Conjure

by Lea Nolan

  I press a quaking finger to her neck. Her pulse is slow and weak, but it’s there. The faintest moan slips from her lips. A glimmer of hope springs in me. She’s not dead. Yet.

  “Call an ambulance!” I shriek because I left my messenger bag and phone in the backseat. The guys reach my side and kneel next to her. Cooper flips open his phone and places the call.

  Jack’s eyes fill with panic. “Is she dead, Em?”

  “What do we do?” Cooper asks at the same time.

  “No, and I don’t know,” I answer as my eyes dart around, taking in the scene. An empty bottle of whiskey lies next to her, and her other hand clutches Bloody Bill’s knife, which is splattered with blood. I’m not sure whether the sticky red substance belongs to Miss Delia or the plateyes, but I pray she hurt at least one of them. The ground is scarred with dozens of enormous paw prints, claw marks included. Her collier beads are strewn all over. My mind zooms, calculating what must have gone on here. One bottle distracted four dog-beasts the other day; based on the number of impressions and the extent of her injuries, she must have been attacked by at least eight. Judging from how bright the color of her blood is, she hasn’t been here long. We probably just missed them. My gaze flies around us in a three-sixty, making sure the evil beasts aren’t still lingering in the shadows.

  Thick, stinging tears erupt as I imagine what she endured. Cornered by demons and armed with only one bottle of whiskey, the terror must have been overwhelming and the pain immeasurable. She didn’t deserve to suffer this way.

  As much as I want to wail at the cold gray sky and give in to hopelessness, I can’t. I have to be strong, take charge of the situation, and care for her. Smearing the tears from my face, I swallow the lump in my throat, then clench my fists and mine an extra reserve of strength from deep in my gut.

  Maybe I can work some hoodoo to help her. Sirens whirl in the distance, so I’ve got to work fast. Four Thieves Vinegar saved her the last time, but she’s too far gone for it to make much of a dent now. Although it might help her survive until the ambulance gets her to the hospital.

  Stained with her blood, I leap to my feet. “I’ll be right back. Stay with her, and make sure she doesn’t die!”

  I’m not sure how they’ll accomplish that, but somehow they’ll have to. I sprint to the front porch, shove open the screen door, and bolt through the living room into the kitchen. Scrambling up onto the counter, I scan the shelves for the potion, grab the little clear vial and a spoon, then run back out to the yard.

  Jack’s pacing under the bottle tree, his head in his hands, muttering to himself, “Who’s going to fix me if she dies?”

  Cooper strokes Miss Delia’s forehead, the least bloody part of her body, and whispers soothing words close to her ear.

  I wipe the sweat trickling down my forehead with my arm. “Here, Miss Delia, it’s Four Thieves.” My hands shake as I pour the spicy mint potion onto the spoon and lift it to her lips. “You’ve got to stay with us. Help is on the way.” Her mouth doesn’t open, so I nod toward Cooper. He pries her lips apart, and I insert the spoon. The vinegar slips down her throat, and her eyes twitch behind her closed lids. Maybe she knows what I’ve given her. At least I hope so.

  The sirens grow louder, and multiple engines rumble as they round the turn. They’ll be here in a few seconds. The last thing we need is for the sheriff to take the knife as evidence. I reach across Miss Delia’s frayed and crippled body, uncurl her fingers from the handle, and hand it to Cooper. He snatches the knife and the empty whiskey bottle, then jogs to Beau’s car and tosses them in the driver’s-side window. The ambulance emerges from the turn in the road first and is followed by a sheriff’s car.

  I grasp Miss Delia’s hand. “Help’s here, Miss Delia. Hold on.” When I squeeze, my fingers brush against something in her grip. A small square of folded paper. My scalp prickles. Whatever it is, it’s important. I slip it into my back pocket just as the emergency responders climb from their vehicles.

  An EMT with a nametag that says Briscoe jogs toward us. “What’s going on here?” A deputy sheriff strides up to the tree after him.

  Jack stops short. “Can’t you see she’s been attacked?” His eyes are crazed. “Stop asking questions and help her!” He thrusts his golf glove in Miss Delia’s direction.

  Cooper returns from the car and clamps Jack on the shoulder. “Sorry, he’s just upset,” he tells the paramedic. “She’s very important to him.”

