Conjure (10 page)

Jack juts out his jaw. “So what happened today with Miss Delia? I was kind of expecting some results.” He waves his cursed hand in my direction.

Anxiety, fear, and guilt grip me all at once. This is the moment I’ve dreaded all afternoon. Maggie’s visit and my dad’s scolding offered a merciful distraction, but there’s no more stalling. This is it. Once I tell him, he’ll realize how hopeless this is, and that Bloody Bill’s note will come true—he’ll be ravaged by The Creep and eventually become a bundle of dry bones. That’s what he’s
really
got to look forward to. He’ll be crushed.

Cooper and I exchange pained glances, and I gnaw my lip, searching for the words. “Jack, I’m sorry, but we tried—”

Jack’s eyes flash with dark anger, and his face contorts. “What’s that supposed to mean? Either you fixed it or you didn’t.” His voice is deep and gravelly.

Cooper reaches for his arm. “Easy, bro. She’s working hard.”

Jack jerks out of his reach. He winces and squeezes the bridge of his nose. “Ow. Stupid headache is back.”

I huff. Shaking my head, I take a step forward, trying to explain. “No, you don’t understand. We were working the spell, but there was this dog—”

“A dog?” He glares at me through his long black eyelashes.

Cooper’s bright green eyes widen as he nods in agreement. “Not just any dog. I swear it was as big as a hog.”

The words tumble from my mouth. “It was evil and had these horrible yellow eyes, then Miss Delia collapsed, and now we need to find some kind of special mortar to call her ancestors.”

Jack shakes his head. “Whatever.” He stands and grabs the screen door handle to retreat back into the house. “Just find the frigging thing and cure me.”

Cooper rises to face him. “It’s not that easy, Jack. It’s been missing for more than eighty years.”

I lurch forward, willing him to see how hard this will be. “It was stolen by some missionaries, and we have no idea where they put it.”

Jack winces, grabs his head, and rubs his temples. Then he shoots us his I-can’t-believe-you’re-such-idiots glare. “When are you going to stop being so dramatic, Emo? Of course we can find it. The answer is up at the Big House.”

Chapter Thirteen

Up in Cooper’s bedroom, Jack strides toward the desk and rips off his glove. Waving his mangled hand at the laptop, he says, “This is a computer. It connects to something really cool called the Internet.”

Cooper stares at him hard. “You know what, bro, I know you’re dealing with your hand and all, but your sarcasm sucks.”

Nodding, I set my hands on my hips. “Yeah, and considering you need us to help you, I’d think you’d be acting extra nice instead of being a giant jerk.”

Jack blinks. The sneer slides off his lips. He rubs his forehead with his phalanges, then stumbles over to Cooper’s bed and collapses in a heap.

Alarmed, I reach for his arm. “Are you okay?”

He nods. “Yeah, it’s just a stress headache.” He pinches the top of his nose. “Look, guys, I know I haven’t been myself lately, and I’m sorry. I guess I’m just freaked by this curse thing.”

When he puts it that way, it’s hard to stay angry with him. I sigh. “Just try to be more like the jerk I know, okay? Because it’s hard to love this extreme version.”

His lips pull into a half-smile. “I’ll try.”

Cooper chuckles and slaps him on the shoulder. “Good. I’m glad that’s out of the way because I didn’t want to have to kick your butt.” He jerks his thumb at the computer. “You want to explain how the Web’s supposed to help us find the mortar?”

Jack shakes his head as if the answer is lying right there on the desk, and we should be able to see it. Cooper and I look at each other, clueless.

Jack grunts. “Jeez, you two are thick.” He gets up and mashes the on button with his bony index finger. I guess he’s already forgotten his promise. He plops into Cooper’s desk chair, clicks onto the Web, and taps his phalanges against the track pad.

The sound is beyond nauseating, not to mention the putrid stench wafting through the air. Sour saliva pools in my mouth, and I gulp it back, trying not to puke.

“Um, Jack could you possibly stop doing that?” I ask, swallowing hard.

Cooper winces. “Yeah, bro, it’s all kinds of wrong. Can’t you at least put that glove on again?”

Jack grumbles something I can’t understand. “Tough. It’s what you get when you two screw up and leave me to fix everything.”

That’s it. I’m out of sympathy. “That’s totally unfair.” I cross my arms. “We didn’t screw up, and I certainly haven’t been sitting around braiding my hair.” Nobody asked him to fix anything. While he was busy crying, I became a hoodoo apprentice to help save his nasty self—cutting off a hank of my hair and being terrorized by a demonic monster—not exactly how I planned to spend my summer vacation.

Jack ignores me as he types “South Carolina St. Helena Island history” into the search engine. His bony phalanges click against the keys with each stroke. So. Gross.

“Hello? Are you going to clue us in here? What’s your amazing plan?” I ask.

“Research,” he answers as he twists around toward us. “Listen, this is just like any other research paper or one of my journalism investigations. The answer is out there. We’ve just got to find it. And we’ve already got the first clue.”

