Allure (The Hoodoo Apprentice #2) (Entangled Teen) (13 page)

Once inside, I set all those mushy-gushy feelings aside and start scoping out for Claude. And, while I’m at it, for Taneea, too, if only to avoid whichever room she’s in. She’s not in the front parlor and the foyer is empty. The sounds of chatter and tinkling glass carry from the end of the hall. Everyone must be in the Great Room. Cooper and I follow the sound, our hands entwined, ready to get the last part of this day over with.

Beau’s reclined in the crook of a sofa, doing his best imitation of a grieving husband for the assembled guests who have formed a circle around him. His face is paler than normal and smattered with blotchy red spots. And his eyes are puffy, no doubt from the tears that are streaming down his cheeks. Reaching his plump hands to his eyes, he dabs at the fluid with an already soggy handkerchief. Under the pressure of his heavy fingers, his face sags, his flesh almost drooping and then snaps back when he withdraws his hand. Then he throws his head back and emits a mournful sob, his chest trembling as he sucks in a few breaths of air. But something catches in his throat and he starts to cough. Clutching his side, he rolls forward, spewing phlegm into his handkerchief.

One of Missy’s friends, a redhead in a green sundress and spindly heels, scampers to his aid. “Oh, Beau. I know this is hard on you.” She snatches a handful of tissues from the box on the coffee table and thrusts them at him.

“Thanks, Darla. I just can’t believe my angel is gone.”

Darla wiggles around the table and plants herself next to him on the sofa. “There, there.” She reaches her ringless hand to pat his enormous arm.

Jack sides up to Cooper and me. “What the heck took you so long?” he says through clenched teeth, his lips fixed in a sugary smile. “Do you realize how long you’ve left me alone with Taneea? And Beau? Between the two of them, I was about to lose my mind.”

I lean toward him. “Sorry, but we had a couple things to work out.”

“Everything okay?” he asks me and Cooper.

Cooper smiles and smacks his arm with one of those quasi-guy hugs. “Yeah, bro. Everything’s great.” He glances at his supposedly grieving father. “How long has my dad been like this?”

Jack rolls his eyes. “Since the guests arrived. Just after Taneea and I helped set up the buffet and drinks.” He thumbs his fist toward the bar where my father stands ready to mix cocktails. Taneea’s talking to him, coiling a pink strand around her finger. She points to a few bottles on the bar behind him then giggles, no doubt asking if she can try some. Dad shakes his head. Based on the stone-cold expression on his face, he’s figured out her game. She won’t be getting any samples out of him. Awesome.

I scan the crowd, but aside from the Missy clones and their antique husbands, I only see Beau. “Where’s Claude?” I ask Jack.

He shakes his head. “I haven’t seen him. Why?”

“Because I thought I saw his car outside.”

He shakes his head. “Doubt it. I bet one of these geezers has an old town car or something that looks similar.”

Taneea saunters up to us with a pink drink in her hand. “So I know it’s a funeral and all, but this party’s lame.” She takes a sip from the martini glass.

“What are you drinking?” I ask.

“A cosmo.”

I snort. “With alcohol?” I’d bet my pinkie toe my father didn’t pour her a drop.

She sighs. “The loser bartender doesn’t have the right vodka or Cointreau, so he left them out.” She draws another sip.

I nod. “Really? So then you’re saying
my dad
mixed you a cranberry juice with lime?” I’m surprised I even remember what goes into that drink, but I’ve helped my father at enough of Beau’s parties to have learned by osmosis.

She glares at me. “Yeah, I guess.” Glancing at Dad, she smirks. “So your father’s a gravesite helper and a bartender, too. How versatile.”

Jack’s head whirls around so fast, I’m afraid it’ll snap. “And he’s the caretaker, too. Got anything clever to say about that?”

She snorts. “I guess not.” Her attention drifts to the buffet. “I’m hungry. Want something, Cooper?”

“No thanks. I don’t have much of an appetite,” he says.

“Your loss.” Her lips part in a wicked grin as she turns toward the buffet and takes a step, but her espadrille catches on the rug and she wobbles, flailing her arms to keep her balance. Her cranberry juice mocktail splashes the front of my new sundress, its bright pink instantly staining the pale blue cotton. She squeals as she teeters toward the Oriental rug, but Cooper lunges forward, scooping her up before she face plants, then sets her straight.

