Allure (The Hoodoo Apprentice #2) (Entangled Teen) (23 page)

“She made you lose a lot of things.” The words fly from my mouth before I can stop them. Harsh, but true. Aside from messing with his memory and stripping him of his dignity, she also drove a wedge between all three of us. And Cooper and me. My mind knows he was allured, but my heart still remembers the pain of being dumped, even if he didn’t do it on purpose.

He pushes off the floor and crosses the hall to stand in front of me. His eyes meet mine. They’re a pale sea-green foam now, definitely on their way back to normal. His skin is pinker, too, as if he’s coming back to life. “But I didn’t lose you, did I, Emmaline?” Grasping my hand, he entwines my fingers with his. There’s no shocking pain accompanied by his touch. Proof he’s been cured. He searches my gaze.

I’ve longed for this moment. Yet now that it’s here, I can’t fully embrace it. But it’s been a rough night and there’s a definite possibility that after falling from the tree and my encounter with the boo hag, I’m not thinking straight. So I try to be as honest and fair as possible when I say, “I’m so glad you’re back, Cooper. I really missed you. And while I know none of this was your fault, the truth is, you said some things when you were allured that hurt. I’ll get over them, but I just need some time.” My fingers slip from his grip. “But we’ve got bigger problems then whether we’re okay. A monster wants to drain your life force and steal your skin.”

Chapter Twenty-eight

S
unlight streams through my bedroom window, awakening me to my latest epiphany. We need Miss Delia. Though we’re not supposed to go to her house until she says it’s safe, we can’t wait that long. The boo hag has added a new wrinkle to the situation. Cooper’s birthday is tomorrow, and I’m sure the monster is poised to attack at its next opportunity. I need her advice on how to fight it and maybe to figure out how it connects to the now-broken Beaumont Curse. Plus, I’ve got a new theory about Claude Corbeau that I need to run by her. Since he seems to be at the epicenter of all our recent troubles, I’m wondering how deep his involvement actually goes. If he did plant the pirate’s dagger in Beau’s study, then he was present when Missy died covered in what now seems to be boo-hag blood. Perhaps Claude Corbeau is even more than he appears to be.

Energized by my new theory, I throw off my covers and pad to the bathroom to wash up. Thankfully, only a sliver of my headache remains. It’s nothing a few ibuprofen can’t handle. I yank open the mirrored medicine cabinet door, grab a bottle, and pour out two extra-strength tablets. I switch on the faucet and let it run until it’s nice and cold, then fill the plastic cup on the counter and toss back the pills. Swallowing hard, I reach my left hand and swing the cabinet door closed.

Miss Delia’s face hovers in the mirror.

I yelp and drop the half-full cup into the sink, splashing the water.

She’s not looking at me directly, but her eyes are filled with fright and distress. Her image flickers and fades.

Panicked, I grope at my
collier
and grip the light blue and pink beads, which should help boost my reception if this is a new type of message from my spirit guide. But Miss Delia’s face continues to dim, so this must be something different.

An awful thought strikes:
what if Miss Delia’s dead?
Maybe this is her spirit saying good-bye.

I spin the necklace and land on the clear and white section, which is supposed to help see spirits. When there’s no change in her image, I move to the purple, white, and black beads used for communicating with the dead. Though the vision continues to fade, somehow Miss Delia appears even more terrified with each passing second. Her pupils have dilated and her little brown face is carved with more worry lines then I’ve ever seen.

Since she’s not dead or already a spirit, I’ve got to find her. But the scene around her is too dark to even guess where she is.

Which leaves me one logical section remaining—the green and white beads for psychic visions. I clutch the glass beads tight. Miss Delia’s face zooms into focus and the background brightens, revealing she’s in her living room, seated in her wheelchair. I heave a sigh of relief. She’s still alive, although whatever’s happening, it’s not good. In fact, I’m sure it’s very, very bad. And I know one other thing: she needs me.

The vision in the mirror fades. I scrub my face and brush my teeth, then race back to my room to get dressed. Within five minutes I’m downstairs and find Jack and Cooper in the living room watching television. Cooper slept over last night to avoid another encounter with the boo hag.

Cooper rises to his feet. “Morning, Emma! Want to walk to the beach so we can talk?” He looks a little nervous. But there are a couple bright spots—he’s back to wearing his faded polo shirt, khaki shorts, and dock shoes. And his eyes are the most gorgeous shade of jade I’ve ever seen.

“Miss Delia’s in trouble. We’ve got to get over there right away.” I dash to the front door and slip on my flip-flops, then snatch my messenger bag off the floor and wince as I drape it over my sore shoulder.

Jack stands and clicks off the TV. “Wait. How do you know? I didn’t hear your phone ring.”

I open my mouth to explain but realize that’s going to take way too long. “Trust me, I’m right. It’s a hoodoo thing.”

