Allure

oils, I’ve been toiling in the dirt, clipping and cataloging the extensive inventory of plants and herbs, then grinding them into powder for Miss Delia to test for our Break Jinx. So far, none have had the explosive power we saw in the Psychic Vision with Sabina. With two-and-a-half weeks left before Cooper’s birthday, I hope we find it soon.

Ordinarily, working the garden would be paradise, but today it’s the exact opposite thanks to Taneea. Mercifully, I haven’t seen much of her lately since she’s either been holed up in her room, or out on one of her “walks” around the island. Though, if the black car we saw the other day has been involved, I doubt she’s done much walking. Whatever has kept her busy, she hasn’t been here. Until today.

“Could it get any hotter?” Taneea whines for the thousandth time as she fans herself in a rocking chair on the porch.

Miss Delia spins her wheelchair around on the stone path that winds through the garden. “I reckon it will.”

Taneea tugs at her clingy low-cut tank. “My clothes are soaked. Haven’t you heard of central air?”

“Sure have. But generations of my kin lived without it. I figure I can do the same. A little perspiration never killed anyone.”

“Gross.” Taneea crosses her arms.

Though I hate to admit it, Taneea’s got a point. It is sizzling. But it’s South Carolina in the summer, for cripes’ sake. If you’re not okay with sweating and occasionally stinking, you probably shouldn’t get thrown out of your house and forced to live with your great-grandmother on St. Helena’s. This island isn’t exactly a hot spot, but there’s got to be something she can do—go to the library or movies, even volunteer at the hospital—anything but hang around here griping and ruining everyone else’s good time.

My patience at its end, I step away from the bearberry, shove my straw hat off my brow, and wipe the trickle of sweat dripping down the side of my face. Hoisting my basket of clippings, I carry it to edge of the porch near Taneea’s chair. Her spicy perfume is strong and thick, almost like a guy’s cologne, and smells vaguely like Asian spices.

Her lips curl into a self-satisfied grin. “Why don’t you get Cooper to come over and drive me to the mall? I’m sure he wouldn’t mind hanging out with an older, more experienced girl for awhile.”

Oh no she didn’t. My fingers ball into a fist, yearning to wipe that smirk off her older, more experienced, magenta lips. But instead, I breathe deep, straighten my fingers, and manage to smile back. “Sorry, he’s busy with my brother today.”

Her brow arches, hoisting her silver eyebrow ring upward. “You’ve got a brother? Is he hot?”

I choke a little, unaccustomed to thinking about Jack in those terms. “I guess.”

She scoffs. “So that’s a giant no. But I shouldn’t be surprised if he’s related to you.” Chuckling, she whips out her iPhone. “That’s okay. You’d be surprised at how easy it is to meet guys.”

Leaning toward her, I keep my voice low so Miss Delia can’t hear. “Like the guy in the black car? I bet your great-gran would love to meet him.”

She quirks her brow. “How did you—” She cuts herself off, then plasters a big, fat, fake smile on her lips. Leaning toward me, she narrows her gaze. “Don’t even think about snitching to the old lady. If I want to hitchhike into town, that’s my business, not yours. Or hers. Trust me. You don’t know what I’m capable of. And you don’t want to find out.”

“Hitchhiking? Do you realize how stupid that is?” I snort, completely unimpressed by her tough-girl routine. I’ve fought demon dogs and broken a flesh-eating curse; Taneea Branson’s feeble threats don’t even come close.

Her eyes narrow and her nostrils flare. “Listen, you little suck-up. You think that just because you pluck a few weeds in this garden that makes you something special around here. You’re nothing. Just the hired help.”

I square my shoulders, bolstered by the fact that Miss Delia chose me. “I’m not nothing.” I almost add that I’m not even hired, that I work for free, but somehow I sense that will only undercut my position.

“Maybe so. But she’s my great-grandmother. And no matter what she’s promised you, blood is thicker than water.” She sits back and crosses her arms. Her lips bend as if she’s just realized she’s held the trump card all along.

Maybe she has. Family is, after all, my bottom line, too. But even though she’s struck a chord, I won’t give her the satisfaction of backing down.

I set my hands on my hips. “Then you don’t know her very well because Miss Delia makes her own decisions, for her own reasons.”

“Uh-huh. We’ll see. Until then, why don’t get back to picking weeds.” She snickers as she pushes off her chair and strides into the house, slamming the screen door.

Ignoring her, I walk back down the path to join Miss Delia. She’s staring at the trimmed bearberry bush from under the wide brim of her straw hat. “You cut an awful lot of that plant. Too much in my estimation.”

Biting my lip, I glance at what’s left of the evergreen dotted with tiny pink, pear-shaped flowers that smell like green tea. “You think?”

She levels her gaze at me. “I wouldn’t have said anything if I didn’t.”

“It was overgrown, so I cut it back. Was that okay?”

She narrows her lid over her good eye. “I suppose so. Though I don’t generally like taking more than I need at any one time.”

Which explains why the garden is so, shall we say, abundant. But she needn’t worry, because after I grind some of the bearberry into a powder for her, I’ll be using every last leaf for a special tea I’m planning to brew to help boost my energy and make conjuring a lot easier.

I just can’t let Miss Delia know. At least not yet.

She hates shortcuts. Knowing her, this tea of mine will definitely qualify as one, but after the simple Protective Shield left me as drained as an empty bathtub, I can’t imagine what’ll happen when I conjure something really big. Say for instance, a spell to save Cooper’s soul.

So rather than wait to be sucked dry the next time, I’m taking matters into my own hands, using her spell book and ingredient list to concoct my own formula to build up my reserves. Which, I think is pretty darn brilliant. The magic gets the energy it needs to work, and I get to stay conscious. Win-win.

Miss Delia stiffens in her chair. Her jaw tenses as her eyes search the yard, gazing past the bottle tree to the road beyond. “Something’s coming, Emma. Best watch yourself.”

A split second later, thick gray clouds roll in, darkening the sky. A cool breeze whips through the clearing, rushing over the bottles dangling from the live oak, creating a low moan. Dread creeps over my skin like a colony of ants. I’m not sure whether to freeze in place or run and hide.

A car engine roars in the distance. The sound grows louder as it nears. Moments later, a shiny black sedan rumbles around the curve in the road. The extra-wide tires chew up the vegetation on the lane leading to Miss Delia’s house. Pulling up past the bottle tree, it stops at the foot of the path. I squint hard at the vintage Lincoln. Could it be the same one Taneea climbed into last week? It’s similar, but I honestly can’t tell because I didn’t look at the other one all that closely.

The engine continues to rattle so loud it vibrates my chest. I’m not the only one affected by the sound. A flock of tiny birds cheep amid the branches of the live oak, then scatter into the wind. Peering into the darkened glass, I try to make out who’s driving, but it’s impossible to see. After a long few moments, the motor finally cuts off.

The driver’s side door opens. One black boot emerges, followed by the other. A second later, a short, rail- thin man with chocolate-brown skin exits the car wearing a pitch-black suit and blue-framed sunglasses. He’s not old but he’s not young either, though I’d guess he’s probably about my dad’s age. Grasping a dark leather briefcase, he shuts the door with a thud, then smiles, revealing two rows of arctic-white teeth.

My stomach twists. Breathing deep through my nose, I work to compose myself, not knowing what’s going on, but somehow realizing I’ve got to keep my cool.

“Show no fear,” Miss Delia mutters under her breath. Clutching the armrests on her chair, she gazes at her visitor.

He nods. “Good day, ma’am. I’m looking for Mrs. Whittaker.” His accent is southern, but he’s not from South