Allure

“Sure you can. Climb into that fancy car of yours and drive off my lawn.”

A tear spills down Angelica’s cheek. “You don’t understand. I can’t. Taneea isn’t welcome back at home.”

Taneea’s expression turns hard. “That’s only because you’re weak. And your new husband is a giant tool.” Pushing herself out of her chair, Taneea strides across the porch, yanks open the screen, and storms into the house, letting the door slam behind her once again.

“It’s not my fault. You’ve left me no other choice,” Dr. Branson calls after her, but Taneea doesn’t bother to turn around.

A high-pitched squawk echoes across the yard. Turning toward the bottle tree, I search for the sound. It comes again, this time sounding rough and raspy and almost like a strangled cat. The tiny hairs at the nape of my neck rise. A second later a glossy, blue-black crow launches off a high branch and soars across the yard into the woods beyond Miss Delia’s house.

Leaning forward in her wheelchair, Miss Delia’s stare bores into her granddaughter’s eyes. “What is going on?”

Wiping the perspiration from her face, she replies, “Have you ever wanted something so bad you’d be willing to sacrifice everything to have it? No matter what the consequence?”

Chapter Two

Miss Delia closes her eyes and shakes her head. Without looking at us she says, “Cooper, have a seat in the living room and watch one of your sports programs while Emma gets to work in the kitchen. I’ll be there shortly.”

She doesn’t have to ask us twice. Cooper and I dash into the house. As directed, he flicks on the television, spinning the ancient dial to find a station with decent reception. Taneea’s nowhere in sight so I’m guessing she’s in the back bedroom sulking. Heading into the kitchen, I pop open the swinging door that separates this room from the rest of the house.

It’s more than just your average cooking space. This is Miss Delia’s sanctum, the place she conjures her magic and stores all her supplies. We’ve had to move a few things to accommodate her wheelchair, but for the most part it’s just as she left it, filled with shelves of apothecary bottles and stone jars teeming with dried herbs, roots, and other curios like graveyard dirt and animal bones.

I grab a bottle of citronella oil and dab a bit on my neck, wrists, and behind my ears. The bright lemony scent swirls around my head, instantly cleansing my spirit in preparation for whatever Miss Delia’s got planned. But considering all the weird energy swirling around the house, maybe it needs purifying, too. Slipping Miss Delia’s spell book from its hiding place at the back of a cabinet, I flip through and find the entry for Peace in the Home incense, one of the most basic charms in her ledger. Moments later the crushed rosemary, basil, and sandalwood mixture burns, infusing the air with their sweet and slightly woody fragrance.

The kitchen door swings open. Taneea pops her head in, narrowing her gaze. “What are you doing?”

Startled, I jump back a step. “Lighting some incense.” Considering how guarded Miss Delia is, I probably shouldn’t have told her that, but it’s pretty obvious, so there’s no point in lying.

Breathing deep, Taneea waltzes in, leaving the kitchen door propped open. “Why? Does it have to do with the voodoo thing my mom mentioned?” She stalks toward me, her light green eyes gleaming with interest.

Caught in her gaze, I correct her. “Hoodoo.”

“What?” She stands close, her ample cleavage at my eye line.

“It’s hoodoo.” Ignoring her prominent assets, I meet her piercing gaze. “Not voodoo. That’s a religion.”

“Whatever. What’s this?” She points to Miss Delia’s spell book.

I flip the old leather-bound book closed. “Nothing, just a list of recipes.” Which is kind of true. Though most recipes aren’t intended to draw love, money, cast hexes, or break jinxes. But I’m not going to explain all that to her. I’m not even sure she’s supposed to be in here. “Listen, your great-grandmother is pretty protective of her kitchen. You should probably hang out in the living room. I think Cooper’s probably found something on TV.”

“Give me a break. I’m not watching that piece of crap.” She crosses the kitchen to read the labels on the stoneware crocks. Her nose crinkles. “Sticklewort? Skunk cabbage? Sounds gross.”

Despite the Peace in the Home that’s swirling through the air, panic bubbles in my gut. This is Miss Delia’s sacred space and Taneea feels like an intruder. “Really, I’m serious. She’ll get mad if she hasn’t invited you in here.”

She scoffs. “This is my great-grandmother’s house. I’ll go where I please.” She reaches for a jar of Four Thieves of Vinegar.

“Is that so?” Miss Delia’s voice is deep and stern. Her wheelchair is poised at the kitchen door. I didn’t even hear her roll in.

A shiver runs up my spine.

Taneea drops her hand and then spins on her heels. “Well, yeah. What’s the big deal? All you’ve got is a bunch of jars on shelves. Who cares?”

“I do,” Miss Delia says. “This is my home and regardless of what’s in it, I have rules I expect my guests to follow. If that’s too much to ask, I’ll put you on the next bus back to Chicago.”

Taneea laughs. “A bus? We flew here.”

“You sure did. On a one-way ticket.”

Taneea pauses for a moment, her brow knit. Setting her hands on her hips, she calls, “Mom?” Her voice is less confident, almost shaky and seems to echo through the house.

“She’s gone.” Miss Delia’s eyes soften.

Holy crap. Dr. Branson pulled a dump and jump. And didn’t even bother to say good-bye.

Taneea blinks her heavily mascaraed lashes. “So I’m stuck here? On a frigging island in the middle of nowhere?”

My throat tightens, making it hard to swallow. What kind of a mother does that? Granted, I haven’t seen my mom since Jack and I left Washington, DC to visit our dad, but she showered us with affection and special dinners before we left. The only reason we haven’t spoken much since we got here is she’s on her summer archeological dig in the Jordan desert. Her satellite phone works great in a pinch, but the service is spotty and super- expensive.

Miss Delia rolls into the kitchen keeping her eyes trained on Taneea. “You’ll spend the rest of the summer with me. Maybe more, depending on how long it takes to get you straightened out. And for your mother to assess her priorities. Now, if you don’t mind, Emma and I have some work to do. I think you’ve got some fancy bags to unpack.”

“Can’t I hang out in here? My gran told me a little about your hoodoo stuff even though she knew my mom would have a cow. It sounds pretty cool. I’m supposed to help you right? I could crush up some plants or maybe brew a potion or something.”

Miss Delia sucks her teeth as she considers the request. “I’m glad to hear my gal hasn’t forgotten her roots, but I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Why? Because my mother won’t let you? Come on, I’d love to learn some magic to get back at her and her nozzle of a husband.”

Miss Delia shakes her head. “Your maamy’s got nothing to do with this. Hoodoo isn’t something you do lightly, or use to get back at folk. Someday, when you grow up a bit more, you might be ready. When that happens, I’ll gladly teach you some hoodoo, but today’s not that day.”

“Oh, but she’s grown up?” Taneea flings a hot pink fingernail in my direction.

Miss Delia quirks a brow. “I won’t be questioned in my own house.”

Stiffening, Taneea mashes her lips and swallows whatever mixture of rage and sadness is playing on her face. “Fine. Whatever. I don’t care.”

“I know you don’t like it, and you might even hate me for it, but I’m making you wait for your own good.” Miss Delia’s voice is as soft and tender as I’ve ever heard it. “It won’t kill you to learn a little patience and to follow the rules. Until you do, this kitchen is off-limits.”