Conjure (18 page)

Chapter Twenty-two

The big yellow moon hangs low over St. Helena Island Sound, reflecting off its tranquil surface. Low waves lap at the shoreline in a meditative rhythm. It’s a peaceful refuge from the curse craziness, illuminated by the bright summer stars. Because goodness knows, between Maggie’s supreme and growing weirdness, The Creep inching up Jack’s arm, and Cooper’s doomed soul, I need a place to think.

Sitting on the beach, I sift the cool, powdery sand between my fingers and take in the balmy night air. There’s so much to do in an ever-dwindling amount of time. It threatens to overwhelm me until I remind myself that Miss Delia’s on my side, and now Maggie is, too. Soon we should have Lady Rose’s necklace and, thanks to the
Psychic Visions
, the key to how Sabina worked The Creep. I’ve got to believe everything will work out, because the alternative is, well, unthinkable. I force the tension from my worried brow, then off my neck and shoulders.

Cooper’s scent carries on the breeze, fresh and piney. I don’t know how he found me or why, since I didn’t tell anyone where I was headed. But my heart swells, anyway, happy just to be around him—for now—while he’s still the Cooper I know and love.

“Emmaline?”

Slapping on a smile to hide any remnant of concern, I swivel to face him. “Hey, Cooper.” I pray my voice sounds bright and normal. He’s wearing fresh clothes. He must have taken a shower.

“I hope you don’t mind my coming out here. I was in the living room in the Big House, and I saw you making your way down the bluff from the picture window. That shirt of yours kind of glows in the moonlight.”

I look down at my white T-shirt. He’s right, it is sort of luminescent in this light. “No, of course not. Why would that bother me?”

“Well, you’re on the beach, alone and at night. That only happens when you’ve got trouble on your mind.”

I love that he knows that about me. But will he remember after his change? Still, he makes me blush. “I’ll admit I’ve got some stuff to work out, but I’m fine.” I wrap my arms around my bent knees.

“I know you are. We’re all under a lot of pressure. It takes a toll. I only came down because I don’t like you being alone with everything that’s going on. Mind if I stay?”

Although I thought I needed to be by myself to slip away from the gloom and find some clarity, now that he’s here, I realize all I need is him. “Of course not. Have a seat.”

He sits beside me and shakes the sand from his flip-flops. “You want to talk about it?”

Um, that you’re about to turn dark and nefarious? No, not really.
I’d much rather switch subjects. “How did your necklace scouting go? Any luck?”

He shakes his head. “No, Missy wore it all afternoon, even in the hot tub. I’ll work on getting it tonight after they’ve gone to bed.”

“Good plan.” I tilt my head to look at the brilliant Seven Sisters constellation, the one that kind of looks like an upside-down Little Dipper, and try to ignore how close his body is to mine. But all I want to do is rest my head against his big, broad shoulder and wrap my arms around him, offering what little protection I can against the Beaumont curse.

“You know, you’re not in this alone.”

I nod. “Yeah, I know.” Actually, I sort of am.

Cooper grasps my arm. “No, really. I’m here for you.” He strokes a few stray hairs off my face and tucks them over my shoulder. He’s staring directly into my eyes. I’m pretty sure I’ve stopped breathing.

I nod, trapped in his consuming gaze. “Okay.”

He draws a huge breath. “I’ve got a confession to make, Emmaline.”

My chest tightens. I need to confess, too, but telling him about the Beaumont curse right now will definitely spoil the mood. I know I should tell him, but he’s so beautiful, and he’s never looked at me this way. The ethical debate rages, overloading my brain, so all I can manage in response is, “Uh-huh?”

He cups my jaw with his palm. “I’m worried for you.”

That’s so not where I hoped this was going.

“Oh?” My brow furrows, and I pull away from his muscular but comforting hands. “Look, I know I lost my cool earlier, but I’m fine. Really.” My voice drips with irritation. Maybe I should tell him now.

He shakes his head. “No, that didn’t come out right. What I mean is, I find myself worrying
about
you. A lot.”

The sincerity in his voice soothes the anger in my chest. “Thanks. I’ll be okay.”

