Conjure (19 page)

Edmund and Bloody Bill freeze, paralyzed with fear as she thrusts forward, yanks a dagger off Bloody Bill’s belt, and swipes it at his hair, slicing a huge hank off. She tosses his long orange curls at his feet, then reaches into her skirt pocket, retrieving a handful of beach sand and some black wool, and hurls it on the deck in front of him. She chants in a lyrical foreign language, then clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth. Even though everything’s soaked, the hair, sand, and black woolly stuff burst into flames. Edmund and the pirates scream, just as Jack did when he contracted The Creep. They clutch their stomachs and collapse to the floor, writhing in agony. The Africans flinch, shrinking several steps until they’re nearly on top of one another.

Sabina erupts in crazed laughter and stalks the deck, stepping over Edmund and the crippled pirates. “Dem bones, dem bones, gonna walk around!’” she sings, taunting them with the lyrics to the haunting Negro spiritual. “Dem dry bones. Oh, hear the word of the Lord!” Then she darts to the side of the ship. Clutching the dagger with one hand, she grabs some rigging with the other to steady herself and jumps up on the railing. She pivots, revealing a maniacal grin. “This ship is cursed! And so are those with royal blood on their hands!” She leaps off the side and swims toward shore. Moments later, scores of others follow her, splashing into St. Helena Island Sound.

Vicious barks penetrate the quiet of Miss Delia’s kitchen. Their staccato vibrations hammer against my chest and suck me back to the present. Groggy, I wrench away from the vision and scream.

Eight dead, fluorescent eyes glare at me from the backyard, just beyond the side porch. They belong to the four snarling
plateyes
that are poised to barrel up the steps and through the screen door to attack. The knife slips from my hand as the blood drains from my face and my muscles go limp. Too heavy for Miss Delia to hold by herself, the knife falls into the still-smoldering mortar with a
clank
, cutting off the vision.

Another thunderclap roars, this time closer to her house. The rain intensifies, accompanied by another blast of cool air that races through the kitchen and extinguishes the flames on the stove.

“Miss Delia?” My voice trembles, barely above a whisper. “I thought you said they couldn’t come near the house.” My instinct is to run and hide, but I’m so zonked, I can barely lift my head, much less haul myself off the stool.

“Maybe the rain washed some of the potions on the lawn away. But don’t worry about the house. Those charms are in place. They can’t cross the thresholds.” Although she tries to sound reassuring, Miss Delia’s voice quivers even more than normal. She squeezes my other hand, but I’m not sure whether it’s to comfort me or herself.

Growling, the
plateyes
advance, gnashing their jagged teeth and dripping with frothy saliva. They smell like wet dog. I don’t care what she says about her protection charms, I’ve got to snap out of this stupor and get out of here. But Cooper isn’t around, and neither is his car, so we’re stuck in the house. Miss Delia doesn’t have a basement, either. Her bedroom’s the only option. It’s not Fort Knox, but at least it doesn’t have an exterior door.

My mouth is as dry as steel wool. I muster just enough energy to swallow hard and force out a few words, trying to convey my plan. “We’ve got to hide.” My words are husky and thick. I slide off the stool, but my feet are as heavy as anchors, and my head is still fuzzy from the psychic tea. I stumble and fall to the floor.

“Emma!” Miss Delia screeches.

Splayed on my stomach, I struggle to right myself and strain to focus on the side porch. My eyes lock on an enormous black muzzle that’s pressed against the screen door. The dog snarls and curls his lips into a vicious, serrated smile. It snorts, filling the kitchen with the sulfurous scent of brimstone. I shriek and scramble to get back on my feet, but those electric yellow eyes hold me like a tractor beam. A second
plateye
stalks up the porch steps, crams in next to the first, and howls. His deep, grumbling yelp shakes the floorboards.

That’s enough to clear my mind and launch me to my feet. Desperate to stay as far away from the demons as possible, I wrestle out from under the fatigue and kick out my leg, catching the edge of the wooden exterior door with my toe and slam it shut.

Yowling and barking, the
plateyes
jump up on their hind legs and paw at the screen door. Their sharp claws rip gashes in the metal mesh, and they stampede through the flimsy barrier, crossing the side porch and slamming against the closed door.

“Come on, Miss Delia. I don’t think those charms of yours are going to hold.” I grab her arm as gently as I can and help her off her stool, then stumble through the swinging door into the living room, trying not to trip again.

Another scream leaps from my throat. Two of the
plateyes
have made their way around to the front porch. They launch into a fresh volley of barks, then crouch, readying to lunge through the screen. I gulp and consider trying to drag myself to the door to close it, but I’m not sure I’ll make it. Besides, from the recoiled dogs’ menacing expression, even if I could, it would be guaranteed suicide. We’ve got to get out of here before they pounce.

I tug on her arm. “Come on, Miss Delia. We’ve got to get to your bedroom. At least we can lock ourselves in there.”

