It's shut. A sliver of light shines through the crack above the floor.

Taking a deep breath, Cooper paces down the hall with me and Jack at his heels. At the door, Cooper holds up his fist to knock. He freezes midair, as if he's afraid to follow though.

I can't blame him. His life, or death, could be waiting for him in there.

"You can do this, Coop. We've got your back," Jack whispers.

Cooper nods, then pounds his fist, hard and fast.

There's no hiding now. If the boo hag's in there, it knows we're out here.

No sound comes from behind the door. Cooper waits another moment before pounding again. "Dad?"

Jack nods at Cooper.

Together, they ram their shoulders into the mahogany door, pounding until they break it in. Finally, it slams against the wall with a thud.

If Beau's in here, we're so screwed.

But the room is empty. And except for the window that's wide open and the curtain blowing in the cool evening breeze, it's perfectly still. Just an ordinary office filled with ordinary office furniture.

We race inside, scanning the floor for the rubbery Beau suit. It's nowhere in sight.

"Maybe it's hidden." Jack sprints across the room to the closet. He yanks open the door, but his chest caves at the shelves lined with copier paper and other supplies, and boxes filled with old tax returns.

Cooper tugs open the deep side drawers of the desk. I'm not exactly sure Beau would file his suit away, but I suppose it's worth a try.

Once Jack's satisfied that the closet isn't a Beau suit storage unit, he gets down on his hands and knees to search under the sofa and arm chairs.

I spin my messenger bag around to my back and start on the file cabinet across the room beneath the open window. My eyes are drawn to the nearby gla.s.s-enclosed shelves that display the hundreds of artifacts from High Point Bluff. My fingers p.r.i.c.k as I scan the tangible history of the Beaumont family. Before tonight, I knew this plantation was tainted by its involvement in slavery and its male progeny cursed for what Edmund Beaumont and a band of wicked pirates did to an enslaved African girl. But now, after the Psychic Vision, I realize High Point Bluff's story is much more dismal than I ever imagined. After the Beaumont men lost their souls, a horrible boo hag exploited their bodies' vulnerability and possessed their flesh once they came of age. And, if Clarissa, Missy, and Beau's other two wives are any indication, the rest of the Beaumont women weren't spared either.

A queasy feeling grips my stomach. I turn away from the mini-museum of horrors and direct my attention back to the file cabinet, clasping the pull. My fingers burn like fire. I yank my hand away and shake it out to relieve the pain. The collection glows with a soft yellow light. A deep ache sets into my soles, urging me toward the display shelves.

Jeez, my spirit guide's working overtime to make a point.

Scanning the items once more, I try to figure out what's so special about them. It's hard to imagine there's anything particularly noteworthy about bottles, hair combs, handkerchiefs, pewter cups, and pocket watches. They look like random items from lives lived-or more accurately-lost.

Jack pops up on to his knees after rolling back the area rug. I can only a.s.sume he's looking for a trap door of some sort. "What's up, Em?"

"Um, I'm not sure, but there's something important about all this stuff." I stroke my chin as I scan the glowing items.

Jack joins me in front of the shelves. "Too bad Mom isn't here. She could probably tell us if any of that stuff is valuable."

Except her specialty is Middle Eastern desert culture, so it's highly doubtful. And there's the whole hoodoo thing, too, which isn't exactly part of her curriculum.

Cooper gives up on the desk drawers and steps to my other side. "It just looks like a bunch of stuff that was handed down through my family."

"I guess. But my spirit guide's kind of making a big deal about it."

Jack's brow arches. "Let me guess, voices?"

I shake my head. "Glowing."

He chuckles. "Dang. How come you get all the fun? I'm your twin, and I don't see squat."

I shake my head. "I don't know. I guess it's my curse."

"Or your gift," Cooper says. "It's let you do some pretty amazing things. And saved me and Jack while you were at it. I wouldn't get too down on those powers of yours." He smiles as his blue-green gaze meets mine.

My chest fills with familiar warmth. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves. I haven't saved you yet. There's still a boo hag hunting for that skin of yours."

He shakes his head. "I haven't forgotten."

"Good, because neither have I." Redoubling my efforts, I drag my eyes from his gorgeous face and turn back to the shelves and squint hard. I gasp. "Holy cow."

"What?" Jack and Cooper ask in unison.

I point to a thick yellow beeswax candle in the corner of the top shelf that's pulsing with bright light. "That!"

"What?" They ask again, but this time their words are tinged with annoyance.

Oh, I forgot they can't see what I do. I sigh. "The candle. It's flashing like a beacon."

"If you say so," Jack says.

"I do." I stretch onto my tiptoes, but the candle is just out of reach.