Clue? I don’t get how searching the island’s history is going to give us what we need. Jack clicks a link and scans the page.

“So you think we need a history lesson?” I ask, plopping down on Cooper’s bed. Cooper does the same, sitting so close I feel the heat emanating off his skin. I fight the urge to rest my palm against his tan leg or lean my head against his broad shoulder. Or both.

Thank God Jack doesn’t take his eyes off the screen. He’d totally skewer me if he saw what was going on behind his back.

Oblivious to my Herculean effort not to paw Cooper, he scans different pages and drones, “That’s the problem with you art students. All you want to do is draw and paint. You don’t realize how important history is.” As much as I want to tilt his chair back and watch him crash to the floor, I don’t because I’d have to step away from Cooper to do it.

I grunt. “Ugh, spare me. Now you sound like Ms. Darling.” Our history teacher’s pretty cool, but she’s always going on about how the present couldn’t exist without the past. Well, duh. But that doesn’t mean I have to waste my time studying useless facts about a bunch of dead guys. Especially when I could use that time to create something beautiful.

“See, that’s what I mean. Ms. Darling’s the smartest teacher at our school. Maybe if you paid attention more, you’d do better in her class.”

“Whatever, butt-kisser. I did fine.”

“Yeah, a B- is stupendous.”

“Um, I’m not an art student,” Cooper adds unhelpfully.

I gawk at him. He shrugs, then flashes that adorable grin that melts my irritation.

Jack snorts. “Yeah, well, being into maritime and military stuff probably won’t help us, either.”

Cooper pushes off his bed and strides to his desk. I hate him for making Cooper leave my side. Crossing his arms, Cooper asks, “Okay, genius, why don’t you tell us what will.” His voice is tinged with annoyance.

Oops. Jack’s done it now. It takes a lot to tick off Cooper, and busting on his love of the water is the best way to do it. I haven’t seen his brow furrow like that in a long time. I don’t like how the deep creases squish his light green eyes, making them appear smaller, or how his lips pull into thin, straight lines.

Jack is too engrossed in what he’s reading to notice Cooper’s reaction. He clicks on a new link and skims halfway down the site. A broad grin spreads across his face as he highlights a section of text and points to it. “See, here it is. All the missionary organizations that came to St. Helena’s to work with the Gullah. Our mortar thief has to be one of them.” He clicks the print button.

Cooper’s face brightens. “How the heck did you find that?”

Dang, why can’t he keep a grudge?

Jack shrugs. “It’s from a dissertation on Gullah theology.” He works to sound unimpressed with his find, but I know he wants to squeal like a happy little girl.

I peer at the list. There are at least twenty organizations, all with religious-sounding names like Salvation Sisters, Women of the Word, and The Lord’s Prayers. “Um, Jack, I don’t want to be a downer, but there are a lot of groups here, not to mention they’re eighty years old.”

He nods. “That’s the whole point of doing research, Em—tracking down leads and seeing where they take you.”

I hunch my shoulders. “But how do you know if these groups still exist, and if you do manage to contact any of them, who’s going to admit stealing the mortar?”

Jack grimaces, then grabs his head with both hands and massages his temples. “Can’t you just go with me on this?” He sighs. “I know I’m right about this. I can feel it, just like when I knew the treasure was buried under the ruins. I bet whoever took it still has it, or maybe they know what happened to it.” His blue eyes plead. “Let me do this. It’s what I’m good at.”

Tears well in my eyes. Finally, I’m not the only one trying to save Jack. He’s as much a part of this as I am or Cooper is. Suddenly I don’t care if he thinks I’m emotional, or that he’s a jerk. I can’t hold back how I feel. Wiping away the tear rolling down my cheek, I nod. “Okay, find the mortar. Your hand’s getting worse, and I don’t want to lose you.”

He reaches over with his good hand and squeezes my fingers. “I will.” He winks. “See? I told you to pay more attention in class. History saves lives.”

…

“Thank you, child. You’re very kind.” Miss Delia reaches her shaky hands to grasp the teacup and saucer.

“No problem. I think you’ll like this batch better than the last. I added some mint this time.”

She blows on the steaming cup and bends her head to take a sip. “Mmm, that’s good. Your blending skills have definitely progressed.” I settle into the rocker next to hers and gaze at the herb garden and bottle tree. She sets the cup on the saucer. “Thanks to you, I’m doing much better. You sure you wouldn’t rather be at home with those boys, hunting for that mortar?” She reaches up to stroke her
collier.
“I’ll be all right on my own.”

“Nah. They’ll call if they find something. Besides, I like coming here.”

There’s no way I’m leaving her. It took me four days to get her out of bed to eat a decent meal and another two to come out onto the porch. There’s no telling what might happen if I leave her alone, especially if that dog-beast shows up again. And it’s not like I’m of any use at home, what with Jack tearing through the list and bossing Cooper around like he’s his research assistant. I’m staying as far away from that mess as possible.