She juts out her jaw. “I won’t hide in my own house.”

What?
She’d rather get eaten in her living room instead? “But they’re coming!” My eyes are wide with fright as I thrust my finger toward the door. “Can’t you see they’re about to rip through the screen?”

She shakes her head. “My charms will hold them.” Her voice is filled with certainty.

I steal another view of the
plateyes
. They’re pawing the floorboards with their muddy, razor-sharp claws, gouging deep lines into the wood. In their frenzy, they shake their gigantic heads and fling their foaming spit everywhere. For a split second, I consider leaving Miss Delia here on her own and barricading myself in her room, but then I come to my senses. Or not. For better or worse, I’m her apprentice, and we’re in this together. I just hope the end comes quickly, and it doesn’t hurt as much as I fear.

I gulp. “We’re going to die.” My voice trembles.

“Not if I can help it. Go to the sideboard under the television and grab me a bottle of whiskey.”

Chapter Twenty-four

I blink. Does she seriously think getting drunk will help matters?

She nudges me. “What are you waiting for, child? Get me some whiskey!”

The
plateyes
growl and spit at us from behind the screen.

Hauling myself across the room, I throw open the sideboard cabinet and reach for one of several bottles of dark brown liquid labeled “Southern Magic Whiskey.” I didn’t realize Miss Delia was such a drinker. Then I limp back to her and twist open the still-sealed bottle.

She grabs my hand. “Do you know the Lord’s Prayer?” Her eyes bore into me as the barking increases.

Whew, at least she’s thinking straight now. We are dealing with demon dogs, after all—asking for a little divine intervention can’t hurt. As long as you know how. I search my memory for the prayer I learned when I was little but haven’t recited in years. The first line runs through my mind, but I draw a blank on the rest. “Um?” I wince.

She scoffs. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you about religion?”

I shake my head. “Not really.”

She purses her lips. “Remind me to give you a lesson when this mess is over. We’re going to have to do this together. Walk me to the door.”

The dog-beasts stop digging into her porch and stare at us with their horrible, vacant eyes. They seethe, grinding their massive jaws and spewing that nasty white slobber. Then they butt their silky black heads against the screen and snort, shooting the revolting scent of sulfur into the living room. Miraculously, the mesh doesn’t tear under the pressure of their massive weight. Miss Delia’s charms must be having some effect, though they’re clearly not enough to repel them, because their snouts are bulging into the room.

Gripping Miss Delia’s arm, I override all sense of self-preservation and force my feet to move toward the door. My heart pounds. This feels like a march toward certain death, which is the last thing a normal-thinking person should do. But like so many of the crazy things that have happened this summer, this is
so
not normal.

As if they have some kind of telepathic abilities, the other two
plateyes
from the kitchen race around the house and bound up the porch steps. Together, all four bark in eerie unison. Their hollow yellow eyes glow as their furious intensity mounts.

Miss Delia points to the screen. “Shake the whiskey at them,” she yells so I can hear over their barking, and points to herself. “I’ll do the talking.”

My hand shakes as I tip the bottle, and I try to ignore their snapping jaws and ear-popping snarls. As much as I’d love to turn tail and escape to Miss Delia’s room, I know I can’t. My pulse rages as I thrust the bottle toward the screen and watch the dark brown liquid splash through the mesh onto the
plateyes
and the porch floor.

Miss Delia recites the prayer, beginning with the one line I know, “Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name.”

The barking stops. And so does the rain. Encouraged by the sudden quiet, I toss some more whiskey, and Miss Delia continues with the rest of the prayer. Tilting their heads, the hellhounds sniff the air, then exchange blank fluorescent looks. One dips his head to the floor and laps up some liquid. A second follows him. I pour a third round of whiskey, and then a fourth. The alcohol pools in the deep ruts their claws carved into the floorboards. By the time Miss Delia’s finished praying, all four
plateyes
are lapping the whiskey with as much frenzy as they used to attack us.

Gulping, I gather the courage to push open the screen door and dump the rest of the whiskey out onto the porch. The dogs lick the floor clean, then sit like normal pups and bark, but this time it’s a lazy, appreciative yap. In unison, they pull back their lips and flash their jagged teeth in drunken smiles, then rise and stumble down the porch steps, wagging their long, wispy tails. They saunter into the yard, swaying and bumping into each other, but careful to avoid the bottle tree as they head toward the woods.

The silver clouds part, unveiling a bright azure sky and the warm South Carolina sun.

I guide Miss Delia to the nearby sofa, then slump onto the floor next to her, unable to stay on my feet. My chest heaves, sucking air, and my head lolls back onto the cushion. I’m so weary I’m surprised I haven’t passed out. It’s a good thing we’ve both got our
colliers
on, otherwise we’d be dead. “That was the scariest thing I’ve ever seen.” My hands tremble in my lap.

She cackles. “Then you must not remember what’s happening to your brother. His curse has certainly frightened the bejesus out of me.”

