by Lea Nolan
How is that possible? My muscles are coiled, poised to spring. I could run a Lowcountry marathon in record time.
She must sense my confusion because she leans forward and points to my chest. “Oh, it’s got your blood pumping, all right. Your cheeks are about as red as a clown’s.” My fingers fly to my face. She’s right. It’s swollen and as hot as a match. “But instead of adding to your power, that drink of yours has sucked it dry. No wonder the Psychic Vision wouldn’t start. It’s like trying to drive a car with a giant hole in the gas tank.”
“I was just so tired.” My voice trembles. “And my resistance was building so slowly. I was afraid I wouldn’t have enough strength to break the Beaumont Curse.”
“You kids are all the same. Impatient. Headstrong. Thinking you’re so clever you can take the fast, easy route instead of putting in the work and time required for things to happen as they should. Well guess what? You can’t shortchange hoodoo.”
Her not-so-veiled comparison to Taneea stings worse than a hot poker to the skin. “I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“You should be,” she snaps, showing me no mercy. “Because of your little stunt, we’ve lost three good days. And we might run out of time all together.”
“I know the ancestors’ mortar needs to rest, but we can still do magic with your old mortar can’t we?”
Her brow creases. “I can. But you’re out of commission.”
“What?” A tear trickles from my eye. “Are you banning me from doing magic? Please don’t. Not with Cooper’s birthday so close. Once his soul is safe, I don’t care if I never work hoodoo again. But please don’t keep me from it now.”
She scoffs. “If only it was up to me. I’d punish you longer just to teach you a lesson. But your suspension has nothing to do with me. You’ve got to wait for that concoction of yours to work its way out of your system. You’ll be lucky if it only takes a couple days to restore your natural balance. For all I know, it could take another week.”
The room spins as the enormity of my mistake begins to sink in. Gripping the table to keep from fainting, I fight back tears. “I know I screwed up. But I didn’t mean to. I really just wanted to do something good. Doesn’t that matter for something?”
She cocks her snowy white head. “Sure, if this was a fairy tale. But this is here is real life and no matter how good your intentions, there are consequences to your actions. Those Law Keep Away spells we worked this morning? I’ve got no idea how strong they are because you weren’t working at your full strength. And did you even stop to think about what you might do to yourself with that drink? Each of those ingredients is strong on their own, but together, you’re lucky you didn’t drop dead of a heart attack. And then where would your boy be? Left with only your clueless brother and a paralyzed, old woman to save his soul.”
A wave of clammy sickness rolls over me. A moment ago I didn’t think I could feel any worse. Now, I wish I could dive into a swamp and bury myself in the muck.
“I’m so, so, sorry.” There’s nothing else I can possibly say.
“So am I.” She looks away and shakes her head. “You best leave before I really get angry.”
Chapter Nineteen
Without another word, I slip off my stool and gather my messenger bag and slink out of the kitchen. If this is semi-angry Miss Delia, I don’t want to be here when she blows for real.
I duck through the living room. “Come on, Jack.” Then push open the screen door and run out onto the porch.
“What’s going on?” Within seconds he’s followed me outside, down the steps, and through the garden.
I jump into the golf cart. “I don’t want to talk about it, okay? Let’s just go. Now.”
He stands beside the passenger side of the cart. “Huh? I don’t understand? Did you see something weird in the vision? Was it Claude? Did he do something to Missy?”
“Will you just shut up and drive?” I snap, sick of hearing his annoying voice and dumb questions.
He throws up his hands. “Whoa. Back off, sis. I’m just trying to find out what happened.”
“What happened is I totally screwed something up and now Miss Delia hates me and Cooper’s probably going to lose his soul. Oh, yeah, and Claude is probably a total master hoodoo psychopath but I’ll never get to find that out either, all because I. Screwed. Up.” Tears stream from my eyes and sear my already scorching cheeks. “There, are you happy? Now will you get in the frigging cart and drive?”
“Uh. Okay.” Jack races around to his side and climbs behind the wheel. He turns the key, starting the silent electric engine and clicking the headlights on.