I gape at the huge, clingy, pink stain that covers my abdomen and trickles down the skirt.

“Oh my gosh! Thanks, Cooper. Those muscles really do come in handy,” she gushes.

“Look what you did!” I gesture to the juice that somehow managed to land only on me. There isn’t even a drop on the carpet.

“Oh no!” Cooper races to the bar to grab some napkins. Jack follows.

Taneea clamps her hand across her mouth. “Wow. That sucks. At least it wasn’t a good dress.” She snickers.

“What did you say?”

She smirks. “Come on, it’s not like it’s from a collection. I bet you can get something like it down at the Picky. Though I’ve never been inside, so that’s just a guess.”

We did buy it at the cramped local department store that’s filled with stuff left over from two years ago, which only makes her comment sting more.

Rage surges from my toenails, straight through my body, and up to my brain. “Right. Because you buy all your clothes from tacky-and-inappropriate-dot-com.”

Cooper and Jack come back, each with a wad of napkins. Jack holds out his hand, hovering over my midsection. He looks as if he’d like to blot the liquid but isn’t sure which parts might be safe to touch.

With a grunt, I grab the napkins and peel the soaked and clingy fabric off my stomach. Dabbing a few times, the thin paper absorbs a bit of the liquid but not enough to make a real dent. This isn’t going to work. “I need to rinse this out for real before it sets. I’ll be back.”

Pushing through the great room, I stomp down the hall, and head to Cooper’s room. There, I can strip off the dress and borrow some of his clothes while I rinse it out with soap. As Taneea so kindly pointed out, this is an off-the-rack dress made of cotton so thin it should only take a few minutes to dry in the dryer.

Nearing the foyer, I hear a door creak and stop short as the hair rises on my arms. I’m sure the sound came from around the corner, in the hall that leads to the west wing. The only door nearby is the one to Beau’s private study. Which no one’s allowed to enter without him. It’s so private, he keeps the key on a chain attached to his pocket. After eight summers in the Lowcountry, Jack and I have never been inside that room. Come to think of it, I doubt Cooper has either. And since Beau’s still in the great room earning his Oscar, I know it can’t be him.

Tiptoeing toward the corner, I peek my head out. Claude steps from the study and pulls the door shut behind him, then twists the knob to make sure it’s locked. He looks first to his right, then turns left. I jerk back, and listen to my heart pulse, praying I moved fast enough for him to miss me.

“Miss Emma Guthrie,” Claude calls out.

Dang. Not quick enough.

He sings my name again. “I know you’re there. Come out.”

Gulping, I force myself to walk around the corner. He’s standing in front of the study, his black suit perfectly creased, and wearing his blue-lensed sunglasses even though he’s inside. My legs tremble as Miss Delia’s words echo in my head reminding me to be strong. Drawing a deep breath, I reach under my collar to rub the blue and pink beads on my
collier
, which are supposed to help me connect with my spirit guide. With her at my side, I’m not technically alone with Claude. A calm rushes over me, starting at my hair follicles, tumbling down to my toenails. Forcing my shoulders back, I quicken my pace. “That’s Beau’s study.” I point to the door.

His lips slip open over his ultra-bright smile. “You’re correct.”

“His
private
space. No one’s allowed in there without him.”

“I was just meeting with him.”

“Really? Because I just left him in the great room. He’s been in there awhile crying about Missy.”

His gaze drops to my dress. “Pity, you’ve had some sort of accident.”

As if that’s going to deflect my attention from his trespass. Fat chance. Still, my hand clutches the moist spot on my midsection. “Yeah, your assistant tripped and spilled her drink.”

He shakes his head as he clucks his tongue. “Clumsy girl. You really ought to stay out of her way. There’s no telling what kind of trouble she could cause.”

I nod. “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Claude’s brow arches above his lenses. “I wonder, Miss Emma, if you find it as interesting as I do that you are acquainted with the Beaumonts and Miss Whittaker?”

“I can’t really say, since I don’t know how interesting you think it is. This is a small island. Just about everyone knows everyone. And it doesn’t explain why you were in Beau’s study without him.”

Claude rubs his chin with his long, spindly fingers. “It is a small island. Tell me, how does someone like you come to know someone like Miss Delia?”

