by Lea Nolan
We wait.
Then wait some more.
After three hours, Jack’s fuming in the summer heat, hot, hungry, and madder than a rabid raccoon, pacing the kudzu-choked perimeter. If it wasn’t for my sketchbook and pastel pencils and the looming live oaks that cast some fairly decent shade, I’d be right there with him. Instead, propped up against this sturdy tree trunk, I’m doing my best to conserve what little energy I’ve got left and be Zen. It’s not too difficult. Despite the fact we’re in an old cemetery, the setting is pretty perfect for drawing. Plus, the strange and beautiful birds flying over the adjacent salt marsh make great subjects, too.
“Where is he?” Jack kicks a clump of emerald-green brush. His toe catches the corner of a gravestone hidden beneath the foliage. “Ah!” he howls and cradles his foot in his hand. “This is all Cooper’s fault.”
“Right. He made you kick a stationary object.” I blend the final touches of yellow into the pelican’s head then squint at my latest masterpiece.
“Yes, he did,” Jack snaps. “Because he broke his word, again. And because he made me mad enough to kick it in the first place.” He glares.
“You know, we could have rolled the mortar to the crypt in the time we’ve wasted waiting for him.”
“No. I’m not giving him another out. He’s going to help us, even if it takes all day.” He pulls out his cell and dials Cooper for probably the hundredth time since we’ve been here.
“Okay.” I sigh and flip the page, readying to start another picture. This time I think I’ll draw a black skimmer in flight. I love how their white wingspans and underbellies contrast with their black backs and orange beaks.
The plantation’s second golf cart hums toward us. Cooper pulls up next to ours and turns off the engine. He steps out of the cart. I do a double take. He’s wearing a black leather jacket over what looks like a wife-beater T-shirt, a backward baseball cap, and super-long jean shorts that hang down around his backside, but provide an eye-popping glimpse of the top half of his boxers.
Jack rolls his eyes.
Cooper approaches in neon-orange high tops. “Sorry. I lost track of time.” He doesn’t look apologetic, but he does look ridiculous. And hot, but not in a good way because that leather definitely doesn’t breathe.
“Hey, Cooper.” I can’t help but gawk at his heinous new clothes.
“Hey.” For a split second, he looks embarrassed by this getup, but then recovers his swagger.
Jack sets his foot down and limps toward Cooper. “Dude. How does a half hour turn into three and half? And what’s with not answering my calls?”
Cooper shrugs. “I told you I was busy. I can’t drop everything just because you want me to. I’m here now so what do you want?”
“For starters, for you not to be such a sphincter and to start helping us because while you’ve been shopping, we’ve had to deal with a whole lot of stuff, including hiding evidence.”
Cooper’s face twists in confusion. “What are you talking about?”
Jack tosses his hands in the air. “I don’t even know where to start.”
I flip the cover on my sketchbook, then jam it into my messenger bag. Standing up from my comfy spot at the base of the tree, I dust off my shorts and step around a half-dozen graves to get to where they stand. “A lot happened after you left yesterday.” I fill him in on all he missed, highlighting our suspicion of Claude.
Cooper scratches his temple. “You could have told me everything back at the Big House. Or on the phone. Why did I have to come here?”
“Dude. Did you miss the part about how Miss Delia made us take the dagger and mortar out of her house and promise to keep it safe? If Claude really is trying to frame your dad, we can’t keep that stuff where it can be easily found. We need you to bring the mortar to the crypt. We’ll hide the rest of the stuff there too.” Jack points to the ancestor’s mortar on the backseat of the golf cart.
“You dragged me away from Taneea to move something for you? Bulk up and carry it yourself.” Cooper’s skin flushes a shade of scarlet I’ve never seen before without a sunburn. He turns and stomps toward his own golf cart.
Jack charges after him. “Hey!”
Cooper pivots on his rubber soles. “What? I’ve got somewhere to be.”
“Do you think we asked you down here for fun? Or that I enjoy harassing you? We need you. When you didn’t call us back yesterday, we drove the cart on the road and could have gotten picked up by the sheriff’s deputies. Then I almost slipped a disc trying to carry that mortar. We’re supposed to be a team but you’ve gone lone wolf on us and don’t seem to give a crap about anything but Taneea, though I can’t understand why.”