He sighs, scratching his temple. “Aw, heck, this is harder than I thought,” he says out loud, then clears his throat. “Um, what I’m trying to say is, you’re pretty much on my mind every day. All day.”

“Oh.” Miss Delia and her stinking
Follow Me Boy
charm. That powder must have worked its way into his sinuses, because he’s still feeling its effects. Which totally sucks. I’d give anything for this to be real. “Listen, I know that day in the museum was exciting, but believe me, it’ll pass. Everything will go back to normal.”

Deep creases mar his handsome face. “But what if I don’t want things to be normal? I like thinking about you, worrying about your safety. Caring about you. From the moment you got here this summer, I knew I wanted things to be different between us.” His eyes turn down. “I thought I sensed you did, too.”

My heart seizes. “Um, did you just say, when I got here? Like, do you mean, when Jack and I came south from D.C.?” I can barely force the words from my constricted throat, afraid to hope it’s true.

His lips curl into a hopeful half-grin. “Yeah. You were at your dad’s, wearing that funky skirt of yours, and your hair was pulled up in a ponytail. I couldn’t believe how pretty you were.”

Holy. Sticklewort. Cooper Beaumont likes me.

I gulp, processing the words I’ve longed to hear for more than a year. This is way better than my fantasies. “Um, really?” My voice trembles with awe, and my hands quake. All other thoughts flee my brain. The only thing I focus on is what’s happening here, in this moment, now.

He inches closer, his lips hovering near my mouth. “Was I wrong? Did I misread you, Emmaline?”

“N-n-no,” I finally manage, then gush, “Gosh, no.” My lids shut, and my mouth parts slightly, yearning for him. A moment later, his velvety lips are on mine, soft and gentle. He’s smooth and so very kissable. Every inch of my skin sizzles.

His head tilts as he runs his cheek along my jaw, then plants another kiss in the hollow behind my ear. Tingles explode, reducing me to a hunk of jiggling, boneless jelly. The only thing that keeps me from collapsing back onto the sand are his strong hands that reach to caress my back. I melt, consumed by the electric inferno bubbling in my belly.

“You’re amazing,” he whispers. “Kissing you is better than I imagined.”

My chest flutters with the knowledge he’s been thinking about me. Maybe even dreaming about me. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this, Cooper. I can hardly even believe it now.”

His brow quirks, and he pulls back to look at me. “Really? I had no idea.”

I snort, shocked that I covered my crush so well. “Um, yeah. It’s been a year.” I roll my eyes in embarrassment.

A sly grin cracks his lips. “Wait, do you mean to tell me we could have done this last summer?” He leans in for another kiss, then nuzzles my opposite ear, shooting a shimmering charge through my body.

If he doesn’t stop, I might have a heart attack. It’s a risk I’m willing to take.

“Sorry,” I giggle, then nudge his jaw so I find his lips again. This time it’s my turn to direct the kiss. I’ve got a lot of lost time to make up for.

A few blissful minutes later, Cooper pulls back for air. “Yeah, I definitely don’t want things to go back to normal.” He grasps my hand and squeezes tight.

I laugh. “Me, neither.” My heart pounds, then sinks as I realize how not normal he’ll be if I can’t find a way to save him.

That’s not an option. I will save him.

Chapter Twenty-three

“Emma? Are you listening, child?” Miss Delia’s voice jolts me from my thoughts. She places Bloody Bill’s dagger on the kitchen counter. “I said the angry vibrations have calmed. It’s ready to pull another memory.”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, I’m totally with you.”

No, I’m not. I’ve been up in my head all day, reliving what happened at the beach last night with Cooper. I barely remembered to take the cleansing bath Miss Delia prescribed. And then, when Cooper and Jack dropped me off this morning on their way to more Missy-necklace-stalking, Cooper secretly planted another kiss on me, giving me yet another thing to think about. But I can’t dwell on his unbelievable hotness, or how giddy I am. I’ve got a
Psychic Vision
to cast.

Suppressing the idiotic smile that threatens to give me away, I reply, “Awesome. Let’s do it.”