Slipping the gear into reverse, he backs up under the bottle tree, then heads down the long driveway to the main road. A full minute of blessed silence elapses during which I meditate on my colossal transgressions.
Jack clears his throat. “At the risk of getting hit, can I say something?”
Oh my God. I swear, if it’s got anything to do with being emo, I’m going to push him out of this moving cart.
“What?”
“I don’t exactly understand what happened in there or what the heck you mean by all that stuff, but I’m reasonably sure you’re wrong about Miss Delia. She could never hate you. Whatever is going on, it must be some sort of mistake.”
“There’s no mistake. I did something bad. And now there will be horrible consequences.”
“Come on. This is you we’re talking about, not me. You don’t do bad.”
A bitter laugh leaps from my lips. “Well, I didn’t mean to, but I did.” I stare into the dense live oak forest. The Spanish moss casts creepy shadows on the ground but even they don’t scare me as much as what might happen thanks to my adventures in brewing energy tea. I force those truly horrific thoughts from my mind.
“Aha! See? I knew it. You couldn’t be bad if you tried. Even the museum robbery was for a good cause. Face it, Em, you’re just not hardcore enough to do hard time. And Miss Delia knows that, so there’s no way she hates you.”
“If only that was true.”
Jack stops the cart. “Hey, listen to me. Miss Delia loves you. You know that. Whatever it is, she’ll get over it.”
I’m about sick of his optimism. Maybe he’ll change his tune if he knows the truth. Crossing my arms, I cock my head. “I went behind her back and brewed a potion I shouldn’t have. Then because I messed up my body’s natural balance, I screwed up the Psychic Vision, which screwed up the ancestors’ mortar so we might miss the deadline to save Cooper’s soul. Oh yeah, and I’ve totally destroyed Miss Delia’s trust in me.”
He whistles. “Yup, that’s pretty bad.”
“You’re such a jerk.” A strangled mixture of crying and laughter blurts from my lips as I swat his shoulder.
He laughs. “Hey, what do you expect? You want me to lie and say you’re perfect? Guess what? You’re not. But here’s a news flash: Miss Delia knows that too. You’re a teenager. And an apprentice. You’re going to screw up once in a while.” He presses the accelerator pedal and continues down the road.
Since when did my brother become such a sage wise man? Still, it doesn’t change the outcome.
I sniff my runny nose. “There’s screwing up and then there’s dooming your boyfriend’s soul for eternity.”
“Possibly ex-boyfriend,” he corrects me.
I gape and fresh tears sprout. “Wow, way to kick a girl when she’s down.”
He shrugs. “Just for now. I’m sure everything will go back to normal when the Beaumont Curse is broken and he comes to his senses about Taneea. Which is going to happen because ancestors’ mortar or not, you and Miss Delia have mad hoodoo ninja skills.”
Though I’m not sure I deserve it, his confidence perks me up.
Near the end of the long road leading from Miss Delia’s house, Jack prepares to turn onto the paved side road that will take us to Sea Island Parkway.
A dark, foreboding feeling creeps across my chest. I glance over my shoulder at the fo
rest behind us. My ears fill with the sound of the night—crickets, cicadas, frogs—and something else, not a whisper exactly, but a faint, dissonant chord that echoes deep my head.
I grab his wrist. “Wait. Do you hear that?”
He holds his foot on the break and listens. “No. What is it?”
The chime heightens and intensifies, like an orchestra tuning up. It crescendos, growing until it crowds out all other noises. “That. It’s like music, but not,” I nearly shout to hear myself over the din.
Jack look at me like I’m crazy. “Why are you yelling at me?”
“Huh?” I ask, shoving my fingers in my ears to block the ringing that’s blaring so loud it’s vibrating my eardrums.
Suddenly, the sound shatters into a thousand individual tones that cascade and carry on the wind like notes in some weird, harmonic minor scale.
“Are you okay?”
The freaky feeling crawls across my chest and then down my spine. I know the sound. I’d recognize the tones from Miss Delia’s bottle tree anywhere. I’m just not sure how I can hear it from this far away. But my spirit guide must think it’s important. “We’ve got to go back to Miss Delia’s. Now.”