  Briscoe depresses the button on the walkie-talkie strapped to his shoulder. “Johnson, we’re going to need the stretcher. This one’s a real mess.” He turns away from Jack, who’s jerked out from under Cooper’s grasp and gone back to pacing. Briscoe crouches next to Miss Delia to take her vitals.

  The deputy pulls me aside. “Do you have any idea what happened to her? It looks like a bear attack. ’Course we don’t have any in these parts. Whatever it was, it was big.”

  I gulp. “I think it was a dog. Or, actually, dogs. She’s been having trouble with them coming out of the woods.”

  He rubs his chin and scans the surrounding trees. Between my seemingly ridiculous cover story and Jack’s hair-pulling and murmuring panic, it’s clear he’s not buying it. I half wish a few plateyes would bound out of there to prove what I’m saying, but that would only raise more questions and require more hospital transports.

  “We better get her out of here before Amelia arrives,” Briscoe tells his partner.

  Cooper and I exchange looks. I can tell he’s wondering the same thing I am. Who the heck is Amelia? Probably a rival ambulance driver.

  “I’m with you. I don’t want to be out here any longer than I have to.” Johnson pushes the stretcher under the tree, and he and Briscoe get to work on her. A few minutes later, Miss Delia’s safe and secure in the ambulance. I try to go with her, but Johnson refuses, explaining that I can’t because I’m a minor, plus she’s so messed up and needs so much care, they don’t want me to distract them. After the ambulance leaves, Jack continues his freak-out while Cooper and I do our best to answer the deputy’s questions. Sort of. I mean, how do you explain that much damage to a little old lady? A couple bites are kind of understandable, but a hundred is a stretch. Plus I’m pretty sure he can smell the lingering scent of whiskey on the ground.

  As soon as the EMTs and the deputy are gone, Cooper turns to me, exhausted. “So now what?”

  I slip the note from my pocket and scan it. At first the jumbled letters don’t make sense, but I sound them out phonetically and realize what it is. A chill zips up my spine. “I’m going to need that knife.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Jack rushes up to my side. “Why are you wasting time with the knife?” His face is drawn and yellow with panic. “I thought you already saw how The Creep was created.”

  “We did, but there was something we didn’t understand. I found this in Miss Delia’s hand”—I flash the paper in front of him—“so I’m hoping Miss Delia’s figured it out.” I dash toward the porch.

  Jack follows me. “But what is it, and what does it have to do with the knife?” His voice is filled with a mixture of confusion and hope.

  “She might have stabbed one of the plateyes. If she did, a Psychic Vision charm will tell me what she was doing just before the attack. It might be the answer we’ve been looking for.” I offer a silent prayer that it will.

  Panting, Cooper sprints up the porch steps with the knife.

  I reach out and squeeze Jack’s upper arm. “I’m sorry, but you know the drill. You can’t come in.”

  His jaw tenses. “What are we supposed to do? We can’t sit out here, not with those demons on the loose.”

  I look around for a suitable substitute. “Wait in Cooper’s car. You’ll be safe there.”

  Reluctantly, Cooper nods. He hands me the knife, and the guys turn and head for the station wagon.

  I charge in the house and run to the kitchen, making a mental list of everything I need to do before conjuring the charm. No
matter what, I’ve got to fight the weariness and stay focused. This spell has got to be right if I have any hope of seeing the knife’s last cut. I hope Miss Delia plunged the blade into a plateye’s gut, or maybe carved a hole in a fluorescent dead eye, anything, so long as the scene it reveals isn’t from three hundred years ago. I’m done with the scary history lessons.

  I stack the ingredients on the counter in the order in which they’ll be added, then sit on the stool for a few moments and breathe, clearing my head to prepare. I took a ritual bath this morning, just in case Miss Delia and I worked some hoodoo, but since her blood is on my clothes and skin, I’m betting that purification is ruined. A quick splash of citronella should be enough to set me straight. I wash her blood from my hands, then dab enough of the lemon-scented essential oil on my wrists, behind my ears, and down my neck to smell like a backyard barbecue. I rub my collier for luck and set to work on the Psychic Vision spell. Biting my lip and doubling my focus, I brew the tea and ignite the charcoal.