What he’s really asking is how a little white girl like me—or as the Gullah say, a
buckruh
—would come in contact with an old Gullah woman. But I’m not going to honor that kind of a stupid question with an answer. “I don’t know. I’ve spent the last eight summers on St. Helena. Who can remember how they met everyone they know?”

“Oh, I suspect you could if you tried.”

I shake my head. “Nope, nothing comes to mind.”

He leans close, way past the boundary of my personal space and whispers in my ear. “Let me offer you a bit of advice. You may want to steer clear of your dear old friend. My investigation of the museum robbery is far from over and I’ve developed some promising leads that all seem to end at her rickety doorstep. When I’m through, she may be looking at hard time.” He chuckles. “Though of course, given her advanced age she isn’t likely to have much of that left. I’d hate for you to get caught up in this nasty business.”

I take a step back. “Do you seriously think a feeble, old lady in a wheelchair broke into the museum?” I work to sound extra snarky and indignant, but the tiny tremor in my voice reveals how scared I am of his power.

“Perhaps. And maybe she had some coconspirators. You never know who an investigation like this may implicate. It’s one of the great joys of this job. The mystery.” He nudges closer. “The hunt. The capture.” His cologne hangs in the air, a nauseating mixture of patchouli, burned smoke, and a hint of something that reminds me of a Jolly Rancher candy.

Realizing I can turn the tables on him, I cross my arms and stand my ground. “You only have this job because of Beau. What do you think he’d say if he knew you were in his study? I’m betting he’d wonder how you got in, seeing as he’s got the key literally chained to his body at all times.”

Claude’s reptilian smile slips for just a second. “How do you know my visit isn’t part of my job? Perhaps my investigation has led me to look at the most unusual of suspects. Perhaps even the victims themselves.”

“Huh? How’s that supposed to work?”

“Can you imagine the real culprit might hire me to redirect the investigation and throw suspicion off themselves? Mr. Beaumont is one of the chief donors to the King Center, which stands to earn a substantial insurance settlement as a result of the robbery. As for his private co
ncerns about a burglary here at High Point Bluff, well, the payout for a stolen ruby of that caliber would be substantial.”

I snort. “You’d really turn on your boss like that? Beau got you this job. Without him, you wouldn’t even be here.”

“Oh, I suspect I would have found a way to St. Helena eventually. Mr. Beaumont may have brought me to this island, but my only allegiance is to righting wrong. A heinous crime was committed on this island, and I’ll stop at nothing to make the culprit pay.”

Whoa, and I’m the emo one? Okay, so we stole a couple of artifacts—one of which had been stolen from its rightful owner—what we did wasn’t totally right, but it wasn’t exactly what I’d call heinous, either.

“Trust me, Beau Beaumont didn’t rob the museum or steal his own family’s ruby necklace.”

“No, but perhaps your father, Jed did. He is Beau’s sole employee, is he not? Ever loyal. Perhaps to a fault.”

My heart seizes. In a matter of moments, he’s gone from threatening to prosecute Miss Delia to dragging Beau and my father into this. I remember how he nudged Sheriff Walker into thinking Missy’s death was from natural causes. I’m not sure how he accomplished that little trick, but there’s nothing stopping him from unleashing his power to mess with my dad. And since the sheriff seems inclined to do whatever Claude wants, my dad will be in the slammer faster than he can spell turpentine.

“That’s impossible. My father would never do anything like that. Ever.”

He shrugs. “I only go where the evidence leads me. Now, you can either tell Beau you saw me in his study and risk where I might take my investigation, or we can forget this entire conversation ever took place and I can get back to my job.”

I don’t have a choice, do I? If I say anything about Claude being in the study, there’s no telling what accusations he’ll lodge against Beau and my dad. I almost couldn’t care less about what happens to Beau, though he shouldn’t be arrested for something he didn’t do. It’s my dad I worry about. He’s just the caretaker who’s got nothing to do with Beau’s shady dealings or what Cooper, Jack, and I did this summer.

My shoulders droop as I step aside. “I guess we’re done here.”

“Nice necklace, by the way. I haven’t seen anything like that since I was in Louisiana.” He brushes past me and slithers down the hall toward the great room.

I grind my teeth. He may have won this round, but there’s no way he’ll win the next. I’ve got hoodoo magic and the element of surprise on my side. And I fully intend to use them.

But first, I’ve got to warn Miss Delia.

