by Lea Nolan
He grins. “I always have.”
My jaw hangs slack as I fumble for something to say. He’s forgiven me, even though I haven’t saved him and may, in fact, have sealed his fate.
But I don’t get a chance to even utter a thank-you before he scoops me up in his crazy strong arms and tenderly lays his lips on mine, kissing me deeply once again. Chills surge, icy and hot at the same time, and race over my skin. My heart pounds as he slides his hands around my back and tugs me close. Intoxicated by his closeness and his crisp, summer-rain scent, I wrap my arms around his broad back so I don’t collapse.
The world slips away, all sound and thought muted by this amazing sensation. The dampened wind and rain are silent, Maggie and Jack are as good as invisible, as are the ancestors who still light up the clearing. The cut on my hand doesn’t burn and throb anymore, and I don’t care that my blood is dripping down Cooper’s back. The only thing that matters is Cooper’s forgiven me.
Jack clears his throat. “Ahem. PDA much?”
I start and regretfully pull away from Cooper, but he clutches my right hand, anchoring me. Oh, Jack. I forgot he didn’t know about us.
Cooper punches his shoulder. “Look who’s talking, bro.”
Maggie’s image flickers and fades. “I am free, my friends! Finally and forever.” She sighs as centuries of burden appear to slip from her incandescent shoulders. She looks as if she might break out in tears of joy. Her visage flashes and sputters again. “My journey is about to begin. Remember to care for one another and have faith in yourselves. Hold fast to the small spark that binds you as one. Together you will find a way to break the curse and save Cooper.”
She turns and joins the ancestors. At once, a deep, resonant chord echoes throughout the clearing as their perfect harmony vibrates the ground beneath our feet. They unclasp their hands, drop their shield, and let in the hurricane’s gusts and rain. The sandstorm retreats toward the Sound, and the plateye dust mounds blow away. The ancestors dematerialize, evaporating into radiant orbs of light, then float up into the stormy night sky.
Jack drags his gaze from where Maggie disappeared. “I know it’s weird, but I’m going to miss her.” Even though he has to yell to be heard over the wind, his voice is wistful.
I shake my head. “It’s not so weird.”
Cooper turns to me. “She’s right, you know. As long as we stick together, we can do anything.” He wraps his arm around me, gripping me close.
I hope he’s right and it’ll be that easy. The creeping sensation itching at my scalp tells me otherwise. But that’s a worry for another day.
Threading my arm behind his back, I cling to Cooper, knowing I can stand on my own two feet, but having him here is so much better. The howling wind and rain bear down on us, but it can’t hurt me. Nothing can. Because Cooper Beaumont loves me back.
EPILOGUE
The sun streams through the windows of Miss Delia’s hospital room. From the brilliant blue sky, it’s hard to believe a hurricane blew through here yesterday. The Big House was damaged, but it’s nothing Dad can’t handle.
Miss Delia is propped up in her bed, looking spry and not at all like she’s just woken from a coma. Except, of course, for the bandages and stitches that pretty much cover her body.
Her face lights up. “Good morning, children!”
Cooper smiles. “You’re looking fine this morning, Miss Delia.”
“Funny thing. I woke last night smack in the middle of a hurricane. I figured you three had to have a hand in it.” She adjusts the new collier I draped around her neck when we visited before the storm hit.
Jack waves his right hand as he leans against the windowsill. “Hey, Miss Delia, notice anything different?” His stump is obvious, but it’s a thousand times better than his funktastic bare bones.
She winks her cloudy eye. “Good girl. I knew you could do it.”
I sit in the chair next to her bed and scoot close, her praise warming me from the inside out. Cooper pulls the other chair next to mine and tucks the bag we’ve brought underneath. I reach out to pat Miss Delia’s bandaged hand. “I was able to break The Creep, but only because I found the note you were holding, when you, well, you know.” My voice catches at the thought of those evil monsters attacking her.
She shakes her head and squeezes my hand. “Shh now, we needn’t speak on that.”
I nod. “Yeah, we got a…translator. It was ancient Akan, the language some of the Africans spoke when they came here. It means, ‘I bind the blood of the sun and the moon, the day and the night to bring you darkness and shorten your life.’”
She rubs her chin, pondering the phrase, then laughs. “How long did it take you to realize you and your brother there were the sun and moon?”
