Allure (The Hoodoo Apprentice #2) (Entangled Teen)

Other books by Lea Nolan

Conjure

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Copyright © 2013 by Lea Nolan. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

Entangled Publishing, LLC

2614 South Timberline Road

Suite 109

Fort Collins, CO 80525

Visit our website at
www.entangledpublishing.com
.

Edited by Liz Pelletier, Robin Haseltine, and Guillian Helm

Cover design by Heather Howland

Print ISBN 978-1-62266-022-3

Ebook ISBN 978-1-62266-023-0

Manufactured in the United States of America

First Edition October 2013

The author acknowledges the copyrighted or trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction: Mercedes Benz, iPhone, Ziploc, Beaufort Gazette, Tumblr, Boy Scout, Q-tip, Yoda, Oscar, Barbie, Jolly Rancher, Google, Energizer Bunny, Cointreau, Hoover, Day-Glo, the Hulk.

For Riley Finn. May you always be courageous, fair, and noble.

Chapter One

A
stiff, hot wind blows across the Beaufort River, carrying the scent of parched sea grass, mucky earth, and belly-up redfish through the car window. Low tide in the South Carolina Lowcountry can be a smelly proposition, especially in the summer when temperatures soar past sweltering. Stinky or not, these salt marshes with their maze of dense green reeds, and downy white egrets are some of the most beautiful places on earth. Definitely paint-worthy.

But before I can grab my canvas and oils, we’ve got to get Miss Delia home from the hospital in one piece, which shouldn’t be a problem with Cooper Beaumont at the wheel. Fixing his eyes on the road ahead, he guides his father’s beige station wagon across the Lady’s Island bridge heading toward St. Helena Island, my summer home-away-from-home. I on the other hand, prefer to stare at him.

Shooting me a quick sideways glance, he smiles. “What are you looking at?” he asks, just loud enough to hear over the engine’s purr.

Caught gawking, my cheeks flush. “You.” Because with his square jaw, golden-brown hair, and eyes that appear blue or green to match his clothes, he’s just about the most gorgeous guy I’ve ever seen. And by some miracle, after secretly loving him for more than an entire year, he’s officially my boyfriend. It’s our very own happily ever after.

Providing we find a way to break the curse that threatens to steal his soul.

Cooper lets his right hand slip from the wheel and inches it across the front seat to clutch mine. Our fingers entwine and he gives me a squeeze. A warm tingle shoots up my arm. Even after a few weeks of being a couple, the excitement of his touch hasn’t grown old.

Miss Delia clears her throat. “Best keep both hands on the wheel, boy. I don’t want to end up back in Beaufort Memorial. The food’s awful.”

Though it couldn’t possibly be worse than what landed her there in the first place—being attacked by a pack of
gigantic, seething, demon dogs with serrated fangs.

Glancing in the rearview mirror, Cooper flashes his devastatingly handsome grin, the one that makes my heart thump a little bit harder. “Don’t worry, Miss Delia, I won’t let anything happen to you.” Still, he heeds her advice and returns his hand to the steering wheel.

Squelching my disappointment at his withdrawal, I twist around to face her in the backseat. The sight still makes me wince. Though most of her stitches have been removed, bright pink scars mar her oniony, brown skin. A few larger abrasions still require bandages, but thankfully most are on her body, hidden behind clothes. Images of the savage attack flash across my mind, making me shudder, but I shake them off because Miss Delia miraculously survived.

“We took care of everything while you were away. I tended the garden and the guys cleaned up the mess from Hurricane Amelia.” I work to make my voice sound bright.

Miss Delia smiles. Even her milky-white eye looks a bit clearer. “Thank you, Emma. You’re very kind. I knew I picked you for the right reason.”

My chest swells. She did pick me. Even though I’m only fourteen, she made me her apprentice. She’s the best, most powerful Gullah hoodoo root worker on St. Helena and probably the whole Lowcountry. Though if I’m being honest, she only agreed to pass her mantle to me because I begged. Earlier this summer, my twin brother, and giant pain-in-the-rear, Jack contracted The Creep, an ancient curse that dissolved his flesh, exposed his chalky bones, and made him reek like pond scum. The memory alone churns my stomach. Thanks to Miss Delia, I learned enough hoodoo magic to destroy The Creep and cure Jack, but not enough to protect her from the monsters that nearly ate her for dinner. Which is why she was in the hospital for so long and why the station wagon’s rear compartment is crammed with her brand-new wheelchair. The hellhounds weren’t content to just slice open her flesh. Their massive paws pounced, bruised her spinal chord, and left her unable to walk.