Chapter Fifteen

E
xcept I can’t do anything until I take care of my soaked and still-clinging dress. I charge up the stairs to Cooper’s room, tear it off, and blot the remaining cranberry juice on my skin with a towel he left tossed on his bed. Then I throw open his dresser and root for some clothes that might fit me. The best I can find is a pair of running shorts with an elastic waistband and a too-big T-shirt that hangs off my shoulders like a sack.

There’s no time to rinse this chintzy sundress. Instead, I ball it up and tuck it under my arm, then race back to the great room. Taneea is nestled in the corner of the sofa next to Cooper, and Jack’s perched on the arm, tracking her every move. Claude and Beau are deep in conversation on the opposite sofa. Though Claude’s still wearing those god-awful blue sunglasses, I feel the weight of his stare as I cross the room to where Cooper and Jack are.

I sit on the coffee table and lean close, keeping my voice low to prevent Claude from overhearing. “Hey, guys, listen. There’s something we’ve got to do.”

Taneea snorts. “Nice outfit.”

I glare at her.

“Hey, those are mine,” Cooper says.

I furrow my brow. “An
d?” Since when is it a problem that I borrow some of his clothes? He always lets me wear his shirt as a cover-up at the beach.

“Am I going to get them back? That’s one of my favorite shirts.”

Is he for real? “Uh, yeah, as soon as I wash it. But right now I
need
to go. Like now.”

He gestures toward the door. “Okay. So go.”

“But I need you to take me.”

His face falls flat and his eyes—now the soft gray hue of a pussy-willow catkin—look hollow. “I’m exhausted. Can’t we go tomorrow?”

Taneea strokes his arm. “Of course you are. You’ve been through a lot.”

He turns to her and smiles. “Thanks. It’s been harder than I thought.”

Jack scoffs. “Really, dude?”

Cooper turns to him, his face drawn. “Yeah. It would be nice if you showed a little sympathy.”

Jack throws his hands up. “Sorry.”

“Hey, I’ve got an idea. Why don’t you give me that tour you promised? I want to see the whole plantation.” Taneea pushes off the sofa and hitches her ugly bag over her shoulder, then threads between the sofa and the coffee table, maneuvering around my legs.

“Sure. That sounds good.” Cooper stands and follows her, then glances back at me and Jack. “I’ll see you guys later.”

Jack and I exchange looks.

“Yo, I thought you were tired.” My brother rises to his feet.

Cooper spins around. “I am.”

“So you’re too wiped to drive but not to walk around High Point Bluff? In the heat?” Jack pushes further.

He nods. “Exactly. Later.”

Cooper’s definitely not himself. My stomach clenches. If I’m right about The Beaumont curse, it must be closer than I thought. Miss Delia had better figure out that last ingredient soon.

“Did that just happen?” Jack asks.

My throat constricts. “Yeah.”

“And you’re just going to let them go? Why aren’t we following them? I could get between them again if you want.”

I shake my head. “It won’t matter. Besides, we’ve got other things to worry about.” I push off the coffee table and clutch my likely ruined dress close to my chest.

Jack follows. “I’m totally lost. What’s going on?”

I fill him in on the walk home, about my suspicions that the Beaumont Curse is edging closer, gnawing on Cooper’s soul, and causing his distance and distemper, and on my unintended meeting with Claude, my suspicions about his power to influence, and his not-so-veiled threats against me, Miss Delia, Beau, and our dad.

“This Claude guy’s cold. We can’t let him turn on Dad. No matter what,” Jack says as we climb the steps to the covered porch on the caretaker’s house.

“And we can’t let him go after Miss Delia either.” Crossing the porch, we head into the house.

“No way. If it wasn’t for her, I’d be dead right now. Or mostly a skeleton. We’ve got to warn her. I could borrow Dad’s truck to drive you over.”

I pretreat my dress, toss it into the washer, then spin the dial to the correct setting. “Are you nuts? You can barely drive a stick shift. You’ll crash before we even get to the highway. Not to mention you don’t have a driver’s license, so it’s massively illegal.” I push the start button and the tub starts to fill.

“True. How about we take the golf cart?” He rubs the scruff on his chin.

“Also illegal. And superslow. I’ll just have to ride that old bike of mine that’s still in Dad’s workshop.” I race up the stairs to change into clothes that won’t fall off my body. Then freeze midway up the flight, slapping my palm against my forehead.