He nods. “Voices?”

I shrug as I reach for the door handle. “Something like that.”

…

Ten minutes later, we round the bend leading to Miss Delia’s house. Cooper drove here in record time, coming as close to speeding as he’s done all summer. The bottle tree comes into view. So do two sheriff’s cars. Not surprisingly, they’re parked right next to Claude’s big, shiny Lincoln, and Taneea’s pink monster-truck nightmare. A deputy is straining to lift Miss Delia’s motorized wheelchair into the trunk of one of the cars.

We pull up next to him. Miss Delia’s in the backseat, her shoulders hunched and her gaze cast down. She looks small and fragile.

My heart races. Throwing off my safety belt, I yank open the back passenger door of Cooper’s station wagon and rush to the side of the deputy’s car. Jack and Cooper are right behind me.

“What’s going on? Are you okay?” I ask, breathless, through the open rear window, then notice she’s still wearing slippers. They didn’t even let her put on proper shoes. But then my eyes catch the glint of shiny silver around her narrow, bony wrists. They handcuffed her? Seriously?

She lifts her head. “I’ll be fine. But you’ve got to get out of here. This is exactly what I didn’t want you messed up in.”

“I had a vision you were in trouble. There’s no way I could stay away.”

Her lip turns up in a faint smile. “That’s my Emma. Loyal. Unlike so many others.” Her milky eyes drift toward her house.

The deputy grunts and then drops the wheelchair on the ground. He pokes his head around the side of the vehicle. “You shouldn’t be talking with her, miss.” His cherubic face is red and flushed from straining to lift the cumbersome and nearly two hundred pound motorized monster. It’s Deputy Thomas, one of the guys who showed up at the Big House when Missy died.

“She’s ninety-seven years old and paralyzed. What do you think we’re going to do? Help her run away?” Jack asks.

Thomas shrugs. “You’ve got a point. Just do me a favor and don’t touch her. Or hand her anything.” He looks back down at the wheelchair and scratches his head. I wonder how long it’s going take him to realize the chair is too big and clunky to fit in the trunk.

“Right, because Miss D’s going to shiv someone,” Jack mutters under his breath.

“Why have you arrested her?” Cooper asks.

“Good question. You’re going to have to take that up with the sheriff.” The deputy turns this attention back to the motorized chair.

“We’re going to get you out of this,” I say.

“Thank you, child. But this may be the one situation I can’t get out of. Besides, I’m too old to fight any longer. Perhaps it’s best I just give in.”

“No! You’re not too old. You’re still strong and you’re as quick as a whip.” I bend toward her and keep my voice low. “You were right about the
Black Cat Bone
and how to defeat it. I broke the Beaumont curse last night, all based on what you said.”

She smiles and leans back in her seat. “That’s wonderful, child. A real relief. That boy deserves a life of his own. So our work is done. I can rest now. That ought to make that Claude fellow happy. He’s been like a dog on rawhide.”

She wants to give up. Which means she wants to die. I can’t let that happen.

Adrenaline kicks into overdrive. “No, you don’t understand. I need you even more than ever now. Claude’s a very bad man. In fact, he might not actually be a man at all.”

Her eyes narrow. “What are you rattling on about?”

I inch even closer. “After we broke the Beaumont curse, we were attacked by a boo hag.”

She gasps and her lids stretch wide as her eyes search me, Jack, and Cooper for any injuries.

“Don’t worry, Miss Delia. Jack and Emma fought it off,” Cooper whispers. He probably thinks he’s just reassured her when, in fact, he’s just freaked her out that much more.

I shake my head, trying to downplay his story. “There was a little scuffle but we’re all fine. Actually, Jack stabbed it.”

She peers at Jack. “Have you lost your dang mind?”

I jump in to make sure he doesn’t say anything that might scare her even more. “No, he did it to save me. But it was a good thing, because it turns out hags don’t bleed red blood. Remember that black gunk we found on Missy’s body and the pirate’s dagger? It’s the same stuff that gushed out of its side. So the boo hag had to be there when she died. And since I’m pretty sure Claude planted the dagger in Beau’s study, it looks like he’s a lot more than a creepy wanna-be root doctor.”

Miss Delia’s brow furrows. “Claude a boo hag? Is that why he’s been working against me, wedging himself between me and Taneea? If it’s true, there’s something bigger brewing, and an angle I can’t make out. What does he want?”

“I don’t know for sure. Except the hag said it didn’t matter that the Beaumont Curse had been broken. It had marked Cooper’s body and intended to get it. It said it was its destiny.” I swallow hard, remembering its vile stench and menacing words.

Claude and Sheriff Walker exit the house and step out onto the porch, accompanied by another deputy who’s carrying a box. I glance around for Taneea but she’s nowhere in sight. Which is a good thing because I don’t think I could be trusted not to plant my fists in her twisted, conniving face.