I nod, willing my pulse to return to normal. “Yeah, but The Creep only affects Jack. Those beasts would’ve ripped us apart if they could. And they’d laugh as they were doing it.” I suddenly realize how selfish that sounds—only worrying about my own bodily harm—but I can’t help it. Those
plateyes
are terrifying.

She pulls a tissue from the box next to the sofa and dabs her moist brow. “You’re right about that. But I knew my charms would keep us safe.” She winks her cloudy eye. “Though I’ll confess I was a little worried there for a minute.”

“How’d you know the whiskey would work? And why didn’t you give me a bottle for protection when we got your ancestors’ mortar?”

She shrugs. “I didn’t remember until those hellions came so close, sending that evil stench into my house. It reminded me of something my gran told me when I was a gal.” She nudges my shoulder. “She’s the one who told me about the power of whiskey and the Lord. Said it’s the only way to defeat a rotten-egg-smelling
plateye
.” She cackles. “All this time, I thought she meant
plateyes
went around, smelling rotten eggs, but it turns out they just stink like them. Funny, how a smell can bring back a memory like that. Thing is, the liquor and prayer will only turn them away, not get rid of them for good. But maybe the ancestors will have an idea. We’ll contact them just as soon as the mortar rests. It’ll be nice to see Ole Gran again.” She pauses, staring out into the room, as if reliving a memory. “I loved her so. You see, she’s the one who taught me about the wicked creatures I might have to fight with hoodoo. My
maamy
, she didn’t think I should learn that young, but Gran didn’t want to shield me from the haints and boo-hags.”

I scratch my head, which is still spinning from the whole contacting-dead-people thing. “Um, I’m pretty sure I know what a haint is—it’s a ghost, right?” She nods in response. “But what the heck’s a boo-hag? And is it something we’re going to have to worry about while we’re fighting The Creep?”

She sighs. “Oh, child. It’s just about the worst thing you’d ever encounter during a full moon. It sheds its skin and slips into your house, then climbs up on you, riding your chest while you’re sleeping, sucking the life out of you. When it’s done, it jumps into your skin and takes over your body. Evil doesn’t come close to describing it.”

I shudder as a chill runs up my spine. “Thanks. Now I won’t be able to sleep in peace.”

She laughs and waves me off. “I doubt you’ve got to worry about a nasty boo-hag. Remember it clothes itself in skin, and last time I checked, that’s in short supply in your house.”

True, but now that we’ve pulled that second memory from the knife, and seen how Sabina worked the curse, we should be able to break it. “But not for long, right? I mean, the
Psychic Vision
gave us everything we need to reverse The Creep, right?” I hope so, because I don’t think I can take much more of this magic stuff. I’m so drained, I’m not sure I’ll be able to get up off the floor anytime soon. Maybe she’ll let me sleep over.

She shakes her head. “It did, but I’m sorry to say we’re no closer to knowing what to do.”

My chest sinks from the unexpected punch in the gut. “How can you say that?” My voice is faint as I lean my throbbing head against my hand. Just when I thought we’d gotten a break, this stupid curse crushes me. “We saw what Sabina did and watched her create the spell. Why isn’t that enough?”

She reaches down and grasps my shoulder. “For two reasons, child. Those words she used when she cast the spell—I don’t know what they mean. I’ve never heard anything like it. It’s not Gullah, even an early version of it. And second, even if I knew what she said, I don’t pretend to have her power. You saw the way she commanded the wind and water, created a funnel cloud, and then used the earth to create a fire. I didn’t even know that was possible.”

My mind races as it calculates the horrific implications of this latest revelation. Ever since I learned about the Beaumont curse, I sort of forgot about Jack and switched my concern to Cooper. I was so sure we’d be able to reverse The Creep, and Jack would be fine. But now, that seems impossible. Without a translation for Sabina’s strange, lyrical words and some way to whip a whole lot of water and wind around, not to mention light a fire in the middle of all that, Jack’s going to die. And then, my best friend—and now boyfriend—will lose his soul. And I’ll be the only one who understands exactly what happened. Well, except for Maggie and Miss Delia, of course.

My throat tightens. “So you’re saying he’s doomed.” My voice breaks. “Just like Cooper.” My chest shudders as fat tears flow down my cheeks into my lap.

She pats the back of my bowed head. “Now, now, Emma. Don’t lose hope. Those
plateyes
didn’t show up for nothing. They multiplied because they knew we’re getting close. If they thought we couldn’t crack this, they wouldn’t bother. There’s got to be an answer we don’t see yet.”

I wipe the hot tears from my face and sniff the snot back up into my nose. “Really?”

She smiles. “Really. Now let me set to work on those words of hers.” She chants Sabina’s foreign phrase perfectly from memory, then nods and sucks her teeth. “That’s the key, I’m sure of it.”

“Do you think we’ll figure it out in time to save Jack?” I bite my lip, afraid to hear the answer.

Her eyes soften. “I hope so, child. I hope so.”