“Listen, I was trying to be nice about it, but I’m with her now, okay? I don’t expect you to get our relationship because it’s come as a surprise to me as well. But we’re good together. Perfect, in fact. There’s a good chance I’ll lose my soul in two days. Can’t I enjoy the time I’ve got left?”
The blood drains from my head as I work to make sense of his words. But it’s impossible because even though we’re using the same language, it’s as if he’s speaking Greek. He and Taneea are perfect together? How is that possible?
Jack’s mouth hangs slack. “Well, congratulations. I guess. But I still need you to move the mortar.”
“Fine.” Cooper strides toward our cart. Whipping off the leather jacket, he takes several deep, preparatory breaths, then hoists the mortar up in his arms. Grunting under the strain of the heavy granite vessel, he begins the slow journey to the crypt. His biceps are ripped and the cords in his throat are pulled taut. Jack follows, his arms filled with other supplies we took from Miss Delia’s.
My head spins as I stumble to a nearby grave and collapse on the low headstone. I know Cooper. He’s kind, good, and loving. There’s no way in the world he’d magically decide Taneea’s his ideal match.
Maybe that’s it. Some sort of magic is at work here, blinding him to her flaws, and drawing him close to her. Could it be the Beaumont Curse? If it has begun to take hold, he’ll end up as corrupt and depraved as Beau, and Taneea might very well be his ideal match. Or has something equally dark and destructive snared him in its grip? Once I wondered whether Taneea had dabbled in more than gambling spells—what if I was right? With expert help, she could probably force Cooper to do anything. But what possible motive would she have to coerce his affection? She’s got her pick of guys. Why bother to force Cooper to love her?
Just as I’m beginning to feel hopeful, another option slams to the front of my mind, seizing my heart. What if his feelings for Taneea are real? She’s a virtual boy-magnet so it’s not completely far-fetched. And though they seem like a match made in Hades, crazier things have happened. Isn’t that why they say opposites attract? Sometimes, no matter what everyone else thinks, two people come together for reasons only they can understand. As painful as this possibility is to contemplate, it might be the truth.
There’s only one way to find out—start with what I know and go from there. If I can figure out what kind of Break Jinx spell to work on his mojo bag, the Beaumont Curse will be destroyed. With any luck he’ll turn back to the Cooper I know and love, and he’ll forget this nonsense with Taneea. If not, well, I’ll figure out something new then.
Fifteen minutes later, Cooper’s back, shaking out his arms, which are likely as limp as cold spaghetti. He stops several feet from me, well out of arm’s reach.
“Hey, I’m sorry you had to hear about me and Taneea that way. I’d planned to tell you differently, but I didn’t get the chance.”
I lift my head to meet his gaze. His eyes are cold and nearly colorless, just the faintest hint of gray swirls in his irises. He doesn’t exactly look like a guy in love. He barely even looks like Cooper. An eerie feeling crawls across my scalp. I don’t care how much he claims to care for Taneea, something’s definitely not right.
I rise to my feet and words fly from my mouth. “Who do you think you are?”
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He takes a step forward. The piney fragrance of his deodorant has been replaced with something exotic and spicy that smells a lot like Taneea’s perfume mixed with her stinky hand cream. “I know you’re hurt and probably furious, but I wish you could be happy for me. I’ve found real love.”
My pulse pounds as I scan his face. “That’s not what I mean. Are you even still in there? Or has the Beaumont Curse grabbed you a few days early? Am I wasting my time trying to save your soul?”
He looks wounded. “Of course not. You’ve got to break the curse. Just as long as you know it’s not going to make me take you back. I’m with Taneea now.”
Stung, I nod. “Yeah. I got that. Loud and clear.” I should probably let it drop, accept this new reality, but my senses nag, not buying his love story. “How do you know she’s not working some kind of spell on you? We already caught her working gambling charms. She could be conjuring again. You said yourself you felt like you were slipping away. What if she’s causing it?”