Jack spins the steering wheel, jerking the cart around.
The scent of burning wood wafts toward us.
No! Miss Delia’s house must be on fire! The sound must have been some kind of spiritual fire alarm in my head.
“Hurry!” The eerie sensation crawls down my arms and legs.
“The pedal is on the floor. These things only go so fast you know.”
He whizzes the cart back down the dirt road, dodging the pock holes and overgrown lumps of vegetation as best he can in a golf cart with dinky headlights.
Finally, we approach the bend in the road just outside of Miss Delia’s house. The smoky aroma hangs thick. A low, ghostly moan resonates through the forest. It’s the familiar sound of wind passing through the bottle tree. Through the dense forest and sheets of hanging Spanish moss, I catch a glimpse of fiery red flames.
Jack stops short.
“What are you doing? We’ve got to get to Miss Delia’s. Her house is burning down.”
“No it’s not. Look.” He points toward a space between two trees.
He’s right. There’s a fire all right. But it’s not in her house. Instead, Miss Delia’s seated in her wheelchair under the bottle tree, warming herself by a gigantic bonfire.
The eerie sensation evaporates and my heart slows to a trot. “What the heck is she doing?”
“Beats me. You’re the root worker.”
Remembering her extreme displeasure, I suddenly feel weird being here. “Maybe we should leave.”
He turns to me. “You sure?”
The bottle tree’s strange music jolts my ears again, this time sounding like someone blared the volume and then cut it just as suddenly. Nope. My spirit guide wants me here for a reason. I know Miss Delia doesn’t appreciate me being clever or headstrong, but this really isn’t up to me. My spirit guide’s got an agenda. “No. We’re supposed to stay and watch whatever’s going to happen. Turn off the headlights.”
Jack takes a deep breath and kills the lights. “Oh-kay. You do realize hanging out with you is a bizarre experience, right? If you weren’t my sister, I’m pretty sure I’d think you’re crazy.”
I sigh. “Yeah. Sometimes I wonder if I am, too. But honestly, I’m just listening to my spirit guide.”
“I’d love to meet her.”
“So would I.” Actually, maybe not. Frankly, the whole thing is still kind of spooky to me.
Miss Delia starts to speak and wave her arms around, but it’s almost impossible to see through the woods.
“Drive up closer so we can get a better look.”
Jack steps on the accelerator. The electric engine makes only the faintest noise, allowing us to roll right up to the last tree before her house. We’ve got a perfect view of the bottle tree and clearing. Miss Delia’s seated in front of the fire, a metal lock box in her lap.
With a shaking hand, she unlocks the box, then pries open the lid and pulls out what looks like a mojo bag. Clasping the tiny pocket between her palms as if in prayer, she mumbles to herself, then raises her hands above her head and calls,
“Fire and heat in darkest night,
Join forces to reveal this curio’s might
To concoct black magic strange and dark
Sealing one’s fate from just a spark.”
She tosses the mojo onto the flames. The fire blazes just as before.
Shaking her head, she pulls out another bag and follows the same ritual.
“What is she doing?” Jack whispers.
“Testing something.”
“By throwing it into the fire? What the heck is it?”
“Uh, it’s a hoodoo thing. I don’t think I’m allowed to tell you.” It’s best not to explain that those bags are likely filled with black magic curios so dark and dangerous Miss Delia’s igniting them on her own, because she fears I’m not strong enough to resist their power. And that they’re wrapped in those tiny swatches of cotton because she doesn’t want their raw materials to touch her skin. No wonder she kicked us out of here. She’s been planning this all day. With my energy drained and magical powers out of commission, the stuff in those bags would probably consume me in a second.
For the next few minutes, Miss Delia prays and tosses mojos into the fire. Each time a tiny bag lands in the flickering orange flames, she leans forward as if waiting for something to happen. Seconds pass before she sinks back into her wheelchair looking more disappointed with each failed attempt. I’m not sure what she’s waiting for, but it obviously hasn’t happened.
