Allure

“Good, because neither have I.” Redoubling my efforts, I drag my eyes from his gorgeous face and turn back to the shelves and squint hard. I gasp. “Holy cow.”

“What?” Jack and Cooper ask in unison.

I point to a thick yellow beeswax candle in the corner of the top shelf that’s pulsing with bright light. “That!”

“What?” They ask again, but this time their words are tinged with annoyance.

Oh, I forgot they can’t see what I do. I sigh. “The candle. It’s flashing like a beacon.”

“If you say so,” Jack says.

“I do.” I stretch onto my tiptoes, but the candle is just out of reach.

“You sure you should touch it?” Cooper asks.

“Um, pretty much. My spirit guide wouldn’t direct me to it otherwise.”

“Okay.” Reaching over my head, he grabs hold of the candle and tries to snatch it. But rather than lift, it tilts forward. The bottom is connected to some kind of lever that’s built into the shelf.

A grinding metal sound churns inside the wall that reminds me of the spinning gears of a clock. With a click, the rotating stops and last bookcase pops away from the wall.

“What the…? Ugh!” Jacks words trail off as the brutal aroma of decaying flesh wafts into the room. He groans as he slaps his palm across his nose and mouth.

Cooper coughs then winces as he steps to the opening and pulls on the bookcase. “I think we found what we’re looking for.”

It swings open to reveal a secret, windowless room. The pent-up, fetid air from inside the compartment gushes out and disperses as it spills into the study, then drifts out the window.

I step inside. The stench is still strong enough to burn my throat. Like the crypt at the cemetery, the sparely furnished room is lined with stone and the air is cool. It’s a no-tech refrigerator no doubt intended to help preserve the flesh of the boo hag’s latest victim.

Aside from a small table, chair, and a bookcase filled with ancient ledgers, there’s a wooden stand in the middle of the room propping up Beau’s skin. The flesh husk is posed upright, his lifeless underarms and crotch supported by thick pegs that stick out from a board. Its hollow eyes, nose, and mouth are barren voids of doom.

Cooper swallows hard. “What do we do now?”

“Get it off there and dump salt down its throat,” I answer, dreading every moment.

Jack slaps his palms together. “Might as well get to it.” He strides to the skin and stares at it for a second, as if sizing up a math problem. Without waiting for me or Cooper, he slips his hand under Beau’s meaty left arm and flings it over the peg. The shoulder sags, pulling the skin suit off-kilter. Jack spins around to us, his face gray as he clasps the flaccid skin. “It’s not so bad. Kind of feels like a snake. A rotting snake, but if you can get past the stink, it’s tolerable.” It spills onto the floor in a gelatinous puddle. Splayed on its back, it’s vacant face stares up at the ceiling, its mouth a gaping hole.

Cooper kneels beside the pool of flaccid flesh. He stares at what once was his father for a long moment, then lifts his gaze to mine. His eyes are moist and tinged with pink. He extends his hand. “Give me the salt. I want to kill it.”

I yank off my messenger bag, flip open the flap, then pull out the three cartons of salt. I pop open the spout on the first and pass it to him. “Pour it into the mouth, then down past the neck, and into the body cavity. That should do the trick.”

Cooper takes the container, then leans to where the head lays. “Once I do this, my dad—or what I knew of him—will be gone forever.”

I nod. “That’s right. The boo hag won’t be able to slip back into the skin without being burned.”

Jack steps toward Cooper and grips his shoulder. “Your dad’s been gone for years. The guy you know was an impersonation. And a pretty bad one at that.”

Cooper nods as he peers at the husk. “Look what it did to him. It wasn’t enough to destroy his reputation, it desecrated his body, too. Well, that ends tonight. I’m not going to let it do anything more to my dad.” He grabs hold of what’s left of his father’s face. The cheeks jiggle and the neck ripples as he tugs on the mouth to stretch it open. Mashing his lips, Cooper tilts the container to Beau’s mouth and pours the white grains in a steady stream.

The pink flesh fizzles and pops.

Jack straddles the center of the skin suit’s midsection and strains to lift the chest, allowing Cooper better access to the rest of the cavity. Cooper empties the container, then reaches for the second.

The faint scent of charred meat floats up from the carcass.

Jack gags. “I think we’re cooking Beau.”

My stomach churns. “Ugh, gross.” I peek inside and see the areas that have been salted have already turned a dark gray and hardened like beef jerky. In a sense he’s right, but I think this is one of those situations that it’s best to downplay the obvious. “No, the salt is just drying out the skin. Try not to breathe.”

Jack nods and swallows hard. “Yeah, okay.”

When Cooper’s finally finished dumping the third container, he and Jack lay the skin back on the floor. It’s shriveled and withered and has shrunken in on itself.

Cooper steps back and takes in the desiccated slab of wrinkled flesh. “I’m officially an orphan.”

“You always have been. You just didn’t know it.” Jack’s voice is uncharacteristically solemn.

Cooper turns toward me, his eyes misty. “So now what?”

“We destroy the hag before it possesses you or finds another body to snatch before the sun rises,” I answer, sounding a whole lot more confident than I actually am. Because as easy as all that sounds, I actually don’t have the faintest clue how to pull any of it off.

“Awesome. What’s your plan of attack?” Jack asks.

I gnaw my bottom lip, considering whether to be totally honest. “Um, a trap? Ideally, if we could keep it captive until dawn, then the sunlight would fry it alive. We wouldn’t have to engage in any hand-to-hand combat.”

Jack smiles. “Bonus. I don’t want to have to stab that thing again if I can help it.”

Cooper hitches his brow. “Traps usually require bait.”

“Uh-huh,” I answer.

“So what’s the lure?” Cooper asks.

After all that’s happened, I’m surprised it’s not obvious to him by now.

Jack hitches a brow. “Seriously, dude? You.”

Chapter Thirty-one

Cooper sucks a chestful of air. “Fine. Where are we setting up my death trap?”

“Um…” I glance up at the shelves. My breath catches. Every single artifact flashes with bright yellow light. It’s as if it’s a display case of flares rather than discreet historical objects. I walk around the desk and stand before the cabinets, gawking at the show. Bathed in the intense light, each item takes on a different luster and a deeper significance.

These aren’t just things that were used here at the plantation. They’re possessions that belonged to the people who once lived here. My ears prickle and heat. The combs, fans, pocket watches, and other knickknacks on these shelves meant something to High Point Bluff’s residents. And they were collected by the boo hag, who has possessed every Master of the Plantation since the first, Edmund, died, inhabiting their bodies and hijacking their lives. A stinging sensation inches its way up the back of my scalp as realization dawns. These are trophies.

“What is it?” Jack and Cooper ask.

“Get a couple boxes. We need to bring these with us to the cemetery.”

After Jack and Cooper help me load up all the artifacts from the shelves, I grab a pen and clean sheet of