Jack heaves for air as he picks himself up off the hardwood. He clutches his forearm, which must have gotten slammed.

Cooper rolls on his side, groaning. "I'm going to kill you!" He growls.

"Fine with me, just so long as I get this first." Jack yanks the little red man and naming paper from Cooper's hands.

"No!" Cooper yells.

But Jack's already sprinting up the stairs toward me. Extending his grip, he thrusts the magical items at me. "Now what?"

"Get me some matches. And keep Cooper out of the bathroom." I turn and amble toward the hall bath, close the door, and depress the lock. Who am I kidding? That's not going to hold him for long. Spinning around, I look for anything that might buy me an extra minute or two. The tall, narrow, wicker hamper in the corner is my best bet. Moving as fast as I can, I slide it across the tile floor, then tilt it toward the door, wedging its top beneath the k.n.o.b. Just in time, too because Cooper has already started knocking.

"Emma! Let me in!" He twists the k.n.o.b.

"No. You need to trust me on this. You've been allured. You can't see things for how they really are."

"No! You need to trust me. You think you know everything and have all the answers but you don't know squat. What Taneea and I have is pure. She's the best thing that's ever happened to me. I won't let you destroy that paper. I can't live without her." His voice is frantic as he pounds on the door.

I lay the flannel poppet in the dry sink faceup and then spread open the naming paper, making sure the two strands of hair lay across the top.

The red and black writing stares up at me, an ugly indictment of how far Taneea will go to get what she wants.

Love me or die. That's it, isn't it? Cooper will literally die if he doesn't love her. I don't know where Taneea found such a sick, monstrous charm or why she thought it would be okay to hex someone like this or if she even realized the danger she put Cooper in. But I'm going to see that she never gets to do it again. I don't care if it's my last act of hoodoo, but I will right this wrong.

"Open this door, or I'll open it for you!" Cooper's voice booms with feral intensity. He crashes against the solid mahogany with what has to be his shoulder.

Where is Jack and what is taking him so long?

"You'd better stop. You're going to split the wood or rip it off its hinges. And then you're dad's going to be p.i.s.sed because you know it's impossible to replace these antique doors."

"I don't give a c.r.a.p about my father or his dumb hinges. I'll rip this whole house apart to get what you and Jack stole from me."

Cripes, he really is around the bend. There's no way normal Cooper would ever express this much disrespect for his family's homestead.

Finally I hear Jack's voice. "I'm coming, Em!"

"I'm going to tear your head off," Cooper snarls.

Jack sighs. "Okay, but do it neatly. Otherwise it'll make a huge mess."

Evidentially, Cooper isn't amused because the next thing I hear is the two of them crash to the ground.

On my hands and knees, I peer through the s.p.a.ce at the bottom of the door. From my limited vantage point, I can tell Cooper's got Jack splayed on his stomach. But what Cooper doesn't realize is that's exactly what Jack wants. Jack's head swivels toward me, his cheek smushed against the carpet runner. Our eyes meet. He slides his palm toward the door. The matchbook is just below his fingers.

While nudging the matches into the crack between the tile floor and the door, he forces a few words. "This better work. Otherwise I'm toast."

A surge of adrenaline pulses through me, tapping the last of my reserve strength. As the guys wrestle and kick the door, I clamber to the sink. Leaning against the counter, I open the pack, pull off a match, and strike it against the thin dark strip at the back, then toss the kindled match on the hair and naming paper. The enchanted items burst into flame as if doused with kerosene and engulf the poppet. Black smoke rises as the cursed items burn like an inferno.

I flick on the bathroom exhaust fan and watch as the hateful fumes rise to the ceiling and then out of the house.

The guys' shouts quiet. So does the kicking.

The last remnants of the charred paper and poppet crumble in the sink. There's nothing left but sooty, black ashes that have been sucked of their fuel.

An eerie stillness expands on the other side of the door.

Breathing a sigh of relief, I turn on the faucet and rinse the last of the allurement spell down the sink. Then I loosen the hamper, shove it aside, and twist the k.n.o.b to unlock it.

Gripping the jamb, I open the door to find a seated Cooper propped against the wall, his head collapsed in his hands.

Jack's sitting opposite him, his arms crossed and a wide grin on his face. "Cooper's back. Or at least he will be soon."

Cooper lifts his head. His face is a mixture of agony, confusion, and betrayal. But his eyes are a sight to behold. They're tinged with just the faintest swirl of green. He rubs his forehead. "What happened? I remember...but I also don't. Things got weird there for a second, didn't they?"

I exhale the breath I've been holding since I opened the door. "For longer than a second. Ever since Missy died." I step out of the doorway and cross to the other side of the hall next to Jack. Though I don't try to sit down because with the way I'm feeling right now, there's a very good chance I won't be able to get back up. Instead I grip the railing overlooking the grand staircase with two hands, praying I won't keel over.

Jack nods. "Taneea made you her pet." When Cooper's brow furrows, Jack points to his chest. "For real. Look at the thing around your neck."

Cooper looks down. His lips curl in disgust. "It's a dog collar. I think we bought it in a shop in Charleston. I remember thinking I didn't want it, but I guess I changed my mind." He glances down at his silk-screened tee with the motorcycle print and then squints at his long jean shorts, and flat-out gawks at the orange high-tops. "What am I wearing?" He kicks off the shoes and pushes them away.

Jack snorts. "Your new wardrobe. She made you pretty." He wiggles his fingers and contorts his voice to sound like Igor in a Frankenstein movie. "You've got another pair too. Lime green." He erupts in peals of laughter.

Cooper pinches the bridge of his nose. "Uh. She made me blow my summer allowance on this c.r.a.p. I don't think I've got any money left," he moans, as his memories appear to be flooding back.

"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.

Sunlight 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 pa.s.sing 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 gla.s.s 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 s.n.a.t.c.h 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 pa.s.senger 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 c.u.mbersome 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 rea.s.sured 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.