  Just as I’m about to add the ingredients as Miss Delia taught me, the sky opens up, dumping a deluge. The familiar rumble of thunder rolls in the forest just beyond the house. Moments later, the temperature drops, and the rain transforms into hail, beating against the roof and window. Thunder claps again, this time just overhead, shaking the building. Almost instantly, a bolt of lightning follows, zapping the ground in the side lot and scorching a flat of Miss Delia’s kitchen herbs.

  Dodging the flying chunks of ice, Cooper and Jack run screaming through the yard, then bound up the steps to the kitchen porch and jump through the tattered screens.

  I jump from my stool and race to meet them. “What are you doing? You’re supposed to stay in the car.”

  Jack’s frantic. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but it’s hailing. And there’s thunder. And scary frigging lightning.”

  Cooper nods. “It almost hit us. If it strikes again, we’ll be toast.”

  Don’t they know that lightning almost never strikes in the same exact place? But then again, this isn’t normal lightning. It’s elemental magic.

  I sigh, sensing they’re probably right to want to get out of the car. But that doesn’t mean they’re allowed in the house, either. “Listen, you need to stay out here on the porch, okay? Jack can’t bring that curse inside, and you’re not allowed to watch me work the magic. They’re Miss Delia’s rules, and I’m not going to break them.”

  They nod in unison. “Whatever you say,” Jack says, uncharacteristically compliant. “As long as I’m not stuck in the yard.” He plops down in a chair and pulls it as close to the house as possible.

  I turn to Cooper. “I’m going in there to work the charm. Don’t come in, no matter what you hear.” I level my gaze at him, anticipating his shining-knight impulse. “If you make me screw up, I’ll have to let the mortar rest for another few days.”

  He lifts his palms in surrender. “I understand.” Then he sits next to Jack as I shut the kitchen door to keep them from hearing the spell.

  Ten minutes later, as hail continues to lash the roof, I’m poised over the mortar, ready to begin again. I layer the ingredients in the mortar, fighting to keep my focus, but feel my strength drain nonetheless. Resisting the weariness, I unfold the paper and sound out the strange words scratched in Miss Delia’s shaky handwriting. Even with my horrible American accent, I can tell it’s the foreign incantation Sabina spoke on the ship. I wrap the paper around the knife handle, then clutch it in my hand and rest my arm on the mortar’s carved lip.

  This is it. My first official, solo hoodoo spell. I hope my spirit guide is with me, because I’m not sure I can do this on my own. My heart pounds as I swig the rusty brown psychic tea in one giant gulp. The cherry-spinach flavor is just as disgusting as before, but that’s a good thing because it means I brewed it right.

  Another clash of thunder breaks the air above the house. A sharp pain twists my stomach, and I lurch forward on my stool, doubling over. The energy seems to seep from my limbs, only to coalesce and swirl in my gut. I retch but clamp my mouth shut to keep the tea down. As much as I want to puke this all out, I can’t. I’ve gone too far with this charm to turn back now.

  Exhaling to center myself as best I can, I rub the collier once more and trust the red and white glass beads will help me find the right words. The tea’s woozy effects take hold, spinning my brain as the spell leaps from my lips. “Smoke and mist reveal the past, and how this object was used last. Reveal the truth behind this verse, and guide my way to break the curse.” The words are mumbled, but they make sense and seem to do the trick.

  Dark images flicker on the smoke screen: nightfall, water, a ship, candlelight. I knit my brow. This isn’t a memory from this morning. It’s The Dagger. I grunt. The blood on the blade didn’t belong to a plateye. It must have been Miss Delia’s. Too bad she didn’t get to stab even one of those heinous creatures.

  I’m about to drag myself out of the vision when a menacing voice jeers, “Come now, be a nice little flower.”

  The scene zooms closer to reveal a pack of ravenous pirates circling and taunting a bound girl. I assume she’s the slave Edmund gave them in exchange for not sacking High Point Bluff. The fabric of her dress appears finer than that of the other enslaved people I’ve seen in earlier visions, but the bodice is torn, hanging ragged in several places. Her hands are tied behind her back, and a sack covers her head. The pirates pace around her, laughing as they jab their swords and daggers in her direction.