I gape, astonished it was so obvious to her. “Um, awhile, actually. I almost didn’t.” I gnaw my lip.
“She was awesome, Miss Delia.” Jack beams at me.
I’m used to sarcastic Jack, and his unfettered gushing makes me uncomfortable. His euphoria over being saved should pass soon enough. Then he’ll snap back to his normal, annoying self.
Miss Delia claps her hands. “Very good, you bound the elements and remembered what I taught you about the importance of balance. Sacrificing for love is the strongest white magic around. Definitely the fix for Sabina’s black magic.”
I wince, ashamed of myself for forgetting that rule when it came to Cooper’s curse. “I didn’t remember it long enough.”
Cooper reaches over and squeezes my hand. “We promised not to dwell on that.”
Miss Delia’s eyes narrow. “What are you talking about?”
I exhale and drop my gaze to my flip-flops, afraid to meet her eyes and her disappointment for messing up. “I threw the blood stone into the fire when I should have frozen it.”
“Don’t be too hard on yourself, Emma.” Her voice is soft and not at all angry. “You’re still an apprentice. With me in here, you were bound to make at least a few mistakes.”
Her words are comforting, but they don’t erase the guilt I feel. A little mistake is understandable, but she doesn’t know the epic nature of my screwup. “The stone broke into three pieces.”
We each dig into our pockets and pull out a glistening red rock. We divvied up the pieces as souvenirs, since we can’t exactly hand them back to Beau and Missy without getting killed for real.
Cooper chuckles, but it’s a nervous laugh. “I’m not sure how we’ll keep it from my dad.” He bounces his broken ruby in his palm. “We’re hoping he won’t notice it’s not hanging around Missy’s neck.”
Not wanting to dwell on Beau’s inevitable wrath, I focus on the more immediate problem. “Since the stone’s not whole anymore, I don’t know how to break the curse. So Cooper’s soul’s still in danger.”
Tilting her head, Miss Delia looks at Cooper. “If I recall, your birthday is about a month away, right, son?” Cooper nods. Miss Delia stares out the window and ponders something for a few moments. She sucks her teeth, then turns back to us. “It’s not long, but we might be able to work up another cure.”
“See, Emmaline? We’ve got plenty of time.” Cooper wraps his arm around my shoulder and tugs me close, kissing my temple.
Miss Delia’s brow furrows. “I didn’t say that, boy. This curse has hung on for three hundred years, a month may not be enough.”
Cooper’s shoulders slump as if he’s finally comprehended the severity of his situation.
I can’t let him slip into despair. I’ve got to try and keep up his hope. “We’ll figure it out.” I clutch his hand and lean my head against his shoulder.
Miss Delia chuckles. “Seems you didn’t do everything wrong, Emma. Perhaps you gained a little more than a broken ruby for your trouble?” She smirks.
Cooper pulls his lips into a half grin. “Yeah, doomed soul aside, I’m the luckiest guy on St. Helena, now that Emmaline’s my girlfriend.”
My cheeks flush with heat, and my chest heaves. I still can’t believe that, even after all
that’s happened, we’re officially together. Squeal! Now we’ve really got to save his soul.
Jack snorts. “Aw, man, are you guys going to be gross?”
Cooper winks. “No grosser than you and Maggie were, bro.”
Jack’s olive cheeks flush.
I wipe the stupid grin off my face and clear my throat. “Um, okay, can we show Miss Delia what’s in the bag?”
Cooper laughs and removes his arm, then leans down to grab the paper sack. “Sure. We’re hoping you could do us a little favor.” He pulls out Bloody Bill’s treasure box. “We dug it up this morning after the hurricane blew through. Now that The Creep’s been destroyed, it’s harmless.”
Her snowy brow knits. “What do you want me to do with that, boy? It looks an awful lot like that pirate’s dagger.”
Jack steps to her bedside. “Nothing, really. We just want you to let us donate it to the King Center in your name.”
I nod. “It would make us feel better about stealing from them.”
Jack leans over and takes the box from Cooper. “Plus we’re guessing this’ll make you one of their biggest donors ever.” He lifts the lid to reveal about a hundred shiny gold doubloons.
She squints through her cataract. “So I’ll only be donating the box and treasure?” We nod. “What happens to the knife and my ancestors’ mortar?”