With everything that’s been going on, I completely forgot to brew another batch of energy tea. My latest version gave me a little jolt, jogged my heart, and bolstered my mood, but it was only marginally stronger than the first and didn’t do much to curb my fatigue. Judging by my most recent encounter with Claude, I’m going to need to all the strength I can muster to counteract his plans for Miss Delia and my father. Which means I’ve got to take the concoction to the next level, adding a few new ingredients and letting it steep overnight.

“What’s wrong?” Jack asks.

“I just realized there’s something I need to do before I can go over there.”

“Like what?”

I contemplate explaining, but seeing as I’m keeping my energy booster from Miss Delia, I can’t exactly spill the beans to him. “Nothing much. It’s a hoodoo thing. You wouldn’t understand.”

…

In the morning, I squint as I pour an extra-large dose of my new-and-improved super-energy tea into a vial, and then slip it into my messenger bag. Among other things, I added some kola nut to this batch, which is supposed to restore vitality and combat fatigue. Here’s hoping it gives me that extra punch I’m looking for.

I’ve called Cooper about a dozen times this morning, but his cell goes straight to voice mail, and no one’s picking up at the Big House either. So I’m guessing he’s too tired to answer, much less drive me over to Miss Delia’s. But with only three days till his birthday, time’s running out.

Desperate, I yank my old ten-speed out of my dad’s workshop and sling my messenger bag over my back. I haven’t ridden a bike in years but Miss Delia’s isn’t far so it should be a snap.

A half hour later, I chug my way up the long, uneven drive that leads to her house. Although it’s only ten o’clock, the sun is already scorching and sweat has drenched my hair and shirt and dripped down my backside into my shorts. I’d cry if I had any more fluid to spare.

Peddling up to the bottle tree, I lay the bike on the ground and jog up to the hose that feeds the garden. Dumping my messenger bag on the ground, I twist on the spigot and let the cool water flow over my hand, then drink my fill before I douse my hair and clothes anew, washing the sweaty grime from my skin.

Miss Delia wheels out onto the porch. “Lord, child, what are you doing?”

I swallow a few extra mouthfuls before I turn off the spigot. “Cooling off. I rode my bike, but I almost had a heart attack in the heat.” I wring out my hair and T-shirt, splattering the flagstone walkway with water. “Cooper was supposed to drive me, but I couldn’t reach him.” Leaning over, I scoop up my bag and sling it over my shoulder.

“I suspect not.” Her brow is creased and her mouth is turned down.

An eerie sensation creeps up my spine. “What do you mean?” I walk up the path to the porch.

She looks like she’s debating whether or not to say something, but then swats her hand. “Aw, heck. There’s no sense in sugarcoating it. He was here bright and early this morning to pick up Taneea. Barely said a word before they let out of here.”

My stomach drops. “He was?” My voice trembles. I step toward the porch and grip the railing to steady myself.

She nods. “Yes. I’m sorry.”

“It’s the Beaumont Curse. I’m sure of it.” I explain my suspicions about his recent behavior, the proximity of his birthday, and the unusual strength and impatience of the curse.

She sucks her teeth. “It’s an interesting theory, but I’m not sure it’s right.”

My heart stops. “Why?”

“You said he’s wearing the mojo bag you made and that it’s working?”

I nod. “Checked it myself. It popped in my hand.”

“Then he’s protected from black magic, at least until he turns sixteen. Once his birthday hits, well, now that’s another story.”

“But the Beaumont Curse is different, isn’t? Couldn’t it grab him early?”

“I doubt it. These things follow their own set of rules. If it’s supposed to take hold when he comes into his manhood, well, that’s when it’ll happen.”

I run my fingers through my damp hair. “But it’s not like that has an exact date either. How does the curse know when to attack?”

“I suppose it just knows. Come inside and towel yourself off. Then you can tell me why you rode over.” She wheels her chair back into the house, a definite sign she’s done debating this point.

Fine. But she hasn’t answered one thing: if the Beaumont Curse isn’t causing him to be aloof and spend time with Taneea, then what’s up? Potential answers pop into my mind, most having to do with Taneea’s see-through clothes and plentiful cleavage, but I force them from my brain. That’s not Cooper. But still, he’s acting strange. I’ve heard Miss Delia’s side, but this time I can’t agree. She’s got to be wrong about the Beaumont Curse.