He laughs. “That’s ridiculous. I know it would make you feel better to think that’s what’s going on, but when I said that, I was just overreacting to my feelings for her because they’re so strong. Trust me, what Taneea and I have is real. That’s why I need you to break the Beaumont Curse so she and I can truly be together, without it hanging over our heads. So when do you think you’ll be ready to work your magic?”
I don’t know what’s really behind his epic change of heart, but I doubt it’s as neat and simple as he says. If I’m right, I’ve got no choice but to fight for his soul even though it might break my heart. “Soon. You’re still wearing the mojo bag, right?” I scan his tank top, hoping it’s tucked neatly underneath.
“No. Taneea didn’t like it. She took it off.”
My vision flashes white. “She what? You let her? How could you?” The cemetery spins as my brain works to take in all the implications of this seemingly small act.
“It’s not really appropriate to keep wearing it.”
My brow knits. “It’s not like we’re talking about a promise ring. That bag isn’t about us. It’s about protecting you.”
“Emma, come on. Anyone who touches that thing knows better than that. Taneea did and it made her really uncomfortable. She said it’s filled with your feelings for me. It’s not fair of me to do that to her. Besides, now that things have changed between me and you, it can’t possibly have the same power as before.”
Faced with this harsh reality, the very significant pieces click into place. First, as he’s so coolly pointed out, the mojo can’t be the answer to breaking a curse ignited by a Black Cat Bone. He’s made it clear that we’re over. Kaput. Done. So even though the mojo was created for him and was formulated to protect him from a black magic curse, it doesn’t represent pure love. Not even close. Pure love is true. Unconditional. Reciprocal.
Our relationship, at least for the time being, is none of the above.
But more important is the fact that the mojo, which has been keeping the Beaumont Curse at bay, is gone. Now he’s exposed and vulnerable to an early attack. I don’t have the time I thought.
The heat on my neck turns ice cold, and a dreadful feeling crawls across my chest, then inches up my throat, closing it over. I’d thought the mojo was the key, but now I’m back to square one, out of ideas, and out of luck. How am I going to find something that meets all the criteria Miss Delia listed before the curse takes hold?
My breath is shallow. I don’t know how, but the effects of my disastrous energy tea seem to be inverting. Instead of feeling pumped up, I’m more like a deflated balloon. Light-headed, I reach out for the only thing that’s solid, Cooper’s arm, to keep from fainting.
He grabs my hand but only long enough to guide me safely back down to the low headstone, then quickly pulls away. “I told you, I’m with Taneea now.”
As if I needed the reminder. But I’ve got bigger concerns, like trying not to fall on my face in a graveyard. Woozy, I drop my head between my thighs and breathe deep.
“Emma!” Jack calls on his way back from making his own drop-off at the crypt. But he must misinterpret Cooper’s body looming over my hunched shoulders because he dashes toward me and kneels at my side. Looking up at Cooper he snaps, “Dude, what is your major damage?”
I lift my head enough to peek at them both.
Ignoring Jack’s question, Cooper nods toward me. “Call me when you’ve figured out what to do.” Then he turns and saunters toward his cart.
“You okay?” Jack searches my gaze.
“I’m fine,” I lie. “Go after him. No matter what you do, keep him up at the Big House and don’t let him out of your sight until I can figure some stuff out. He’s taken off his Protective Shield so that curse could take hold whenever it wants.”
Chapter Twenty-two
After Jack chases Cooper in our golf cart, I let the tears I’ve kept locked inside flow. They’re as much from my broken heart as from abject frustration and utter cluelessness. Time’s running out and I’ve got no idea what to do next.
Hot liquid stings my cheeks. I’ve got no working mortar, an ex-boyfriend who’s either losing his soul or his mind, and I can’t even visit Miss Delia for advice.
I don’t think I’ve ever been so screwed.
Miss Delia’s voice echoes in my mind, her last words assuring me I can figure it all out. Which only makes me laugh between garbled sobs. I can’t. Every time I think I’ve come up with something, it comes back to bite me in the rear. Who am I to think I can break a three hundred year old curse by myself? Especially one cast by someone as powerful and vengeful as Sabina? I’m not special. I don’t have hoodoo in my blood like Sabina and Miss Delia. I’m just a teenager, a buckrah comeyah with a couple month’s worth of hoodoo training. In other words, I’m nothing.