  Bloody Bill claps his hands to interrupt them. His carrot-red hair glows in the candlelight. “Now, now, you’re pirates, but there’s no need to be such rotten scoundrels. Have you learned nothing while under my tutelage?” Despite his aristocratic accent and words, his arched brow and smirk reveal his insincerity. “Why, the maiden is our guest, courtesy of Lord Beaumont, so it’s our duty to provide her with the very best accommodations. Show her some manners, won’t you?” He flashes a sinister grin. “After all, even Shakespeare advocated killing with kindness.”

  The pirates erupt in peals of hearty, lusty laughter.

  Through it all, the restrained girl stands square shouldered and motionless, her head held high under the burlap cover.

  Bloody Bill steps close and fiddles with a long lock of fuzzy black hair that peeks out from under the sack. He ducks down and sniffs it. “Hmm, as sweet as any flower I’ve ever smelled.” He licks his lips. “What say you, boys? Shall we meet our guest?”

  “Aye!” they cheer in unison and hoist their daggers and swords in the air as he yanks the cover off her face.

  I suck in a huge mouthful of air. It’s Maggie. Our Maggie. Jack’s Maggie. My exhausted mind spins. How could she have been on the ship?

  Bloody Bill smiles and takes a deep bow. “Good evening, miss. Welcome aboard my humble vessel, The Dagger. ’Tis a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

  Maggie juts out her jaw and narrows her gaze but says nothing in response.

  He grabs her chin and stares hard at her features. “Your master spoke the truth, love. You are the most beautiful creature mine eyes have gazed upon.” He snickers. “This may have been a fair barter, after all.” She snaps her head away, out of his grasp. His face hardens. “Oh, you wouldn’t want to disappoint your master, now would you? He promised you’d be of good use. I know most of this lot is ragged and infested with scurvy, but I assure you, they’ll be perfect gentlemen. You won’t even notice their bloody gums or open sores.” He roars with laughter.

  Her nostrils flare, and she spits in his face. “I care not what my master thinks. Kill me. I am through doing his bidding. And I certainly won’t do yours.” Her accent is thicker and more foreign than I recognize, but it’s definitely Maggie’s voice.

  Bloody Bill’s chest puffs up, exposing his giant ruby necklace, and his eyes fill with rage. He pulls his fist back and pounds her hard in the face. The crew cheers again, lunging for her, but Bloody Bill holds up his hand to keep them back.

  M
aggie sways, then falls to the deck with a thud, her bound arms preventing her from breaking her fall. She glares at him.

  He wags his finger. “See what you made me do, poppet? If only you’d been a bit more agreeable. Now you’ll have a bruise as big as a cannonball on that pretty eye.” He drags her up from the floor and leans close to her ear.

  “Get away from me, vermin.”

  He sighs. “Very well, have it your way.” A malicious smile creeps across his lips as he paces around her. “Though I suspect you’ll change you mind after spending some time in the brig.” He howls with laughter. “Take her below, mateys!”

  The pirates charge, like starving dogs racing for scraps, and scoop her up. Her expression turns blank as they carry her down the steps to the ’tween deck.

  The vision flickers to a stop, and the smoke dissipates. Just as quickly, the hail ceases.

  My heart rages in my chest, and my fingers tremble as I try to make sense of what I just saw. Maggie was on The Dagger with Bloody Bill. How is that possible? I grab my bleary head to make it stop spinning. A thousand scenarios race through my rattled mind. Maybe the girl was one of her ancestors. But Maggie doesn’t just resemble the girl in the vision. She looks and sounds exactly like her.

  A chill runs up my spine. Maggie is the girl.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Suddenly it all makes sense—her weird accent and strange cadence, appearing out of nowhere and then vanishing to find her non-existent grandmother, even the cold temperature of her skin. She’s not alive and hasn’t been for almost three hundred years.

  I grunt. How did I not see this earlier? It’s so obvious, I’m embarrassed I missed it. But I have an idea of how we were so easily fooled.

  Knife in hand, I work to lift myself off the stool. My legs are thick and lazy, refusing to obey my command to cross the kitchen. Forcing each foot to lift and walk across the floor, I finally manage to make it to the side door. Pulling it open, I stumble past Cooper and Jack, ignoring their alarm, and cross the porch, heading for the ragged screen door. Tripping down the porch steps, I drag my depleted body out into the side yard and stand in the scorch mark left by the lightning.