Hopefully Cooper’s weirdness can wait a couple days. Claude Corbeau may not.

Wringing out the last drops of fluid from my shirt on the cracked porch, I follow her into the house and head straight to the bathroom to towel myself off. Taking advantage of the privacy, I flip open my bag and pull out my vial of tea, uncork the bottle, then throw my head back and hope for the best.

The muddy liquid is tangy and bitter, like a crushed aspirin tablet that dissolves on your tongue, only a thousand times more potent. I gag, then force down the entire bottle of putrid liquid that could probably peel the paint off Miss Delia’s front porch.

My pulse thrums as my blood charges through my veins. The pads of my fingers prickle as they awaken to sensation, registering every single cotton loop on the towel still in my grasp. Glancing down at the sea-green fabric, each thread is magnified and distinct, a separate entity apart from the whole. Dragging my eyes from the wondrous detail of this simple cloth, I peer into the mirror hanging on the wall. My pupils are dilated like saucers, leaving only a tiny sliver of space for my irises. Drawing a quick breath, the flowery scent of the hand soap on the counter fills my nostrils.

Holy cow. I feel strong. Invincible. Like I could get back on that bike and ride to High Point Bluff without so much as breaking a sweat. This tea is amazing.

Miss Delia’s in the kitchen, clanging pots she shouldn’t be moving in the first place. A few short strides later, I’m down the hall, through the living room, then burst through the swinging door, accidentally slamming the door against the kitchen wall.

Miss Delia startles and clutches her chest. “Lord, Emma, you nearly scared the life from me. I told you before not to sneak up on me.”

“Sorry.” Clamping my hand over my mouth, I gasp, shocked by my own strength. I’d only thought I’d tapped the door. Better reel it in. Otherwise she’ll know something’s up. “I’m just really anxious to tell you the latest with Claude. Yesterday, after the funeral—”

She lifts her hand. “Whoa. Slow down, girl. You’re moving faster than a hummingbird at a bee balm plant. Sit down. Take a breath.” She gestures to the stool next to the worktable.

Oops. I guess I’m not hiding it as well as I thought. Sucking a huge breath, I pace across the kitchen as slowly as I can, but my heart’s beating a conga in my chest, propelling me forward. Concentrating on each deliberate step, I finally reach the stool and ease myself down on its well-worn top.

Miss Delia leans toward me, squinting through her good eye. “You okay?”

I nod. “Yes. Just at little antsy.” My pulse throbs in my ears.

“Squirrelly is more like it.” Crossing her arms, she takes me in for a long moment. “Well, go on, what’s got you so excited?”

Taking my time, I tell her about my encounter with Claude outside Beau’s office and his not-so-veiled threats against her and basically everyone else I know.

She sucks her teeth. “That man’s got some mighty strong convictions, doesn’t he? Not to mention a strong dislike of me.”

“Yeah. Why do you think that is? He’s new around here. He can’t possibly know your history with hoodoo, can he? For all he knows you’re just some old lady in a wheelchair. No offense.”

She smiles. “None taken. I’ve been thinking about our Mr. Corbeau. There’s always a chance someone has shared my background, but I doubt any
binyah
s would tell such things to a
comeyah
,” she says, using the Gullah words for natives and newcomers to the island
. “
And he is most certainly not from
Sa’leenuh
. But he is quite slick and persuasive, manipulative, even. I suspect he thinks you kids know more than you’re telling, and figures if he threatens me, it’ll tug on your heart strings enough to get you to roll over.”

“There’s no way we’re going to do that. Ever.”

She cackles. “I know you won’t. But you won’t need to. ’Cause we’re going to cast the strongest
Keep off the Law
charm that’s ever been created and nip this business in the bud.” She points to her shelf. “Fetch me my spell book.”

Forgetting myself, I bolt across the kitchen, snap up the ledger, and set it on the table in front of her in about two seconds flat.

Setting her glasses on her nose, she peers over the frames. “Emma, if you don’t stop ricocheting around here like a jackrabbit, you’re going to give me a coronary.”

I bite my lip. “Sorry.”

“Okay, now, get me some devil’s dung and…” She leafs through her spell book, then stops, lingering over a page. Tilting her head, she asks, “Have you been using my spell book without my knowledge?”

“No. The last time I used it was when we made Cooper’s projection mojo. Why?”