the highest mast, its skull and crossbones flapping in the occasional breeze. The ship is quiet. A pirate dozes, slumped on a barrel on the main deck, a weathered spyglass in his limp hands and a tankard of grog at his side. A warm orange-pink glow hovers above the horizon in the east, promising a beautiful summer morning.
On the shore, scores of African men in tattered clothes work in silence, preparing to launch a small flotilla of canoes and long boats. One white man stands among them, dressed in a rich peach-colored silk coat and breeches and coordinating ivory waistcoat. He points his silver-tipped walking cane at the men and their boats, ordering them ar
ound in the early morning stillness. Within minutes, the men ease the crafts into the water, climb aboard, and row toward the pirate ship anchored just offshore.
The canoes surround the ship. Several Africans clamber up a rope ladder left hanging over the side, wooden clubs wedged under their strong arms. A man in a nearby boat heaves a long cable up toward the deck. It lands with a thump, waking the dozing pirate. He starts, scanning the quiet and still empty deck, then mumbles to himself as he crosses his arms and nods back to sleep. A moment later, a thin, wiry African ascends the top of the ladder, slips over the railing, and runs to secure the rope so others can follow. Several others climb aboard after him, stealthily catching and securing new lines of the thick, handmade cord so even more can come aboard.
A muscle-bound African with the thickest neck I’ve ever seen scales the side, hoists himself over the railing, and crashes with a deafening thud that rocks the ship. The pirate jerks awake and screams at the sight of the invaders.
“Captain! Captain, we be under attack!” The sailor’s eyes are wide with terror as he sprints to ring the alarm bell. He manages to clang the clapper several times before the thick-necked man yanks him by the throat with one hand, lifts him off his feet, and tosses him overboard.
But it’s too late to maintain the surprise. The pirates stream from the ’tween deck below, swords and daggers drawn, engaging the club-wielding Africans. Most of the seamen are dressed in filthy, ragged clothes, their greasy hair poking out from under grimy caps, but one stands apart from the rest. He’s almost dashing in his scarlet brocade coat and matching breeches, and long, luscious carrot-red curls. But as fierce as the pirates are, they’re no match for the Africans, who fight with fiery determination, besting the still groggy and probably hungover sailors. Every second, more dark-skinned men mount the ship, supplying reinforcements for the few who fall wounded by a pirate’s blade. Soon the Africans outnumber the pirates at least two-to-one and easily restrain the few holdouts. The rest cower and drop their weapons on the deck with a clank.