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

Dr. Branson smiles. “I wish I could. But I have my practice to consider.” She gestures toward her daughter. “I was thinking Taneea might instead. She’s missed out not having you in her life. This could be a great opportunity to get to know each other.”

Taneea huffs and runs her black-polished nails through her bangs, revealing a silver eyebrow ring. “That’s just your excuse for dumping me in butt-crack nowhere.”

“Seems your daughter has no interest in caring for her great-gran. Fine by me. Emma’s all the help I need.”

Dr. Branson chuffs out a laugh. “You can’t be serious. Emma isn’t family. And she can’t keep watch over you twenty-four hours a day. What if you have another fall when you’re alone? What if something worse happens? I couldn’t live with myself.”

Miss Delia stiffens her jaw. “You’ve managed to live with yourself—and my daughter—for nearly thirty years in Chicago. It didn’t bother you to take her away from her home, or her legacy.”

Dr. Branson raises her palm. “Please, Gran, I don’t want to argue about hoodoo anymore. I know you believe in it, but I’ve studied science. It’s a bunch of bunk. Mama’s had a better life with me than if she’d stayed here.”

Cooper tugs on the bottom of my T-shirt. It’s definitely time to bounce. Walking backward, we climb down one step and then another.

Miss Delia stiffens. “Emma and Cooper, get back here. I thank you for your visit, Angelica, but I think it’s time for you and Taneea to leave.”

Gulping, I hop back on the porch and stand next to Cooper.

The whites of Dr. Branson’s eyes turn misty pink. “I can’t.” Her voice is suddenly small.

“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

M
iss 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.”

Taneea’s lip quivers. “Yes, ma’am.” She rushes from the room, swinging the door shut behind her.

Miss Delia breathes deep. “
Peace in the Home
. Nice touch. Though I’m not sure it’s enough to douse the fire in her belly.”

“What’s her deal?” Despite her snootiness toward me, I can’t help but feel sorry for her.

Miss Delia shakes her head. “Seems my great-grand-daughter likes to court trouble. Been kicked out of every school Angelica can get her into and the stress has nearly broken up her latest marriage.”

“Are you sure it’s a good idea for her to stay?” We do have a pretty busy agenda, what with saving Cooper’s soul and helping Miss Delia recuperate from her injuries.

She sighs. “It’s against my better judgment, but sometimes you’ve got to do things for family you wouldn’t do for anyone else. I expect you understand that better than most.”

That’s for sure. Cooper and I put our lives on the line to save Jack. Now that Cooper’s the one in danger, there’s no question Jack and I will do the same for him. “I do.”

“In a way, I suppose I owe this to Angelica. Though not for the reasons she thinks.” Miss Delia looks out the back kitchen window into the yard, but it’s clear her mind is somewhere else, perhaps reliving the past. A few moments later she shakes her head. “Choosing between a man and your own flesh and blood isn’t easy. Though sometimes there’s no choice at all.”

I’m desperate to ask what she means but I know better than to pry. She rarely speaks about her past. After today’s walk down memory lane, I’m sure it’s the last thing she wants to discuss. Maybe we should pack it in after all.

“Do you still want to do this today? If it’s too much, I can come back tomorrow.”

“No, child, that curse isn’t going to wait on us.” Pushing the joystick on her chair, she drives toward the pedestal that holds the ancestors’ mortar. Although she’s only had the stone vessel back for a few weeks, aside from her spell book it’s probably her most prized possession. As it should be since Cooper, Jack, and I basically risked our lives, or at least prison, to liberate it for her from the King Center, the local Gullah museum.

She strokes its rough granite exterior, her aged fingers tracing the cracks that mar its surface. The worst of them, one deep enough to threaten to split clean through to the inside, was mended by a terrible twist of fate. Buoyed by my success with ending The Creep, I tried to break the Beaumont Curse, too, by throwing Cooper’s family heirloom, a ruby necklace, into the fire burning in the mortar. Turns out that was exactly the opposite of what I should have done. The ruby exploded, breaking into three pieces, and the gold melted, bubbling up over the mortar’s rim, oozing down the exterior, and filing the fissure. It’s probably the world’s most costly repair job.