"You sure you should touch it?" Cooper asks.

"Um, pretty much. My spirit guide wouldn't direct me to it otherwise."

"Okay." Reaching over my head, he grabs hold of the candle and tries to s.n.a.t.c.h it. But rather than lift, it tilts forward. The bottom is connected to some kind of lever that's built into the shelf.

A grinding metal sound churns inside the wall that reminds me of the spinning gears of a clock. With a click, the rotating stops and last bookcase pops away from the wall.

"What the...? Ugh!" Jacks words trail off as the brutal aroma of decaying flesh wafts into the room. He groans as he slaps his palm across his nose and mouth.

Cooper coughs then winces as he steps to the opening and pulls on the bookcase. "I think we found what we're looking for."

It swings open to reveal a secret, windowless room. The pent-up, fetid air from inside the compartment gushes out and disperses as it spills into the study, then drifts out the window.

I step inside. The stench is still strong enough to burn my throat. Like the crypt at the cemetery, the sparely furnished room is lined with stone and the air is cool. It's a no-tech refrigerator no doubt intended to help preserve the flesh of the boo hag's latest victim.

Aside from a small table, chair, and a bookcase filled with ancient ledgers, there's a wooden stand in the middle of the room propping up Beau's skin. The flesh husk is posed upright, his lifeless underarms and crotch supported by thick pegs that stick out from a board. Its hollow eyes, nose, and mouth are barren voids of doom.

Cooper swallows hard. "What do we do now?"

"Get it off there and dump salt down its throat," I answer, dreading every moment.

Jack slaps his palms together. "Might as well get to it." He strides to the skin and stares at it for a second, as if sizing up a math problem. Without waiting for me or Cooper, he slips his hand under Beau's meaty left arm and flings it over the peg. The shoulder sags, pulling the skin suit off-kilter. Jack spins around to us, his face gray as he clasps the flaccid skin. "It's not so bad. Kind of feels like a snake. A rotting snake, but if you can get past the stink, it's tolerable." It spills onto the floor in a gelatinous puddle. Splayed on its back, it's vacant face stares up at the ceiling, its mouth a gaping hole.

Cooper kneels beside the pool of flaccid flesh. He stares at what once was his father for a long moment, then lifts his gaze to mine. His eyes are moist and tinged with pink. He extends his hand. "Give me the salt. I want to kill it."

I yank off my messenger bag, flip open the flap, then pull out the three cartons of salt. I pop open the spout on the first and pa.s.s it to him. "Pour it into the mouth, then down past the neck, and into the body cavity. That should do the trick."

Cooper takes the container, then leans to where the head lays. "Once I do this, my dad-or what I knew of him-will be gone forever."

I nod. "That's right. The boo hag won't be able to slip back into the skin without being burned."

Jack steps toward Cooper and grips his shoulder. "Your dad's been gone for years. The guy you know was an impersonation. And a pretty bad one at that."

Cooper nods as he peers at the husk. "Look what it did to him. It wasn't enough to destroy his reputation, it desecrated his body, too. Well, that ends tonight. I'm not going to let it do anything more to my dad." He grabs hold of what's left of his father's face. The cheeks jiggle and the neck ripples as he tugs on the mouth to stretch it open. Mashing his lips, Cooper tilts the container to Beau's mouth and pours the white grains in a steady stream.

The pink flesh fizzles and pops.

Jack straddles the center of the skin suit's midsection and strains to lift the chest, allowing Cooper better access to the rest of the cavity. Cooper empties the container, then reaches for the second.

The faint scent of charred meat floats up from the carca.s.s.

Jack gags. "I think we're cooking Beau."

My stomach churns. "Ugh, gross." I peek inside and see the areas that have been salted have already turned a dark gray and hardened like beef jerky. In a sense he's right, but I think this is one of those situations that it's best to downplay the obvious. "No, the salt is just drying out the skin. Try not to breathe."

Jack nods and swallows hard. "Yeah, okay."

When Cooper's finally finished dumping the third container, he and Jack lay the skin back on the floor. It's shriveled and withered and has shrunken in on itself.

Cooper steps back and takes in the desiccated slab of wrinkled flesh. "I'm officially an orphan."

"You always have been. You just didn't know it." Jack's voice is uncharacteristically solemn.

Cooper turns toward me, his eyes misty. "So now what?"

"We destroy the hag before it possesses you or finds another body to s.n.a.t.c.h before the sun rises," I answer, sounding a whole lot more confident than I actually am. Because as easy as all that sounds, I actually don't have the faintest clue how to pull any of it off.

"Awesome. What's your plan of attack?" Jack asks.

