Jack stops the cart. "Hey, listen to me. Miss Delia loves you. You know that. Whatever it is, she'll get over it."

I'm about sick of his optimism. Maybe he'll change his tune if he knows the truth. Crossing my arms, I c.o.c.k my head. "I went behind her back and brewed a potion I shouldn't have. Then because I messed up my body's natural balance, I screwed up the Psychic Vision, which screwed up the ancestors' mortar so we might miss the deadline to save Cooper's soul. Oh yeah, and I've totally destroyed Miss Delia's trust in me."

He whistles. "Yup, that's pretty bad."

"You're such a jerk." A strangled mixture of crying and laughter blurts from my lips as I swat his shoulder.

He laughs. "Hey, what do you expect? You want me to lie and say you're perfect? Guess what? You're not. But here's a news flash: Miss Delia knows that too. You're a teenager. And an apprentice. You're going to screw up once in a while." He presses the accelerator pedal and continues down the road.

Since when did my brother become such a sage wise man? Still, it doesn't change the outcome.

I sniff my runny nose. "There's s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g up and then there's dooming your boyfriend's soul for eternity."

"Possibly ex-boyfriend," he corrects me.

I gape and fresh tears sprout. "Wow, way to kick a girl when she's down."

He shrugs. "Just for now. I'm sure everything will go back to normal when the Beaumont Curse is broken and he comes to his senses about Taneea. Which is going to happen because ancestors' mortar or not, you and Miss Delia have mad hoodoo ninja skills."

Though I'm not sure I deserve it, his confidence perks me up.

Near the end of the long road leading from Miss Delia's house, Jack prepares to turn onto the paved side road that will take us to Sea Island Parkway.

A dark, foreboding feeling creeps across my chest. I glance over my shoulder at the forest behind us. My ears fill with the sound of the night-crickets, cicadas, frogs-and something else, not a whisper exactly, but a faint, dissonant chord that echoes deep my head.

I grab his wrist. "Wait. Do you hear that?"

He holds his foot on the break and listens. "No. What is it?"

The chime heightens and intensifies, like an orchestra tuning up. It crescendos, growing until it crowds out all other noises. "That. It's like music, but not," I nearly shout to hear myself over the din.

Jack look at me like I'm crazy. "Why are you yelling at me?"

"Huh?" I ask, shoving my fingers in my ears to block the ringing that's blaring so loud it's vibrating my eardrums.

Suddenly, the sound shatters into a thousand individual tones that cascade and carry on the wind like notes in some weird, harmonic minor scale.

"Are you okay?"

The freaky feeling crawls across my chest and then down my spine. I know the sound. I'd recognize the tones from Miss Delia's bottle tree anywhere. I'm just not sure how I can hear it from this far away. But my spirit guide must think it's important. "We've got to go back to Miss Delia's. Now."

Jack spins the steering wheel, jerking the cart around.

The scent of burning wood wafts toward us.

No! Miss Delia's house must be on fire! The sound must have been some kind of spiritual fire alarm in my head.

"Hurry!" The eerie sensation crawls down my arms and legs.

"The pedal is on the floor. These things only go so fast you know."

He whizzes the cart back down the dirt road, dodging the pock holes and overgrown lumps of vegetation as best he can in a golf cart with d.i.n.ky headlights.

Finally, we approach the bend in the road just outside of Miss Delia's house. The smoky aroma hangs thick. A low, ghostly moan resonates through the forest. It's the familiar sound of wind pa.s.sing through the bottle tree. Through the dense forest and sheets of hanging Spanish moss, I catch a glimpse of fiery red flames.

Jack stops short.

"What are you doing? We've got to get to Miss Delia's. Her house is burning down."

"No it's not. Look." He points toward a s.p.a.ce between two trees.

He's right. There's a fire all right. But it's not in her house. Instead, Miss Delia's seated in her wheelchair under the bottle tree, warming herself by a gigantic bonfire.

The eerie sensation evaporates and my heart slows to a trot. "What the heck is she doing?"