A somber expression crosses her face as she withdraws a black packet from the lock box. She crosses herself, then looks to the sky and mouths a prayer.
My scalp pricks. I edge closer on my seat.
Drawing a deep breath, she encases the mojo between her palms and shuts her eyes. Then she raises her hands once again and shouts the incantation. The bag sails from her hands and lands on a flaming log.
A yellow-white flash ignites, shooting sparks up and out of the fire. Tiny embers land in the dry foliage beneath the tree. The ground rumbles, shaking Miss Delia’s wheelchair and swaying the low-hanging bottles in the tree.
Jack’s eyes pop. “What’s going on?”
“Her test worked. It unleashed some powerful magic. Just hold on.” I grip the golf cart’s dashboard, anticipating the inevitable shockwave that’s bound to charge our way.
An explosion blasts in the bonfire, splitting the burning logs and causing them to collapse on themselves. Thick plumes of black smoke billow into the oak’s canopy, their sooty tendrils caressing each bottle and causing them to vibrate and glow a sinister red. Within moments, the tree is bathed in crimson light, like a giant burning bush without the flames.
Jack gasps.
The quaking escalates, rattling like a speeding freight train as it stretches across the yard and rocks the golf cart. At the epicenter, Miss Delia tenses and grips the arms on her chair as the quake thrashes her from side to side.
Suddenly her head yanks back as if whiplashed, then snaps forward as she begins to convulse. Her body spasms, flopping around like a fish on a line.
She’s having a seizure. This is why I’m here.
“Miss Delia!” I leap from the golf cart and race to her.
“Emma!” Jack’s voice echoes behind me.
“Come on! She needs us,” I scream over my shoulder. His footsteps follow behind me.
Rushing over the shaking ground, I lose my balance but somehow manage to stay on my feet. Halfway to the bottle tree the earthquake begins to ebb, as the vibrations slow and turn shallower.
Miss Delia’s mouth is covered in white foam. My feet kick into overdrive, closing the space between us. Steps away, I reach to console her but she jerks forward and lunges out of the chair, landing face-first in the dirt. Her upper body quivers as
her lifeless legs splay on the ground.
The earth finally stills as I kneel at her waist and try to flip her on her side, but she’s still flailing around and it’s nearly impossible to do by myself.
Jack crouches beside me and pries his hands beneath her side. “On three, okay?” he says, anticipating my request for help.
I nod as he counts. “One.”
“Two,” I add.
“Three.” We say together and push her over.
“We got you, Miss D.” Jack clasps her hand.
Her gaze bores into me.
“You’re going to be okay. I promise.” I hope it’s the truth as I wipe the spit from her lips and peer into her mouth to make sure her airway is clear.
The light in the bottles fades, dimming to black. At the same time the fire shrinks, the flames collapsing on themselves as if someone doused the inferno with a bucket of water. Miss Delia stills. A low moan rolls up her throat.
I brush the dirt from her face. “Shh. Don’t try to talk. We’re going to get you inside, okay?”
She nods, ever so slightly, and her eyes shut.
“Jack, I need you to pick her up and carry her inside. I’ll bring up her chair.”
“No problem.” He slides his arms under her back and knees, then strains to stand with her in his arms. The muscles in his neck pull and his face turns magenta.
He grunts. “For a little old lady, she’s heavy.”
“You sure you can handle it? Maybe we should carry her together. You can’t drop her. She’ll break a hip.”
“Nah. I got it.”
Biting my lip, I push her chair and watch as he struggles to carry her through the yard, past the garden, and up the steps. I can’t help but remember how Cooper scooped her up so easily earlier this summer after the plateyes first attacked. In his arms, she seemed as light as feather. In Jack’s, she looks more like a sack stuffed with of overgrown potatoes.
Inside, we bring her straight to her room and lay her on her bed. Though her eyes are still closed, her pulse is strong. Jack runs to the bathroom for a basin of warm water and a washcloth while I race to the kitchen for a glass of water and a vial of Four Thieves Vinegar.