I gnaw my bottom lip, considering whether to be totally honest. "Um, a trap? Ideally, if we could keep it captive until dawn, then the sunlight would fry it alive. We wouldn't have to engage in any hand-to-hand combat."

Jack smiles. "Bonus. I don't want to have to stab that thing again if I can help it."

Cooper hitches his brow. "Traps usually require bait."

"Uh-huh," I answer.

"So what's the lure?" Cooper asks.

After all that's happened, I'm surprised it's not obvious to him by now.

Jack hitches a brow. "Seriously, dude? You."

Chapter Thirty-one.

Cooper sucks a chestful of air. "Fine. Where are we setting up my death trap?"

"Um..." I glance up at the shelves. My breath catches. Every single artifact flashes with bright yellow light. It's as if it's a display case of flares rather than discreet historical objects. I walk around the desk and stand before the cabinets, gawking at the show. Bathed in the intense light, each item takes on a different l.u.s.ter and a deeper significance.

These aren't just things that were used here at the plantation. They're possessions that belonged to the people who once lived here. My ears p.r.i.c.kle and heat. The combs, fans, pocket watches, and other knickknacks on these shelves meant something to High Point Bluff's residents. And they were collected by the boo hag, who has possessed every Master of the Plantation since the first, Edmund, died, inhabiting their bodies and hijacking their lives. A stinging sensation inches its way up the back of my scalp as realization dawns. These are trophies.

"What is it?" Jack and Cooper ask.

"Get a couple boxes. We need to bring these with us to the cemetery."

After Jack and Cooper help me load up all the artifacts from the shelves, I grab a pen and clean sheet of paper from the printer on the desk and jot down a note.

So sorry about your skin. :( If you're looking for Cooper you can find him and the Beaumont Ruby down at the cemetery. Happy hunting. :) I hand it to Jack. "Leave this on top of the carca.s.s. That should make our point."

Jack races into the stone room and delivers the note. We sprint from the study and head toward the kitchen to the side exit. An idea pops in to my head.

I stop short and turn to Cooper. "Do you still have the mojo I made you?" I leave off the part where Taneea made him take it off because it clashed with the hideous new clothes she picked out.

"Yeah, it's in my bedroom. Do you need it?"

I breathe a sigh of relief. "No. You will. Go grab it."

He sets his box on the floor and then races down the hall and upstairs. A few seconds later he's back, his chest heaving for air. "Are you sure it still works?" He extends the little white pouch toward me as his soft green-blue gaze searches mine.

I know what he's really asking: does it still contain my love? I can't help but wonder the same. I clasp the white pouch in my hand. It's soft and worn from lying against Cooper's skin for weeks. White energy warms my fingertips and dances up my arm. My skin tingles as joy and happiness swell in my chest, and my lips bend into a smile. "It's still working. You should put it on now. You can never be too safe."

Fifteen minutes later, after we stop at the caretaker's cottage for a straw broom, Cooper pulls the golf cart up to the cemetery, the one place we aren't supposed to be unsupervised, yet where we've managed to spend an awful lot of time. Instinct or my spirit guide or the green and white psychic beads on my collier kick in, drawing me deep into the graveyard. Though I don't expect the boo hag to strike until we near Cooper's birthday at midnight, we stick close, on high alert, squinting through the cloudy night and listening for any indication that our visitor has arrived early.

Jack sets his box on the ground, then props the old wooden doors of the crypt open and dashes inside. A second later he bolts out, the pirate's dagger in his grip. He lifts it for us to see. "For cutting the kudzu." The blade reflects the moon's glow.

We trudge on, wading farther into the cemetery to the section that abuts the salt marsh. The stones are draped with thick, winding vines, and the ground is a lush green carpet that's hard to walk through. And since the sky is covered with thick gray clouds, only sporadic beams of moonlight shine through, bathing the hallowed ground in spooky shadows. The faster we find a safe place to build a fire, the better.

Clarissa's grave is just ahead, near the pile of mullein torches we left stacked on the ground after we broke the Beaumont curse. An awesome idea flashes across my mind. I glance around, but this area is too crowded with graves to set up a boo hag trap.

A short distance away, on the bank above the marsh, we come upon an area with fewer gravestones. My scalp p.r.i.c.ks, making me halt. "This is where we need to be. Let's clear the area and find some wood for a fire."

Jack hacks at the vines with the dagger while Cooper uses his pocketknife, a less superior, but adequate tool. I gather up the clippings, and with Cooper and Jack at my side, toss the discarded kudzu into the woods until we collect enough kindling and fallen tree branches for a decent fire. Within minutes, Jack has built a fire big enough to provide plenty of light.