Cooper scratches his temple. “We’ll find a way to dump the knife off at the museum. Maybe leave it in a bathroom or something.” He laughs. “’Course we might need some of that Semi-Invisibility Powder to get back in there.”
Jack crosses his arms. “The mortar’s yours. They’re not getting it back.”
Miss Delia smiles. “Okay, what do you need me to do?” Cooper takes the donation papers out of the bag and hands her a pen to sign on the dotted line. She scribbles her signature, then chuckles. “I’m glad we didn’t have to fight over that mortar. I’m going to need it to continue Emma’s training. There’s no telling what we’ll face breaking the Beaumont curse, and she needs to be prepared.”
Three sets of eyes land on me. The enormity of the task weighs heavy on my chest.
I gulp as a chill runs up my spine. Something tells me Miss Delia’s right. Breaking the Beaumont curse could be even more freaky and dangerous than The Creep. I’ll need all the help I can get. With Jack and Cooper at my side, I know we’ll find a way.
ACKNOWLEGMENTS
Thanks first and foremost go to the Gullah people of the South Carolina and Georgia Sea Islands, for whom I have a deep and abiding respect. I hope you feel I’ve done Miss Delia justice. I love her fiercely.
The seeds of this book were planted two decades ago while I was an undergraduate history student at Georgetown University. Dr. Marsha Darling introduced me to the Gullah, and Dr. Marcus Rediker taught me about pirates. Your classes were the highlight of my undergraduate experience and left an indelible impact. It was an honor to be your student.
The following books have been invaluable in researching the Gullah and hoodoo magic: Hoodoo Herb and Root Magic: A Materia Magica of African-American Conjure by Catherine Yronwode, Hoodoo Medicine: Gullah Herbal Remedies by Faith Mitchell, Lowcountry Voodoo: Beginner’s Guide to Tales, Spells and Boo Hags by Terrance Zepke, Gullah Fuh Oonuh (Gullah for You): A Guide to the Gullah Language by Virginia Mixson Geraty, Hoodoo Mysteries: Folk Magic, Mysticism & Rituals by Rev. Ray T. Marbrough, and Blue Roots: African-American Folk Magic of the Gullah People by Roger Pinckney as well as his essay, “Burying Miss Louise,” which appeared in the January/February 2004 issue of Orion Magazine. The pages of these texts are well worn, highlighted, and layered with sticky notes. Although I have taken some artistic license, I could not have written this book without this outstanding scholarship. Finally, I would be remiss if I didn’t mention the premier resource on Gullah culture, St. Helena’s own Penn Center and its York W. Bailey Museum. I wish I had a treasure chest full of gold coins to give you.
Debut books are molded by many hands, and this one is no exception. The following people trudged through early rough drafts with great fortitude and enthusiasm: Theresa Fuller, Susan Hatler, and my fellow students in Rebecca John’s Advanced Novel Workshop at the University of Iowa’s Summer Writing Festival in July 2010, especially Kevin Smith, Jon Stonger, and Joan Burda. The following people graciously read the entire manuscript and offered invaluable critiques: Veronica Blade, Regina Gramss, Laurel Wanrow, and my three favorite teenage beta readers: Conor Dougherty, Rachel Lefkowitz, and Alyssa Reiman.
Thanks also to Nicole Resciniti, who plucked me from the slush and believed in this story even before it was finished. Your comments and suggestions shaped and strengthened this book for the better, and the experience taught me never to think, I can’t, because I’ve proved I can. I am eternally grateful for the journey we walked together and all I learned along the way.
To Madison Pelletier, who beta-read this book before acquisition at Entangled Publishing and demanded that her mother buy it: I’m sending you a big, squeezy hug and your very own Follow Me Boy gris-gris bag. Use it wisely. And to Madison’s mother, Liz Pelletier, editor and publisher extraordinaire, who “got” this action-adventure-romance story and knew exactly what to do with it: you have my undying gratitude and affection. Thanks for pushing me to make the magic bigger. As usual, you were spot on.
Writing can be a solitary endeavor, making support and writing partners all the more necessary. The Romance Writers of America and several of its affiliated chapters—the Young Adult Chapter of RWA, Fantasy, Futuristic and Paranormal, and the Maryland Romance Writers—have provided extraordinary education, kinship, and community.
