My pulse begins to thrum, throbbing gently, but definitely more forcefully in my neck. Maybe my energy tea is working after all.
With a shaky hand, Miss Delia grabs a pinch of powder from one of the crocks beside her and then tosses it onto the smoldering flames. The powder crackles as it bounces off the sizzling coals. A strong, bitter scent wafts up, reminding me of my mother’s favorite Thai green-curry dish. And not in a good way.
Wincing, I cover my nose. “Ugh, what is that?”
“Rue. It’s an ancient herb with the power to turn back jinxes. I had an idea Sabina could have found a way to reverse its power and used it set the curse.” Her lips turn down as she stretches to reach another crock. “But it didn’t even catch fire. Not for a second.”
“What’s this one?” I ask as I push the dish toward her. My hand trembles slightly but the effect is so faint, I doubt she notices.
“Burdock root.” Her long, bent fingers dip into the bowl. A second later, the powder splashes on the charcoal. It ignites, but the red flame it creates is quiet as it slowly licks the remains of the pulverized root. The warm, woody smell of sawdust curls up from the mortar. She mutters something in Gullah, probably a cuss word too dirty for me to hear.
“Not enough power, right?” I think back on the explosions Sabina created in the Psychic Visions. Small but impactful, they were like pocket-size bundles of dynamite.
She nods. “Uh huh. Not hot enough, either. The flame should burn orange and yellow.” Her glasses slip down her nose. She scowls at the mortar and taps a yellowed nail on the arm of her wheelchair. “I’ve tried nearly everything I can think of. I’m running out of ingredients.”
“It has to be something, right? Maybe she used an herb that doesn’t grow here anymore.”
Shaking her head, she sucks her teeth. “There isn’t a plant grown in the Lowcountry that isn’t in my pantry.” She trains her good eye on the shelf lined with apothecary bottles. “Which makes we wonder if I haven’t been fishing in the wrong pond.” Her milky eye flicks toward me. “Maybe she didn’t use a plant after all. Maybe it’s a curio.”
“But you’ve got a ton of those.” I point to the shelves devoted to magnetic lodestones, cat’s eye shells, badger teeth, pyrite amulets, and hunks of black dog hair, plus a ton of other strange but magical items. “Why don’t we just grind those up and see which will burn?”
“Because I don’t think the answer is that simple. My curios are powerful, but I’m guessing whatever Sabina used was filled with dark magic. And hard to come by.”
“Oh.” I slump into a nearby stool. “I suppose there isn’t a neighborhood black magic shop we can visit to stock up on these nefarious items?”
“Not likely. The magic I’m talking about is special. It’s homegrown and handmade with the most wicked intentions.”
My heart picks up speed at what I think she’s implying. I’d blame it on the tea except I’m genuinely afraid so my reaction is just as likely caused by the adrenaline. I’m up for a lot of things but dabbling in black magic isn’t one of them. Fighting a curse is one thing. Creating one is another.
Stiffening, I draw back slightly. “You don’t mean—”
She cuts me off, anticipating my concern. “Of course not. I’ve got no interest in working black magic, especially with you. I’ve only worked one real dark spell in my life, and though it was the right thing to do, I paid for it dearly. But I knew the price going in and it was one I was willing to pay.”
I’d love to ask what she’s talking about but I know better. If she hasn’t told me by now, she’s got no intention of spilling the beans.
She points a gnarled finger at me. “You, Emma, will not go down that path if I have anything to do with it. Your hoodoo practice is for good, based in love to save those closest to you. That’s the way it’s going to stay.”
Good to know, because I’m not looking to cross over to the dark side anytime soon.
I scratch my head. “Okay, but what do we do in the meantime? If we need some black magic curios but can’t make them, how do we get them?”
She draws a deep breath and stares out the kitchen window, but doesn’t seem to notice Cooper and Jack, who are working so hard they’re glistening with sweat. Instead, though her eyes are fixed on something outside, she appears to be lost in thought, reliving an event lodged deep in her memory. A moment later, she shakes her head and turns back to me. “You just leave it to me. These aren’t my only supplies.”
Peering out the kitchen window, I scan the vast, weed-choked backyard. Did I miss something? The only thing out there besides my brother and boyfriend, and a bunch of plants, is a broken-down shed whose door is nearly hanging off its rusted hinges. Does she have a stash out there?
“Do you need me to get something for you? The guys have only just started clearing the field. I don’t think your wheelchair can make it back there.”
Her head snaps toward me. “You won’t touch a thing. Not yet. Not ever if I had my way. But even I know sometimes you’ve got to dance with the darkness while you’re waiting on the light. That’s a fight for another day, when you’re strong enough to resist its pull.”
The hair on the back of my neck rises. For the first time I’m actually afraid of all this power and its consequences. But I’m sure of one thing: I need to build up my resistance and strength pronto. And brew a stronger tea.
Miss Delia pulls her attention back to the kitchen, and it seems, the present. “I’m tired. Would you mind cleaning up this mess for me?”
“Sure, no problem.” Slipping off the stool, my foot nudges my messenger bag. Amid all this talk about darkness and black magic, I’ve completely forgotten about the sample of sludgy stuff we found on Missy’s body. “Before you go, would you mind taking a look at something?” I reach inside and fish out the plastic travel bottle nestled in the interior pocket. Then I bring her up to speed on what happened yesterday.
She shakes her head. “Good Lord, child. How did you not tell me all this when you walked in?”
I shrug. “Because you were in the middle of something. And I suppose there’s a chance Claude and the sheriff are right and it really was natural causes. Or something.” I twist the top to loosen the seal and hand it to her. “It’s just I’ve never seen this stuff before and thought maybe you’d have a clue what it is.”
With a shaky hand, she draws the bottle close and lifts off the cap. The rank smell from yesterday fills the kitchen except the scent of rancid garbage and skunk roadkill has ripened into something truly ghastly. Now, along with those festering odors, there’s a hint of fermented decay laced with death. If putrid has a smell, this is it.
She pulls the bottle away and coughs. “This was on her body?”
I blink my stinging eyes and nod, then take the bottle back from her and close the lid. “Yeah. And on the carpet in the bedroom. That’s where I took this sample.”
She knits her brows. “And the sheriff didn’t pay it any mind?”
“Not really. Though they could have been putting on a good show, trying to see if anyone would admit what it was. But to be fair, it didn’t stink that bad yesterday. It’s…evolved into something truly nasty. Maybe I should have kept it in the refrigerator or something.”
She scoffs. “I doubt it would have made much difference. Decomposition is a natural process. No matter how cold you keep something, it’ll happen eventually.”