Looks like Taneea was right after all. About everything. Which burns even more.
A fresh set of sobs threatens to well over, but I suck them up. I will not shed them over her or Cooper. Maybe they deserve each other.
Bitter acid coats my tongue. Maybe he deserves everything that’s coming to him, including his soulless fate.
I shudder, sickened that I allowed such a hateful thought to pass through my head. I should know better. In his heart, Cooper isn’t the canker he’s been for the last couple weeks. Maybe Taneea has found a way to magically mess with his feelings. Though I’m inclined to believe the Beaumont Curse has settled in a bit early, snagged him in its claws before he officially comes of age. The only way to bring him back is to break the hex that holds him in its grip.
But that still leaves me clueless about what to do next.
A familiar scent tickles my nose. Lifting my face to get a better whiff, I breathe deep. It’s sharp and cloying and almost antiseptic. A charge jolts my body. It’s a stargazer lily. Maggie’s fragrance. Maggie, Jack’s ghostly ex-girlfriend whose evil murder at the hands of Bloody Bill and his pirates kicked off The Creep and the Beaumont Curse in the first place.
But there are no lilies in this cemetery, just rows and rows of faded white headstones and grave markers draped with clinging green vines.
The stargazer perfume swirls around my head, enveloping me.
Which only proves I’ve officially lost it. Not only am I blathering alone in a cemetery in which I have no dead relatives, but I’m sensing imaginary flowers. I should probably leave before I start hearing voices.
I rise to my feet once again, determined to bolt though I’m not sure to where. The moment my flip-flops touch the ground, my soles tingle. With my luck it’s probably an allergic reaction to the kudzu I’ve been tromping through for the last four-and-a-half hours.
Making a beeline toward the path that leads out of the cemetery, my feet begin to itch. Stooping to scratch them, I don’t feel any welts or bug bites, so I pick up my pace. The cloying scent intensifies and seems to follow me as the itching intensifies to a burn. A strange urge implants itself in my brain. If I return to the cemetery to
the cool, lush leaves of the kudzu, the stinging will relent. Which is crazy because that’s where it started in the first place. I break into a jog, but the urge turns into full-on longing and the burning ratchets so high I can barely stand the feel of my feet at the end of my legs.
Suddenly the King Center comes to mind, along with the sensations I felt when Maggie induced me to pick up the pirate’s dagger before we nabbed the ancestors’ mortar.
I stop short. The burning quiets, reducing to a low tingling that buzzes on the tender flesh of my feet. The stargazer scent infuses my clothes and hair. I’ve probably lost it, but it can’t hurt to test my theory.
“Maggie?” I call into the air. “Is that you?”
The wind blows past me, toward the cemetery. Maybe that’s a sign. Or maybe it’s not. I take another step down the path, away from the cemetery to be sure. The burning blasts back, singeing my feet.
I squeal. “Ah! Okay, okay. I get it.”
Backtracking toward the cemetery, I stop at the end of the path. “I have no idea where to go,” I call to no one, or maybe Maggie. The sweet perfume wafts under my nose then carries away on the breeze, deeper into the graveyard. Oh-kay. I guess I’ll follow it.
Chasing the scent, I make my way through the rows, past Missy’s plot and the crypt, to the most kudzu-chocked area of the graveyard. Somewhere in here is Cooper’s mother’s grave, though thanks to my dad’s freak-out, we never saw it. I stand on the cusp of the thick vegetation and look around, not sure where I should put my foot. Who knows what’s under the thick emerald carpet? For all I know there could be snakes lurking in there, waiting to bite anyone who passes over them. My flip-flops aren’t exactly built for hiking.
An electric shock prods my heels.
Exasperated, I look up into the sky and yell, “I don’t know what you want from me. If I climb through here, I’m liable to trip and break my neck.”
“Emma Guthrie. You are closer than you know.” Maggie’s voice, faint, but oh so very clear, carries on the breeze.