Cooper hangs a left at the dingy-gray tract house at the corner. The tires crunch as he starts down the unmarked dirt road that leads to Miss Delia’s house. Pocked with holes and overgrown vegetation, it’s a serious hazard but we’ve traveled it so often this summer he could probably do it blindfolded. “I hope you don’t mind, Miss Delia, but Jack and I made a few changes to your house,” he says.

Her snowy-white brow quirks. “What kind of changes?”

“Just a couple accommodations to make it easier to get around. I know you practiced driving that chair in the hospital, but it’ll be different in your own house.”

She crosses her arms over her teal housedress. “Pshaw.” She shakes her head, her lips turned down in disgust. “In all my ninety-seven years, I’ve never needed an
accommodation
.”

“It’s not a big deal.” I play down the additions, knowing how deep her pride runs and how difficult it must be to accept her new disability. “They just added a ramp to the porch.” And widened the front door, rearranged some of her furniture, and hung a few guide rails, but she’ll discover all that when she gets there. “Maybe we can come up with some spells to help speed your healing.” Though according to her doctors, that’s nearly impossible.

She narrows her lids. “Way ahead of you, child.”

Rounding the bend, we approach her glistening bottle tree, an enormous live oak that drips with Spanish moss and dwarfs her ramshackle house. On a normal day it’s impressive, but today, with the golden, mid-afternoon sun streaming through its thousand multicolored bottles, it’s dazzling and almost seems to radiate its own light.

A sleek, silver Mercedes Benz is parked just beyond the tree, in front of Miss Delia’s lush garden.

Miss Delia strains forward in her seat. “What do we have here? Your brother hasn’t tried to drive again has he?”

I laugh, remembering Jack’s last attempt behind the wheel. We all survived, but it’s not something I’d recommend him doing any time soon. “No, he’s helping our dad with the last of the storm cleanup at High Point Bluff.” If it weren’t for my father, the plantation’s caretaker and sole employee, the place would fall apart.

Cooper pulls up next to the Mercedes and cuts the engine. Scanning the car, he whistles. “Sweet ride.”

The garden’s perfume floods the open car windows. I inhale the fragrant scent of hundreds of flowers and herbs, some rare, some mere weeds that have been cultivated for centuries by Miss Delia and her ancestors. These plants are the secret ingredients of hoodoo magic. But without her experience and knowledge, it’s just an overgrown patch of dirt.

Three designer suitcases covered with gold initials perch on Miss Delia’s porch, just steps away from the open front door.

“Were you expecting someone?” I ask.

Just then, a woman in a crisp sea-green linen pantsuit sweeps out of the house and floats across the porch. Her medium-brown skin is flawless and wrinkle-free, making her look somewhere in her midthirties, but something about the regal way she carries herself tells me she’s probably a lot older than that. She grasps the railing, her lips curled at the sides, managing a smile that doesn’t move past her cheeks.

“Well I’ll be.” Miss Delia doesn’t appear the least bit excited.

A moment later a girl who looks at a couple years older than me follows, flinging the screen door wide and letting it slam behind her. Tall and lithe, she stalks toward the suitcases on the opposite side of the porch, crosses her arms, and then shifts her weight so her right hip pops to the side. Which conveniently provides us the perfect angle to admire her clingy, low-cut halter top, skintight shorts, and fuchsia-streaked bob that perfectly offsets her light brown skin and bright pink lipstick. Though considering the sweltering South Carolina heat, she might want to reconsider the black leather boots.

“That’s…interesting,” Cooper utters under his breath as I stifle a laugh.

A pricking sensation works its way around my scalp, a sure sign my spirit guide wants me to take note of what’s happening. Though I’m not sure who to be more cautious of—Pink or Mrs. Fancy Pants.

Miss Delia grabs at the door handle with a liver-spotted hand. “Help me out of this car, Cooper.” Her voice brims with urgency.

“Sure thing.”

In a flash, he’s got the rear door open and yanks out the wheelchair. I slip on my flip-flops, then come around to Miss Delia’s side, unlatch her seatbelt, and help swing her around so Cooper can lift her out. Through it all, the two on the porch stay put, watching us do all the work. After gently setting Miss Delia in her chair, Cooper pushes her over the uneven earth to the stone path. From there, she takes over, flicking the switch to engage the motor. We follow as she maneuvers her way through the garden and up the new ramp. The wooden structure isn’t perfect and doesn’t come close to what my dad would have built, but it’s safe and sturdy and does the job. When we reach the top, she stops short.

The woman in the pantsuit fans herself. “Lord, I forgot how hot these Carolina summers are. I broke a sweat watching you make your way up here.”

Miss Delia nods. “Heaven forbid you strain yourself, Angelica. You must keep those delicate hands safe.”

Lifting a set of perfectly manicured fingers, the woman smiles. “Can’t argue with you there. These hands change lives.” She steps forward and bends to kiss Miss Delia’s cheek.