“I’ve been thinking about your boy’s curse,” Miss Delia says. “It’s going to take some powerful magic to break. Best I can remember from our
Psychic Vision
, Sabina was chewing a
Blue Root
when she worked that curse almost three hundred years ago.”

“A what?”

“It’s some of the darkest magic there is, especially when used with a black magic potion and a strong incantation. Almost always brings on death of some sort.”

A chill races over my arms, raising goose bumps as I recall the harsh curses Sabina wrought to avenge her granddaughter Magnolia’s murder. “Wasn’t she chewing something when she cast The Creep on the pirate ship, too?”

Miss Delia nods. “She was. Now I’ve got to figure out what was in that powder she threw when she worked those spells. In the meantime, Cooper needs a powerful protection charm. It won’t be potent enough to stop the curse, but it might buy us some extra time.”

Pointing to the shelves, she calls out the ingredients we’ll need for a super-strong
Protective Shield
. After spending a week in the garden and her kitchen, I’ve memorized where everything belongs and can finally keep up with her. Within moments, jars filled with agrimony, bay, burdock, black snake root, rue, and verbena are lined up on the counter. Each has the power to turn back a minor jinx, but together, they bind to create a powerful white magic charm. Casting the spell in her ancestor’s magic mortar will give it even more power, enhancing its strength, and hopefully shield Cooper from the curse.

I add each ingredient to the ancestors’ mortar exactly as she’s called them out knowing the order is nearly as important as what is used. Once they’re combined, I grind them together with a stone pestle, crushing the dried leaves and tiny chips to release their essential oils. Soon, the agrimony’s apricot scent and verbena’s lemony notes mix with the balsam flavor of the bay, sweetening the sharp and bitter odor of the black snake root.

A gentle breeze blows around Miss Delia’s house. It’s a natural consequence of working hoodoo magic, which taps into the natural elements and uses their power. So is the yawn that works its way up my throat. Spells require energy to work, and every charm requires a tribute of sorts from its practitioner. The stronger the magic, the more energy it draws, which is probably why my lids feel like they suddenly weigh about three pounds each. Fighting to keep them open, I rub the pestle against the last remaining chunks in the mortar. My head swoons, begging for sleep, but I power through, knowing I’m nearly finished. Supposedly I’ll gain a tolerance for this magic eventually, but that day can’t come soon enough.

Finally, the mixture is ready. Miss Delia hands me a small white pouch with an extra long drawstring. It’s a gris-gris bag or a mojo, meant to be worn either around the neck or kept in a pocket, as long as it’s close to the skin. “Pour the powder in here and cinch it up nice and tight.”

I follow her instructions then wipe out the mortar for the next part of the spell, which will kick-start this charm into overdrive. After scattering a few pieces of charcoal in the bottom of the granite mortar, I strike a match and light the coals, then pull back as a wisp of black smoke rises and curls around my face. While it burns, I assemble the last few herbs we’ll need. A few minutes later, the briquettes are a dusty gray, a sure sign they’re ready. Miss Delia directs me to layer some agrimony first, then the sandalwood, and finally some verbena over the coals. As they heat, the kitchen fills with their creamy, fruity scents. Bracing myself for the hardest part of the spell, I step to the mortar and hold the gris-gris bag over the smoking fumes.

Rubbing the red and white beads on my
collier
, the necklace that marks me as Miss Delia’s apprentice and grants me her protection, I close my eyes and clear all thoughts from my mind. An incantation springs to my lips.

“May all the ingredients in this charm

Grant Cooper protection from vengeful harm.

Add in the love that dwells in my heart

So he and his soul will never part.”

The wind picks up, rattling the trees and whipping around the house. A gust of air blows in from the backyard, blasts through the kitchen and past the swinging door, then through the living room and presumably out on to the front porch.

My limbs grow heavy. Blinking hard and fast, I force my eyes open. Just a few more minutes and the charm will be finished. My head bobs, but I give it a good shake to stay awake. I’ve got to hold on. If the bag drops or I nod off, the spell will fail and we’ll have to wait for the mortar to rest before we can work another charm. Which will take three days we don’t have.