badger teeth, pyrite amulets, and hunks of black dog hair, plus a ton of other strange but magical items. “Why don’t we just grind those up and see which will burn?”
“Because I don’t think the answer is that simple. My curios are powerful, but I’m guessing whatever Sabina used was filled with dark magic. And hard to come by.”
“Oh.” I slump into a nearby stool. “I suppose there isn’t a neighborhood black magic shop we can visit to stock up on these nefarious items?”
“Not likely. The magic I’m talking about is special. It’s homegrown and handmade with the most wicked intentions.”
My heart picks up speed at what I think she’s implying. I’d blame it on the tea except I’m genuinely afraid so my reaction is just as likely caused by the adrenaline. I’m up for a lot of things but dabbling in black magic isn’t one of them. Fighting a curse is one thing. Creating one is another.
Stiffening, I draw back slightly. “You don’t mean—”
She cuts me off, anticipating my concern. “Of course not. I’ve got no interest in working black magic, especially with you. I’ve only worked one real dark spell in my life, and though it was the right thing to do, I paid for it dearly. But I knew the price going in and it was one I was willing to pay.”
I’d love to ask what she’s talking about but I know better. If she hasn’t told me by now, she’s got no intention of spilling the beans.
She points a gnarled finger at me. “You, Emma, will not go down that path if I have anything to do with it. Your hoodoo practice is for good, based in love to save those closest to you. That’s the way it’s going to stay.”
Good to know, because I’m not looking to cross over to the dark side anytime soon.
I scratch my head. “Okay, but what do we do in the meantime? If we need some black magic curios but can’t make them, how do we get them?”
She draws a deep breath and stares out the kitchen window, but doesn’t seem to notice Cooper and Jack, who are working so hard they’re glistening with sweat. Instead, though her eyes are fixed on something outside, she appears to be lost in thought, reliving an event lodged deep in her memory. A moment later, she shakes her head and turns back to me. “You just leave it to me. These aren’t my only supplies.”
Peering out the kitchen window, I scan the vast, weed-choked backyard. Did I miss something? The only thing out there besides my brother and boyfriend, and a bunch of plants, is a broken-down shed whose door is nearly hanging off its rusted hinges. Does she have a stash out there?
“Do you need me to get something for you? The guys have only just started clearing the field. I don’t think your wheelchair can make it back there.”
Her head snaps toward me. “You won’t touch a thing. Not yet. Not ever if I had my way. But even I know sometimes you’ve got to dance with the darkness while you’re waiting on the light. That’s a fight for another day, when you’re strong enough to resist its pull.”
The hair on the back of my neck rises. For the first time I’m actually afraid of all this power and its consequences. But I’m sure of one thing: I need to build up my resistance and strength pronto. And brew a stronger tea.
Miss Delia pulls her attention back to the kitchen, and it seems, the present. “I’m tired. Would you mind cleaning up this mess for me?”
“Sure, no problem.” Slipping off the stool, my foot nudges my messenger bag. Amid all this talk about darkness and black magic, I’ve completely forgotten about the sample of sludgy stuff we found on Missy’s body. “Before you go, would you mind taking a look at something?” I reach inside and fish out the plastic travel bottle nestled in the interior pocket. Then I bring her up to speed on what happened yesterday.
She shakes her head. “Good Lord, child. How did you not tell me all this when you walked in?”
I shrug. “Because you were in the middle of something. And I suppose there’s a chance Claude and the sheriff are right and it really was natural causes. Or something.” I twist the top to loosen the seal and hand it to her. “It’s just I’ve never seen this stuff before and thought maybe you’d have a clue what it is.”
With a shaky hand, she draws the bottle close and lifts off the cap. The rank smell from yesterday fills the kitchen except the scent of rancid garbage and skunk roadkill has ripened into something truly ghastly. Now, along with those festering odors, there’s a hint of fermented decay laced with death. If putrid has a smell, this is it.
She pulls the bottle away and coughs. “This was on her body?”
I blink my stinging eyes and nod, then take the bottle back from her and close the lid. “Yeah. And on the carpet in the bedroom. That’s where I took this sample.”
She knits her brows. “And the sheriff didn’t pay it any mind?”
“Not really. Though they could have been putting on a good show, trying to see if anyone would admit what it was. But to be fair, it didn’t stink that bad yesterday. It’s…evolved into something truly nasty. Maybe I should have kept it in the refrigerator or something.”
She scoffs. “I doubt it would have made much difference. Decomposition is a natural process. No matter how cold you keep something, it’ll happen eventually.”
I stare at the bottle of dried, chunky gunk. “Is that what this is?”
She nods. “Must be to smell like that.”
“Have you seen anything like it before? Do you know what it is?”
She shakes her snowy-white head. “Can’t say I have. But it doesn’t take much to know it’s not something you want to mess with. The stink alone is a warning to stay away.”
My pulse picks up. “Do you think it’s some sort of curse or something? Maybe it killed Missy.”
Miss Delia pats my hand. “Don’t let your imagination run ahead of you, Emma. Not everything has a supernatural cause. Sometimes, as strange as it may seem, things are exactly as they appear.”
“But—”
“But what?” She shoots me a look that clearly tells me not to question her further.
Dropping my gaze, I flip open the flap on my messenger bag to stow the bottle. I don’t understand why she’s so calm and disinterested. After all her talk about dark forces, I’d think she’d at least be a little intrigued by this stuff. Instead, she seems as indifferent as Claude and Sheriff Walker. Which is weird, because I’d have bet she’d be as suspicious as I am of Claude’s influence over the sheriff.
“Why don’t you leave that vial with me? Maybe I can find some kind of spell to test it.” Her voice is kind and sweet as she extends an open palm.
“Really?” I fish out the bottle. “Do you want to look now? I could grab your spell book and we could go through it together. I bet there’s something in there that will help.”
“Maybe later. When I’m feeling more up to it.” She slips the bottle into the pocket of her housedress and then places her finger on her wheelchair’s joystick and maneuvers out of the kitchen.
I spend the next few minutes cleaning up after her explosion experiments, putting away the crocks of ingredients, and cleaning the ancestors’ mortar. Just as I’ve wiped its smooth stone and gold-filled interior, the front screen door slams. A moment later, raised voices carry into the kitchen. It’s Taneea and Miss Delia.
“Tell me where you got that.” Miss Delia’s voice is firm but heavy with fatigue.
“It’s none of your business,” Taneea snaps.
That’s it. I’m sick of her crap. Tossing my rag on the counter, I race though the swinging kitchen door to the living room. “What’s going on?”
The scent of Taneea’s spicy perfume smacks me in the face. It’s especially strong, as if she just sprayed it on. Today she’s wearing a skintight, black and white zebra-striped tank with a chunky belt over black capri leggings. Her neck is dripping with beaded necklaces and her arms are covered with bangles. But she seems especially protective of the quilted, white leather handbag that’s slung over her shoulder, its handle gripped in her curled hand. An alligator-foot key chain dangles from one of the gold loops that connects the straps to the bag.
Taneea’s upper lip curls as she takes me in, then tucks the key chain into the body of the bag. “Ugh. Why don’t you go back into the kitchen where you belong?” Only it’s not really a question. From her repulsed expression it’s clear she wishes I’d go a lot farther away than the next room. Like maybe Australia. But I’m not going anywhere except to plop on the couch to monitor their confrontation.
“I’ll ask you again. Where did you get that?” Miss Delia’s narrowed gaze zeroes in on the bag.
“In Chicago. Before I came here.” Taneea’s eyes shift down and off to the side.
