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 ma.s.sively illegal." I push the start b.u.t.ton 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 p.r.i.c.kle 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 ent.i.ty 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 s.p.a.ce 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 binyahs 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 gla.s.ses 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?"

She hitches a brow. "You sure? Maybe you decided to cast a few charms on the side?"

My heart throbs even harder. Does she know about my tea? I can't see how that's possible since it's not listed in her book, and besides, it's not technically a spell, just a drink made from ingredients that should increase my strength and energy. Really, when you think about it, aside from a lack of sweeteners and a handful of rare ingredients, it's not all that different from those high-performance energy drinks sold in every convenience store in the country. "Um, no. Why?"

"Because I don't recall mixing anything with Dyer's Bugloss lately, but this page is smudged and there's a dusting of powder in the crease."

My stomach twists. I'd never, ever let anything get on her spell book. It's too valuable and represents too much history. I charge across the room to the table, spin the book around, and scan the entry. Dyer's bugloss, also known as alkanet, or anchusa, is a root bark used to make dye and is considered lucky in bringing good fortune in business and money matters. The page is marred with a bright red stain, as if someone wiped their thumb against the paper. I drag my index finger through the dark green powder that's caked between the pages and then lift the dust to my nostrils. The scent of sweet, wild strawberries fills my nose. "I've never used this before." I turn the book back in her direction.

"You know anybody who's been gambling lately?"

"I don't think so."

"This is a green magic charm used to bring in all kinds of money. Legal and otherwise." She lifts a nearby dishrag and brushes the remaining powder from the spine. "Normally I might be inclined to wonder if your brother had gotten in here trying to make himself a quick buck, but Jack's taken a nice turn since he's been cured, and I doubt he'd disrespect me that way. Besides, he couldn't pull off this kind of spell on his own. It takes advanced knowledge of scripture and knowing how to smoke ingredients without burning them. The only two people in this house with that kind of expertise are you and me."

I shake my head. "I swear. I haven't broken my promise. I'd never share your secrets with anyone. Even Jack and Cooper."

She pats my hand. "I know that." Rubbing her chin she looks out the window into the backyard, slipping into her thoughts once again. Her brow furrows. "I don't see how it's possible," she murmurs, barley above a whisper. Ordinarily I doubt I'd be able to make out her words, but my tea's working overtime allowing me to hear every syllable. She sits in silence, mulling over something in her head.

"Miss Delia?"

She turns toward me. "Yes?"

"Everything okay?"

She smiles, though it doesn't reach her eyes. "Of course, Emma. We've got some Keep off the Law spells to cast, don't we? And while we're at it, I'm going to work a few protection charms of my own to make sure we cover all our bases. Let's get to it."

Like I've done a hundred times before, I follow Miss Delia's directions and gather an armful of crocks and apothecary bottles from the shelves and deposit them on the worktable. As we work, the usual breeze kicks up, circling the house and rustling the surrounding trees. An occasional blast of wind blows through the house, rattling the doors and windows and bringing only temporary relief from the summer heat. What we need is a nice, big, fat thunderstorm to douse the parched garden and drop the temperature. But these spells aren't strong enough to draw that kind of elemental energy.

A couple hours later, our supercharged, full-frontal offense is almost complete. Along with a couple new mojo bags for her, we've cast a few protective spells around the house and property. There's just one last charm, and I'm grateful my energy tea is still in full effect. Perched on a stepladder, I hammer a line of eight nails into the threshold above her doorframe.

"Don't bang them all the way," she reminds me for the tenth time.

"I know." I grunt as I pound the last nail, making sure it doesn't go in too far.

"Now, set the penny between the first two nails and bend them," she instructs, craning her neck to make sure I don't do it wrong.

I set the first Indian Head penny, dated 1889, in the first open s.p.a.ce. Keeping my finger on the copper coin, I carefully tap the head toward the left to fold it diagonally over the penny, then do the same with the nail on the right. When I'm done, the nails form a perfect "X" over the figure in the feather headdress. Three coins later, the task is complete, and if the spell works, we'll have "X'd-out the Law" from Miss Delia's house.

I lean back. "What do you think?"

She peers at the row of Indian Head pennies. "That's good. The best we can do. Now we wait to see what Mr. Corbeau tries to do."

An engine roars in the distance. An instant later, wheels screech and brakes wail. Glancing toward the road that leads to Miss Delia's, I squint and listen as the engine revs again and a horn blares, heralding its arrival.

My jaw hangs wide. "Holy c.r.a.p."

Chapter Sixteen.