Despite Jack’s cockiness, the mortar hasn’t been easy to find. It turns out most of the missionaries were on St. Helena’s around the same time, so he’s got to investigate them all. So far, he’s managed to get through more than half, calling a bunch of churches and talking to little old ladies who remember visiting the island with their parents. Just as I feared, none of them recalls taking anything from the Gullah, just handing out a lot of Bibles.

Miss Delia smiles. “I enjoy your company, too.” She points her crooked finger at me. “You’re a good girl, Emma. I could see that the moment I laid eyes on you.”

“Really?” My cheeks flush.

“Uh-huh. That’s why I asked for your help in the kitchen that day.” She narrows her cloudy eye at me. “You think I’d have you back there if I didn’t think I could trust you?” She cackles for the first time in days. It feels good to hear that high-pitched ring in my ears. I was afraid I’d never hear it again.

“No, I suppose not.” I chuckle and sip the hot honeysuckle tea, noting how much better it tastes with the mint. The last cup I brewed had way too many bark chips and tasted like steeped mulch.

She nods and sucks her teeth. “Not to mention taking you on as my apprentice. Saving your brother is one thing, but when we’re done, you’ll know my secrets and have tremendous power. I wouldn’t pass the mantle to just anyone.”

I haven’t thought about what will happen after we save Jack, but I doubt it’ll include more hoodoo. I figured everything will just go back to normal.

As much as I’d like to, I doubt I’ll be able to erase the terrible image of Jack’s bony hand from my mind, especially now that The Creep has progressed, stripping him of the remaining ragged and festering flesh that clung to his palm and thumb. It exploded the other day while he was using the computer, dissolving most of the keys on the right side and frying the motherboard. Since I was with Miss Delia, Jack got to clean up while Cooper ran to the office supply store to get a replacement. Even though I knew his hand would burst—it started to throb before I’d left that morning—it was almost impossible to see his stripped hand when I got back. Now the tiny bones hang together by the faintest layer of connective tissue but somehow still manage to bend and flex as if they were wrapped in muscle and skin. The swelling has moved on, too, encircling his wrist like a scarlet watchband. So far Jack’s been able to hide it from our dad by wearing a glove wherever he goes—Dad thinks it’s some weird fashion statement—but that won’t last long when the curse moves farther up his arm.

I bring my attention back to Miss Delia. “You know I’d never tell anybody your secrets.” I sound as solemn as I feel.

“Of course I do.” She rocks back in her chair. “I’ll tell you something else I know.” Her voice is deep and serious.

“What’s that?”

“You’ve got a touch of the Sense.”

I choke on my tea. “The what?”

“Sense. You know what I mean.” She states it like it’s an indisputable fact.

“Um…” I don’t. I search my mind, trying to figure out what she’s talking about. But as usual, I’m clueless. “Do you mean I make sense, like I’m a logical person? Or that I’ve got sense, like I’m street smart?” Because while I might be the first, I don’t think I’m the second, even though I’m from D.C.

“No.” She takes another sip. “You’ve got
the
Sense. You’re sensitive.”

I sigh, thinking of Jack’s favorite insult. I’m tired of defending myself against being emo. “I guess I’m a little emotional. But isn’t everyone?”

She laughs. “You’re not hearing me, child. Having the Sense means you know things. Like when something’s bad, or when it’s good. Everyone has the ability, but it comes easier to some folk than others. You’re one of those people who can hear your spirit guide. It’s what’s going to make you an excellent root doctor someday.”

Oh. Well, when she puts it that way, it doesn’t sound half bad, but I’m not sure I agree. “I don’t know about that. I mean, it’s not hard to see when things are obviously evil, like that crazy dog last week. I’d say you’d have to be pretty dense not to get that.”

She nods. “Sure, there’s no mistaking that evil. But I’m talking about things that aren’t so clear. Tell me, you knew it was a mistake to go after that treasure, didn’t you? But you didn’t just know it in your mind.” She points to my head. “You felt it in your gut.” Her hand tilts down toward my stomach.

Memories rush over me. The chills the first time I read Bloody Bill’s note, then nearly hurling in the root cellar before Jack and Cooper opened the tabby box. They thought I was being dramatic, but it turns out I was right all along. I nod. “Yeah. I knew we should leave it alone. I tried to tell them, but they wouldn’t listen, and the further we went, the sicker I felt. So that was my spirit guide, huh?”

“It sure was. Some call them guardian angels, others spirit guides, some even say it’s your conscience. Either way, it’s all the same thing. They try to talk to us, let us know what’s going on, but some of us are too jaded or scared, or just too plain dumb to listen. Normally that’d be fine, but sometimes, when a spirit guide has something important to say, she won’t be ignored. If you don’t listen, she’ll take it out on your body until you do. We’re going to have to help you hear her better.” She smiles. “I don’t want you heaving off my porch and ruining my salvia like your boy did.”

I can’t help but laugh. “You don’t have to worry. My stomach’s a lot stronger than his.” My cell phone goes off, blasting a ring tone by my favorite emo band, specially selected to annoy Jack. I reach over to my messenger bag and grab it. It’s him. “Hello, freak.” It’s so much easier to insult him over the phone.