She purses her lips and gives me a hard stare, sizing up my readiness. “All right, but you can’t be dreaming about that boy of yours. You need your wits about you, especially since you’re conjuring the charm yourself today. Do you remember the ingredients we used?”

How the heck does she always know what I’m thinking? Rather than admit she’s right, I nod, hoping I do remember what goes into the potion.

I fill a kettle with water, set it on the stove to boil, and then assemble the earthenware crocks and vials I’ll need for the spell. Before long, the homemade psychic tea bags are steeping, and the charcoal in the mortar is ready for the plants and roots. Feeling proud of myself for remembering all these steps without any help from Miss Delia or her spell book, I layer the acacia leaves and buchu, feeling the energy drain immediately. When they begin to smoke and crackle, I forge ahead to sprinkle some anise powder on top and reach for the myrrh.

“No!” Miss Delia grasps my hand. “You forgot the celery seed and dragon’s breath.”

I shake my cloudy head. “No, I didn’t. They’re right there.” I point to the crocks on the counter. “I was going to add them next.”

She wags her gnarled finger at me. “The order is as important as what you add. If you do it wrong, you’ll have to start from scratch. And depending on how far you’ve gotten, you’ll need to let the mortar rest before working another charm.”

Jeez, that would’ve been good to know before I started tossing ingredients around. “Thanks for the tip.”

I bite my lip and focus so I don’t screw up. We can’t afford to waste another three days. My arms are so weak, I can barely lift them to drop the celery seeds and dragon’s blood on the smoking mixture. Somehow I manage to add the myrrh, frankincense, and mint. Soon the scents merge, evoking a dessert-filled church, so I know it’s time for our tea. For luck, I rub my
collier
just like last time and
clink
my mug against Miss Delia’s before gulping the sour brown mixture. Clutching Miss Delia’s hand, I lay my other arm against the rim of the mortar and fight the encroaching drowsiness to grab hold of the bottom of the knife and share its weight.

A gust of cold wind blows, encircling the house and yard, then whips through the house, rattling the front and side screen porch doors as it passes. The sunlight dims as the clouds collide and block out the light. Rain pelts the roof, and thunder booms over the forest.

“Ah!” The violent crash makes my heart skip and jolts me out of my dreamy lull.

“Never mind that, child.” Ms. Delia squeezes my hand. “It’s just the elements at work, helping us with the spell.”

Oh, that explains a lot.

“Remember, since we already lifted the knife’s last memory, this charm is going to pull its second-to-last cut. We’re moving backward in time.”

“Okay.” I nod. Despite the crazy fatigue and life-and-death circumstances, the thrill of doing this flutters in my stomach. Jack’s right, hoodoo is cool.

“Do you want to say the incantation this time?” Miss Delia waggles her eyebrows. “You can change it up a bit if you like, to be more specific.” I freeze, my eyes wide, unsure of what to say. She chuckles. “Don’t fear, child. Remember the red and white beads on that
collier
of yours give you the power of spoken word and prayer. Just clear your mind. The words will come to you.”

All four gas burners on the stove flare up. I gulp and try to ignore them. It must be another elemental thing.

Focusing my dwindling energy, I close my eyes and inhale, willing the dark space behind my lids to stretch and grow until it envelops me. The words spring to my mouth just as the tea’s fuzzy effects begin to hit. “Smoke and mist, reveal the past, and how this object was used last. Reveal the truth about The Creep, so flesh and muscle Jack will reap.” My speech is slurred, but I laugh, surprised it was so easy to come up with the charm.

Miss Delia squeezes my hand and chuckles. “You might want to open those eyes of yours.”

Oops. One of these days I’ll remember to look into the fog. I open my eyes to find the vision has already started. Bright images sputter on the thick smoke curtain, then pick up speed to create their own little movie. My head spins under the tea’s power as I peer at the flickering light.

A large wooden ship with three tall masts sits anchored close to shore, its sails strapped down. The Jolly Roger, the pirates’ calling card, hangs from the highest mast, its skull and crossbones flapping in the occasional breeze. The ship is quiet. A pirate dozes, slumped on a barrel on the main deck, a weathered spyglass in his limp hands and a tankard of grog at his side. A warm orange-pink glow hovers above the horizon in the east, promising a beautiful summer morning.