"Beats me. You're the root worker."

Remembering her extreme displeasure, I suddenly feel weird being here. "Maybe we should leave."

He turns to me. "You sure?"

The bottle tree's strange music jolts my ears again, this time sounding like someone blared the volume and then cut it just as suddenly. Nope. My spirit guide wants me here for a reason. I know Miss Delia doesn't appreciate me being clever or headstrong, but this really isn't up to me. My spirit guide's got an agenda. "No. We're supposed to stay and watch whatever's going to happen. Turn off the headlights."

Jack takes a deep breath and kills the lights. "Oh-kay. You do realize hanging out with you is a bizarre experience, right? If you weren't my sister, I'm pretty sure I'd think you're crazy."

I sigh. "Yeah. Sometimes I wonder if I am, too. But honestly, I'm just listening to my spirit guide."

"I'd love to meet her."

"So would I." Actually, maybe not. Frankly, the whole thing is still kind of spooky to me.

Miss Delia starts to speak and wave her arms around, but it's almost impossible to see through the woods.

"Drive up closer so we can get a better look."

Jack steps on the accelerator. The electric engine makes only the faintest noise, allowing us to roll right up to the last tree before her house. We've got a perfect view of the bottle tree and clearing. Miss Delia's seated in front of the fire, a metal lock box in her lap.

With a shaking hand, she unlocks the box, then pries open the lid and pulls out what looks like a mojo bag. Clasping the tiny pocket between her palms as if in prayer, she mumbles to herself, then raises her hands above her head and calls, "Fire and heat in darkest night, Join forces to reveal this curio's might To concoct black magic strange and dark Sealing one's fate from just a spark."

She tosses the mojo onto the flames. The fire blazes just as before.

Shaking her head, she pulls out another bag and follows the same ritual.

"What is she doing?" Jack whispers.

"Testing something."

"By throwing it into the fire? What the heck is it?"

"Uh, it's a hoodoo thing. I don't think I'm allowed to tell you." It's best not to explain that those bags are likely filled with black magic curios so dark and dangerous Miss Delia's igniting them on her own, because she fears I'm not strong enough to resist their power. And that they're wrapped in those tiny swatches of cotton because she doesn't want their raw materials to touch her skin. No wonder she kicked us out of here. She's been planning this all day. With my energy drained and magical powers out of commission, the stuff in those bags would probably consume me in a second.

For the next few minutes, Miss Delia prays and tosses mojos into the fire. Each time a tiny bag lands in the flickering orange flames, she leans forward as if waiting for something to happen. Seconds pa.s.s before she sinks back into her wheelchair looking more disappointed with each failed attempt. I'm not sure what she's waiting for, but it obviously hasn't happened.

A somber expression crosses her face as she withdraws a black packet from the lock box. She crosses herself, then looks to the sky and mouths a prayer.

My scalp p.r.i.c.ks. I edge closer on my seat.

Drawing a deep breath, she encases the mojo between her palms and shuts her eyes. Then she raises her hands once again and shouts the incantation. The bag sails from her hands and lands on a flaming log.

A yellow-white flash ignites, shooting sparks up and out of the fire. Tiny embers land in the dry foliage beneath the tree. The ground rumbles, shaking Miss Delia's wheelchair and swaying the low-hanging bottles in the tree.

Jack's eyes pop. "What's going on?"

"Her test worked. It unleashed some powerful magic. Just hold on." I grip the golf cart's dashboard, antic.i.p.ating the inevitable shockwave that's bound to charge our way.

An explosion blasts in the bonfire, splitting the burning logs and causing them to collapse on themselves. Thick plumes of black smoke billow into the oak's canopy, their sooty tendrils caressing each bottle and causing them to vibrate and glow a sinister red. Within moments, the tree is bathed in crimson light, like a giant burning bush without the flames.

Jack gasps.