Stiffening, Miss Delia accepts the gesture. “I’m sure they do. Emma, Cooper, say hello to my granddaughter, Dr. Branson. She’s a plastic surgeon in Chicago.”

“Hi. Nice to meet you.” I wave, feeling way out of place at this little family reunion. Trying not to be rude, I work to keep my eyes trained on Dr. Branson, but can’t resist a furtive peek at the girl. She’s definitely older than me, maybe even older than Cooper, though not by much. Rather than paying attention to what’s happening on the porch, she’s staring at the bottle tree, her head tilted as if she’s counting the pieces of glass. If so, it’s going to take a while.

“Hello, ma’am.” Cooper extends his hand toward Dr. Branson. She barely grazes it with her own.

“These
chillun
have been a great help this summer. Especially Emma.” Miss Delia clasps my arm with her gnarled hand.

Dr. Branson scans me up and down. “I see. Someone’s got to tend the garden.” Only she says it like she means something else entirely. And that she totally disapproves.

That’s probably my cue to leave. I clear my throat. “Maybe Cooper and I should go so you all can visit.”

Cooper nods. “Sure. We can come back tomorrow.”

Miss Delia snaps her head toward me. “Nonsense. We’ve got work to do. Or have you forgotten we’re on a deadline?”

Nope. I’m pretty clear on the whole soul-snatching thing.

Three hundred years ago, Cooper’s great-great ancestor gave Maggie, an enslaved African girl, to Bloody Bill Ransom and his band of vile pirates in exchange for not sacking High Point Bluff. But things didn’t go as planned and they killed her, which enraged her grandmother, Sabina, an African queen with a brutal sense of justice who used her mystical hoodoo powers to seek revenge. She unleashed The Creep on the scurvy pirates, and cursed the Beaumont progeny forever by stealing their souls when they come into their manhood, turning them unspeakably dark and corrupt. If we don’t break the Beaumont Curse before Cooper’s approaching sixteenth birthday, he’ll end up just as gluttonous, selfish, and arrogant as his grotesque father, Beau. With just three weeks to go, time’s a-ticking.

Dr. Branson sighs. “See, this is what I feared. At your age you shouldn’t be working anymore, even if you do have some sort of…assistant.” She flicks her wrist dismissively toward me. “And now this…accident.” She scans the scars on Miss Delia’s face with an expert eye. “It nearly scared me to death hearing you were in a coma. We flew down just as soon as I cleared my schedule.”

“That was very kind, but you ought to know better than to worry after me. You going to introduce me to my great-granddaughter?” Miss Delia nods toward the girl on the other end of the porch.

Now I see the resemblance. Despite the girl’s dye job and eye-popping fashion statement, she and Dr. Branson actually have very similar features.

Dr. Branson plasters on a smile. “Of course. Say hello to your great-gran, Taneea.” Her voice drips with syrup.

Taneea drags her attention away from the bottle tree, glares at her mother from beneath shaggy bangs, then glances at Miss Delia. “Hi.” The diamond chip in the Monroe piercing above her lip glints in the sunlight.

Miss Delia smiles. “Hello to you, too. It’s nice to finally meet you in person.”

“Uh-huh.” Taneea shrugs, then pivots on her thick rubber heels and plops into one of the rocking chairs. It creaks against the cracked porch floor as she rocks back and forth, staring at the tree once again.

An electric shock wave rolls over my scalp. I’m guessing she’s the one my spirit guide is warning me about.

Miss Delia turns to Dr. Branson. “I may be old and frailer than you remember, but I wasn’t born yesterday. Why are you really here?”

“I know you may not believe it, but I worry about you, Gran. You’re getting up there, it’s amazing you’re able to live alone at ninety-five—”

“Ninety-seven,” Miss Delia corrects her.

“Right, ninety-seven. But that’s even more to my point. You’re vulnerable. Things can happen to you here all by yourself. I mean, look at you, all scraped up from that fall…or whatever you were up to. And now you’re stuck in that chair. You need someone to take care of you.”

Cooper and I exchange nervous glances. His baby blues reflect the same anxiety that’s churning in my gut. The doctors in the hospital already broached this conversation with Miss Delia, offering to find her a nice, quiet assisted-living facility. They didn’t get very far. Miss Delia made it clear she’s never leaving her house and garden. And now her granddaughter’s jumping into the fray, likely spurred on by the hospital doctors. This is liable to turn ugly. Curse deadline or not, maybe Cooper and I should beat it out of here. We can always come back in the morning.

I inch toward the porch steps beside the ramp. Cooper follows my lead.

Miss Delia scoffs. “
You’re
going to take care of me, Angelica?”