On the shore, scores of African men in tattered clothes work in silence, preparing to launch a small flotilla of canoes and long boats. One white man stands among them, dressed in a rich peach-colored silk coat and breeches and coordinating ivory waistcoat. He points his silver-tipped walking cane at the men and their boats, ordering them around in the early morning stillness. Within minutes, the men ease the crafts into the water, climb aboard, and row toward the pirate ship anchored just offshore.

The canoes surround the ship. Several Africans clamber up a rope ladder left hanging over the side, wooden clubs wedged under their strong arms. A man in a nearby boat heaves a long cable up toward the deck. It lands with a thump, waking the dozing pirate. He starts, scanning the quiet and still empty deck, then mumbles to himself as he crosses his arms and nods back to sleep. A moment later, a thin, wiry African ascends the top of the ladder, slips over the railing, and runs to secure the rope so others can follow. Several others climb aboard after him, stealthily catching and securing new lines of the thick, handmade cord so even more can come aboard.

A muscle-bound African with the thickest neck I’ve ever seen scales the side, hoists himself over the railing, and crashes with a deafening thud that rocks the ship. The pirate jerks awake and screams at the sight of the invaders.

“Captain! Captain, we be under attack!” The sailor’s eyes are wide with terror as he sprints to ring the alarm bell. He manages to clang the clapper several times before the thick-necked man yanks him by the throat with one hand, lifts him off his feet, and tosses him overboard.

But it’s too late to maintain the surprise. The pirates stream from the ’tween deck below, swords and daggers drawn, engaging the club-wielding Africans. Most of the seamen are dressed in filthy, ragged clothes, their greasy hair poking out from under grimy caps, but one stands apart from the rest. He’s almost dashing in his scarlet brocade coat and matching breeches, and long, luscious carrot-red curls. But as fierce as the pirates are, they’re no match for the Africans, who fight with fiery determination, besting the still groggy and probably hungover sailors. Every second, more dark-skinned men mount the ship, supplying reinforcements for the few who fall wounded by a pirate’s blade. Soon the Africans outnumber the pirates at least two-to-one and easily restrain the few holdouts. The rest cower and drop their weapons on the deck with a
clank
.

The white man from the shore emerges at the top of the ladder and boards the ship. “Good morning, Captain Ransom.” A wry smile curls on his lips as he approaches the defeated leader, who, with his rich red coat, looks disturbingly like an Irish Captain Hook. Except he’s wearing a sparkling camellia blossom necklace that glints in the early morning light. I try not to gasp and disturb the
Psychic Vision
. It’s Lady Rose’s ruby, the one Cooper and Jack are trying to steal from Missy at this very moment.

The pirate sets his jaw. “Lord Beaumont, what is the meaning of this attack?” As much as I try to stop it, a squeak escapes my mashed lips. It must be Lady Rose’s husband, Edmund. I can’t believe how much he resembles Beau. Well, Beau minus about three hundred pounds. The pirate continues, his eyes flashing with rage. “Surely we have no quarrel as we upheld our end of the bargain. As a gentleman, I expected you to do the same.” His noble accent is jarring and completely unexpected from a scurvy pirate.

Edmund jabs the pirate’s chest with the head of his walking stick. “Ah, but that is where we disagree, Bloody Bill.” Edmund adds extra emphasis to his name. “You are in breach of our contract and therefore must pay.”

Bloody Bill lunges toward him, but the huge African man leaps to Edmund’s side and grabs the pirate by his throat, squeezing until his porcelain face turns purple.

Edmund taps the muscle-bound man with his stick. “Thank you, Jupiter. I believe that’s sufficient to get the Captain’s attention.” Jupiter unclenches his fist. Bloody Bill drops to the floor in a heap and heaves for air. Edmund paces the deck, stalking each of the captive pirates. “I entrusted you with my property, and look what you’ve done.” His voice bellows as he thrusts his stick toward the beach.

I squint into the distance and make out a crumpled, cloth-covered lump on the sand. A chill runs up my spine. I think it’s a body. A dead one.

“But you said…we could…” Bloody Bill forces the words from his crushed throat.