The quaking escalates, rattling like a speeding freight train as it stretches across the yard and rocks the golf cart. At the epicenter, Miss Delia tenses and grips the arms on her chair as the quake thrashes her from side to side.

Suddenly her head yanks back as if whiplashed, then snaps forward as she begins to convulse. Her body spasms, flopping around like a fish on a line.

She's having a seizure. This is why I'm here.

"Miss Delia!" I leap from the golf cart and race to her.

"Emma!" Jack's voice echoes behind me.

"Come on! She needs us," I scream over my shoulder. His footsteps follow behind me.

Rushing over the shaking ground, I lose my balance but somehow manage to stay on my feet. Halfway to the bottle tree the earthquake begins to ebb, as the vibrations slow and turn shallower.

Miss Delia's mouth is covered in white foam. My feet kick into overdrive, closing the s.p.a.ce between us. Steps away, I reach to console her but she jerks forward and lunges out of the chair, landing face-first in the dirt. Her upper body quivers as her lifeless legs splay on the ground.

The earth finally stills as I kneel at her waist and try to flip her on her side, but she's still flailing around and it's nearly impossible to do by myself.

Jack crouches beside me and pries his hands beneath her side. "On three, okay?" he says, antic.i.p.ating my request for help.

I nod as he counts. "One."

"Two," I add.

"Three." We say together and push her over.

"We got you, Miss D." Jack clasps her hand.

Her gaze bores into me.

"You're going to be okay. I promise." I hope it's the truth as I wipe the spit from her lips and peer into her mouth to make sure her airway is clear.

The light in the bottles fades, dimming to black. At the same time the fire shrinks, the flames collapsing on themselves as if someone doused the inferno with a bucket of water. Miss Delia stills. A low moan rolls up her throat.

I brush the dirt from her face. "Shh. Don't try to talk. We're going to get you inside, okay?"

She nods, ever so slightly, and her eyes shut.

"Jack, I need you to pick her up and carry her inside. I'll bring up her chair."

"No problem." He slides his arms under her back and knees, then strains to stand with her in his arms. The muscles in his neck pull and his face turns magenta.

He grunts. "For a little old lady, she's heavy."

"You sure you can handle it? Maybe we should carry her together. You can't drop her. She'll break a hip."

"Nah. I got it."

Biting my lip, I push her chair and watch as he struggles to carry her through the yard, past the garden, and up the steps. I can't help but remember how Cooper scooped her up so easily earlier this summer after the plateyes first attacked. In his arms, she seemed as light as feather. In Jack's, she looks more like a sack stuffed with of overgrown potatoes.

Inside, we bring her straight to her room and lay her on her bed. Though her eyes are still closed, her pulse is strong. Jack runs to the bathroom for a basin of warm water and a washcloth while I race to the kitchen for a gla.s.s of water and a vial of Four Thieves Vinegar.

We meet back at the same time and Jack gives us some privacy. As I remove her clothes and cleanse her face and arms, I think about all that has happened tonight. Because of my brainless, wretched mistake, Miss Delia is angry with me. If she dies, I'll have to live with the fact that our last conversation was an argument and that she's lost trust in me. There's only one thing to do-she can't die. Not before I've found a way to make things right between us.

When she's clean, I cover her with a cotton blanket and spoon out a generous helping of vinegar and slide it into her mouth.

She swallows and her eyes fly open. "Emma!"

"I know you're mad that I came back, but please let me explain-"

She clutches my hand. "That's not important now. I know what we need to break the Beaumont Curse. That's all that matters."

Chapter Twenty.

Miss Delia pulls me close, her grip surprisingly strong. "The curio Sabina used. It's strong black magic. The worst I've ever known. So powerful. Full of evil." Turning her head, she coughs. "A Black Cat Bone."

My mind races, but I don't have any memory of such a curio. "I never read anything about that in your spell book." I lift the gla.s.s of water to her lips and help her drink.

She swallows. "Because I don't want anything to do with one. Not in my kitchen, not in my practice. It's evil through and through."

"Then how'd you get one to test?"