pain accompanied by his touch. Proof he’s been cured. He searches my gaze.
I’ve longed for this moment. Yet now that it’s here, I can’t fully embrace it. But it’s been a rough night and there’s a definite possibility that after falling from the tree and my encounter with the boo hag, I’m not thinking straight. So I try to be as honest and fair as possible when I say, “I’m so glad you’re back, Cooper. I really missed you. And while I know none of this was your fault, the truth is, you said some things when you were allured that hurt. I’ll get over them, but I just need some time.” My fingers slip from his grip. “But we’ve got bigger problems then whether we’re okay. A monster wants to drain your life force and steal your skin.”
Chapter Twenty-eight
Sunlight streams through my bedroom window, awakening me to my latest epiphany. We need Miss Delia. Though we’re not supposed to go to her house until she says it’s safe, we can’t wait that long. The boo hag has added a new wrinkle to the situation. Cooper’s birthday is tomorrow, and I’m sure the monster is poised to attack at its next opportunity. I need her advice on how to fight it and maybe to figure out how it connects to the now- broken Beaumont Curse. Plus, I’ve got a new theory about Claude Corbeau that I need to run by her. Since he seems to be at the epicenter of all our recent troubles, I’m wondering how deep his involvement actually goes. If he did plant the pirate’s dagger in Beau’s study, then he was present when Missy died covered in what now seems to be boo-hag blood. Perhaps Claude Corbeau is even more than he appears to be.
Energized by my new theory, I throw off my covers and pad to the bathroom to wash up. Thankfully, only a sliver of my headache remains. It’s nothing a few ibuprofen can’t handle. I yank open the mirrored medicine cabinet door, grab a bottle, and pour out two extra-strength tablets. I switch on the faucet and let it run until it’s nice and cold, then fill the plastic cup on the counter and toss back the pills. Swallowing hard, I reach my left hand and swing the cabinet door closed.
Miss Delia’s face hovers in the mirror.
I yelp and drop the half-full cup into the sink, splashing the water.
She’s not looking at me directly, but her eyes are filled with fright and distress. Her image flickers and fades.
Panicked, I grope at my
An awful thought strikes:
I spin the necklace and land on the clear and white section, which is supposed to help see spirits. When there’s no change in her image, I move to the purple, white, and black beads used for communicating with the dead. Though the vision continues to fade, somehow Miss Delia appears even more terrified with each passing second. Her pupils have dilated and her little brown face is carved with more worry lines then I’ve ever seen.
Since she’s not dead or already a spirit, I’ve got to find her. But the scene around her is too dark to even guess where she is.
Which leaves me one logical section remaining—the green and white beads for psychic visions. I clutch the glass beads tight. Miss Delia’s face zooms into focus and the background brightens, revealing she’s in her living room, seated in her wheelchair. I heave a sigh of relief. She’s still alive, although whatever’s happening, it’s not good. In fact, I’m sure it’s very, very bad. And I know one other thing: she needs me.
The vision in the mirror fades. I scrub my face and brush my teeth, then race back to my room to get dressed. Within five minutes I’m downstairs and find Jack and Cooper in the living room watching television. Cooper slept over last night to avoid another encounter with the boo hag.
Cooper rises to his feet. “Morning, Emma! Want to walk to the beach so we can talk?” He looks a little nervous. But there are a couple bright spots—he’s back to wearing his faded polo shirt, khaki shorts, and dock shoes. And his eyes are the most gorgeous shade of jade I’ve ever seen.
“Miss Delia’s in trouble. We’ve got to get over there right away.” I dash to the front door and slip on my flip- flops, then snatch my messenger bag off the floor and wince as I drape it over my sore shoulder.
Jack stands and clicks off the TV. “Wait. How do you know? I didn’t hear your phone ring.”
I open my mouth to explain but realize that’s going to take way too long. “Trust me, I’m right. It’s a hoodoo thing.”
He nods. “Voices?”
I shrug as I reach for the door handle. “Something like that.”
…
Ten minutes later, we round the bend leading to Miss Delia’s house. Cooper drove here in record time, coming as close to speeding as he’s done all summer. The bottle tree comes into view. So do two sheriff’s cars. Not surprisingly, they’re parked right next to Claude’s big, shiny Lincoln, and Taneea’s pink monster-truck nightmare. A deputy is straining to lift Miss Delia’s motorized wheelchair into the trunk of one of the cars.
We pull up next to him. Miss Delia’s in the backseat, her shoulders hunched and her gaze cast down. She looks small and fragile.
My heart races. Throwing off my safety belt, I yank open the back passenger door of Cooper’s station wagon and rush to the side of the deputy’s car. Jack and Cooper are right behind me.
“What’s going on? Are you okay?” I ask, breathless, through the open rear window, then notice she’s still wearing slippers. They didn’t even let her put on proper shoes. But then my eyes catch the glint of shiny silver around her narrow, bony wrists. They handcuffed her? Seriously?
She lifts her head. “I’ll be fine. But you’ve got to get out of here. This is exactly what I didn’t want you messed up in.”
“I had a vision you were in trouble. There’s no way I could stay away.”
Her lip turns up in a faint smile. “That’s my Emma. Loyal. Unlike so many others.” Her milky eyes drift toward her house.
The deputy grunts and then drops the wheelchair on the ground. He pokes his head around the side of the vehicle. “You shouldn’t be talking with her, miss.” His cherubic face is red and flushed from straining to lift the cumbersome and nearly two hundred pound motorized monster. It’s Deputy Thomas, one of the guys who showed up at the Big House when Missy died.
“She’s ninety-seven years old and paralyzed. What do you think we’re going to do? Help her run away?” Jack asks.
Thomas shrugs. “You’ve got a point. Just do me a favor and don’t touch her. Or hand her anything.” He looks back down at the wheelchair and scratches his head. I wonder how long it’s going take him to realize the chair is too big and clunky to fit in the trunk.
“Right, because Miss D’s going to shiv someone,” Jack mutters under his breath.
“Why have you arrested her?” Cooper asks.
“Good question. You’re going to have to take that up with the sheriff.” The deputy turns this attention back to the motorized chair.
“We’re going to get you out of this,” I say.
“Thank you, child. But this may be the one situation I can’t get out of. Besides, I’m too old to fight any longer. Perhaps it’s best I just give in.”
“No! You’re not too old. You’re still strong and you’re as quick as a whip.” I bend toward her and keep my voice low. “You were right about the
She smiles and leans back in her seat. “That’s wonderful, child. A real relief. That boy deserves a life of his own. So our work is done. I can rest now. That ought to make that Claude fellow happy. He’s been like a dog on rawhide.”
She wants to give up. Which means she wants to die. I can’t let that happen.
Adrenaline kicks into overdrive. “No, you don’t understand. I need you even more than ever now. Claude’s a very bad man. In fact, he might not actually be a man at all.”