Edmund charges toward him, glaring. “I expected to get her back.” Spit collects in the corner of his mouth and flies from his lips as he speaks.

Bloody Bill cocks his head. “Surely you jest.” His voice is thick and raspy. “Yours was the far better share of our bargain.” He coughs and rubs his still-red neck. “I was daft to accept one measly slave girl, mesmerizing though she was, in exchange for not sacking High Point Bluff.”

Edmund wields his walking stick like a golf club and lets loose, slamming Bloody Bill’s legs. “She was
mine
!” The veins at the side of his head stick out.

“How dare you—”

Edmund snaps his fingers. Jupiter rushes toward Bloody Bill, landing a solid uppercut that snaps the pirate’s head back. Edmund sneers. “Insolence will only increase your penalty, which, by my solemn oath, will be great.”

The captain staggers to his feet, limping. “I daresay our poor barter was penalty enough, my lord. But if you insist, I shall gladly pay you for your trouble.” He waves a hand, and a young cabin boy races to him, pulling an ornately carved wooden box from his coat.

It’s the treasure box we unearthed at the tabby ruins. Bloody Bill grabs it, then leans toward Edmund, quirking his brow. “What, then, is a fair price? Not much, I venture.” He pulls a few gold coins from the box and tosses them at Edmund’s feet.

Edmund’s cheeks flush crimson as he puffs his chest. “Oh, you’ll pay, all right, but a few guineas won’t come close.” He jams the walking stick under Bloody Bill’s chin. “Your pretty necklace might cover it, but I’ll take your treasure box as well for good measure.” Edmund yanks the box from Bloody Bill’s hands and angles his head toward Jupiter, who lifts the ruby necklace off the pirate’s neck and hands it to Edmund.

Bloody Bill sets his jaw and squares his shoulders, bracing himself. “Judging by the vengeful expressions of your servants, I know what you’ve got planned for me and my crew, and after all our many sins, ’tis a fate we richly deserve. Yet before we depart this earth, I beg one final observation.”

A bemused smile creeps up Edmund’s lips. “And what would that be?”

Bloody Bill sneers. “You my lord, are no more than a pirate yourself, masquerading in gentlemen’s clothes.”

Edmund chuckles and snaps his fingers. Jupiter cocks his colossal fist, preparing to land a blow. The pirate flinches and squeezes his eyes shut.

“No, Jupiter! This is mine to finish,” a gravelly voice bellows in a thick foreign accent. A small, stocky figure with ebony skin and facial scarification emerges from behind a cluster of Africans. It’s Sabina.

The Africans fall back, giving her a wide berth as she advances toward the captive captain, her eyes blazing with fury as she grinds a dark-colored root between her teeth. The pirates must sense her power because they gasp in unison and hunch even lower to the deck. Sabina raises her arm and points at Bloody Bill. He cringes, having lost all his bravado, and slinks back a few paces, nearly collapsing on his damaged leg.

Edmund glowers. “Sabina, what are you doing here? You should be back at High Point Bluff.”

She turns her sights on him, her nostrils flaring. “Not till I settle my business,
Master
.” She bows to him, but even with her broken English, her tone is filled with unmistakable sarcasm. “A mighty wrong been done to my kinfolk. I’m here to see the guilty pay for their sins.”

“Watch yourself, Sabina.” Edmund points his walking stick at her. “I’ve allowed you certain latitude because of your healing powers, but I will not sanction such insubordination. You are not as exceptional as you assume.”

Sabina cocks her head. “Oh, no?” She thrusts her hands above her head and waves them in a circle. “Hear the word of the Lord!” The wind swirls, howling as it whips around the ship and lifts Bloody Bill’s long, luscious curls. The sea swells, churning choppy waves that slap against the hull, rocking the vessel. Sabina spins her hands. A waterspout forms just off the port side, spiraling upward in a tall thin column. She twists, and the waterspout responds, zooming toward the ship. Guiding it over the bow, she holds her hands still, allowing it to hover over the shocked and trembling passengers. Then she drops her hands, sending it crashing to the deck and dousing the pirates and Edmund but somehow avoiding the Africans.