Claude thrusts his finger at us. “Get those children away from the prisoner!”

The deputy with the box charges down the steps, then over the flagstone path that winds through the garden.

Perking up, Miss Delia leans toward me through the open window. Her rheumy eyes radiate intensity. “Listen close. You’re safe during the day, but you’ve got to be ready near midnight when the boo hag hunts without its skin. I had you take the mortar out of here for a reason. It’s hasn’t been a full three days, but it might have had enough time to rest, especially since that last spell didn’t quite get off the ground. You know what to do. Use the
Psychic Vision
to learn where the hag hides its skin at night and then salt it through and through. And if you get the chance, lure that evil monster into the sunlight and fry it alive, once and for all.”

I nod, taking in her instructions. It’s a lot to pull off, but at least Miss Delia hasn’t given up yet.

Deputy Goodwin pushes through the gate. “I’m going to have to ask you kids to move on. We’ve got to get her to the station for processing.”

Miss Delia calls out the window, “Don’t forget the broom! Remember, they love to count.”

I smile and give her a thumbs-up. As we step away, I peer into the box in his hands. It’s filled with vials of prepared potions, oils, and other mixtures. I breathe a sigh of relief. There’s nothing in there I can’t replace by using the recipes in Miss Delia’s spell book.

My throat tightens as I watch them disappear down the road. Miss Delia’s gone and it’s all Claude’s fault.

I sniff at the wet stuff threatening to drip out my nose. Claude may think he’s won, but this isn’t over. Miss Delia has given me a plan, and I mean to see it through.

The sheriff and Claude approach the gate.

“Why hello, Emma. Delightful afternoon, isn’t?” Claude gazes down at me through round blue lenses. His bracing-white teeth almost seem to cast a light of their own. I don’t bother to greet him, but he doesn’t seem to notice. Or care. “You remember Miss Guthrie, and her little friends, don’t you, Sheriff?”

Sheriff Walker tips his ten-gallon hat. “Of course. Beau Beaumont’s boy, right?”

“Indeed, the sole heir to the Beaumont estate,” Claude adds, his lips parting in a serpentlike grin.

Cooper’s brow quirks as he eyes Claude warily, then turns toward the sheriff. “Yes, sir. I always wanted a brother or sister, but I guess it wasn’t meant to be.”

“On the bright side, there’s no one to fight over your inheritance with,” Claude says.

A tingle shivers up my scalp. Is that what this is all about? Possessing Cooper’s body to inherit the Beaumont fortune? Except Beau’s still alive so it’s not like there’s any rush. Though Beau hasn’t looked good lately and has been talking a lot about death.

“Why did you arrest Miss Delia?” Cooper asks.

The sheriff opens his mouth, but Claude cuts in. “We’ve got a strong suspicion Miss Whittaker was the mastermind behind this summer’s break-in at The King Center.”

Jack laughs. “You’re kidding, right?”

“I only wish I was, son,” Claude says. Only he doesn’t appear the least bit sad. In fact, he looks positively gleeful.

“You need more than suspicion to arrest someone,” I blurt as all respect for authority goes out the window. Because Claude will never, ever be an authority figure to me. And it’s not just because he cackled at the moon like a lunatic or that he’s obviously got a vendetta against Miss Delia or that my gut tells me he’s involved in Missy’s death and trying to frame Beau and might even be a boo hag. As bad as all that is, I’ll never forgive him for what he’s taught Taneea about hoodoo. The gambling charms were bad enough, but the allurement spell crossed all bounds.

Claude sneers. “A confidential informant is helping us build a case.”

The screened door slams. Taneea stands on the porch glaring at us, her hands planted firmly on her hips. She’s wearing yet another corset top, this one black with hot-pink polka dots, black capris, and black pumps. Her fugly bag is hiked over her shoulder and the locket is prominently displayed around her neck.

“I wonder who that informant might be?” I stare her down as my fists clench.

He shrugs. “They’re confidential for a reason.”

Right. So they can spin their lies in private. “And has your informant helped you find any stolen artifacts? A master plan written out on the back of an envelope? How about blueprints with the layout of the museum?”

Claude chuckles and turns to Sheriff Walker. “The children must watch a lot of television crime shows.”

The sheriff laughs. “I’m surprised she didn’t ask if we discovered any DNA.”

“Did you?” Jack asks, only half-sarcastically.

Sheriff Walker’s smile falls. “No, but we didn’t need any of those things, because she hasn’t been charged with those crimes. Yet.”

Cooper, Jack, and I exchange looks.

“Then why did they take her away in handcuffs?” Cooper asks.

“Our informant gave us a tip that Miss Delia’s a conjurer who dispenses medicines in the form of potions, oils, and gris-gris bags. It’s illegal to practice medicine in South Carolina without a license. She’s looking at up to a thousand dollars and two years of jail time for each offense.”