So, too, have several of my writing sisters: Amanda Carlson, Marisa Cleveland, Jen Danna, Amanda Flower, Marianne Harden, Melissa Landers, Cecy Robson, Julie Ann Walker; the Honestly YA girls: Carey Corp, Lorie Langdon, Kim MacCarron, and Jennifer McAndrews; as well as the Maryland Vixens: Christi Barth and Stephanie Dray.
But chief among all is Laura Kaye, my best friend and partner in literary crime, with whom I bounce plot ideas and write every day, critique, freak out, cry, and laugh. You are the sister of my heart, but I hardly have to tell you that.
Finally, this crazy writing life could not be possible without the sustaining love, support, and patience of my devoted husband Patrick, who makes it possible for Mommy to work late nights and weekends to meet my deadlines. I know it isn’t always easy, but you pull it off with aplomb. I swear I’ll buy you a forty-foot sailboat someday. And to Gillian, Riley, and Lila, my little pies: I write these stories for you, so you’ll believe in the power of magic, love, and your very own brilliant minds.
Keep reading for a sneak peek of Rachel Harris’s
My Super Sweet
Sixteenth Century
“Prepare yourself for a Renaissance-shaped treat! MY SUPER SWEET SIXTEENTH CENTURY is a fun, romantic romp among deliciously dressed and cultured people. But it goes a bit deeper, too. It’s also a chance to witness Cat experience things that will
change her forever. Don’t miss Rachel Harris’s debut. It’s a totally fun and totally satisfying read.”
- Lisa T. Bergren, author of the River of Time Series
On the precipice of her sixteenth birthday, the last thing lone wolf Cat Crawford wants is an extravagant gala thrown by her bubbly soon-to-be stepmother and well-meaning father. So even though Cat knows the family’s trip to Florence, Italy, is a peace offering, she embraces the magical city and all it offers. But when her curiosity leads her to an unusual gypsy tent, she exits . . . right into Renaissance Firenze.
Thrust into the sixteenth century armed with only a backpack full of contraband future items, Cat joins up with her ancestors, the sweet Alessandra and protective Cipriano, and soon falls for the gorgeous aspiring artist Lorenzo. But when the much-older Niccolo starts sniffing around, Cat realizes that an unwanted birthday party is nothing compared to an unwanted suitor full of creeptastic amore. Can she find her way back to modern times before her
Italian adventure turns into an Italian forever?
CHAPTER ONE
I’m trapped.
I concentrate on the monitor in front of me and scan through the in-flight entertainment, attempting to tune out Jenna. Like that’s even possible. When my dad’s bubbly fiancée gets this excited, I swear sometimes only dogs can hear her.
We’ve been on this plane for over six hours. I woke up less than an hour ago, cramped, cranky, and carb-deprived, and yet the woman insists on being perky. It’s as if she were born with caffeine in her veins.
“Cat, do you know what this means?!?”
I quirk an eyebrow at Dad, but judging by his all-consuming interest in the newspaper, his stance of neutrality is in full effect. To tell you the truth, it’s not his impartiality that hurts. It’s knowing that by staying out of it, what he’s really doing is taking her side.
And moving further away from mine.
I settle for a crappy rerun and decide to throw the evil step-witch-in-training a bone. I lean forward and look across the aisle, catching a glimpse of her flying fingers on her BlackBerry—thank goodness they have in-flight Wi-Fi, or she might’ve actually wanted to bond. “No, tell me, Jenna. What does it mean?”
“It means your party is practically a shoo-in for the show!”
My party. Right. As if anything about this is for me. If Jenna really cared about me, you’d think she’d have clued in to the fact that anything involving crowds, paparazzi, and scrutiny isn’t exactly my thing. She refuses to grasp that while I might be a daughter of Hollywood, it doesn’t mean I’m a product of it. If anything, this party is for her.
Jenna’s too excited by her coup to notice my lack of reaction. She leans over Dad and gushes, “The buzz on this is absolutely unreal. Your party is going to be the biggest, flashiest event I’ve ever put together!”
Yay, me.
I turn back to the television and pick up my headphones.
Unfortunately, that does nothing to deter her. “You can even sketch caricatures of the guests as they come in the door if you want.” She flashes a brilliant smile, like she’s doing me a huge favor. “Adds a fun, kitschy element to the whole thing, don’t ya think?”