With everything that’s been going on, I completely forgot to brew another batch of energy tea. My latest version gave me a little jolt, jogged my heart, and bolstered my mood, but it was only marginally stronger than the first and didn’t do much to curb my fatigue. Judging by my most recent encounter with Claude, I’m going to need to all the strength I can muster to counteract his plans for Miss Delia and my father. Which means I’ve got to take the concoction to the next level, adding a few new ingredients and letting it steep overnight.
“What’s wrong?” Jack asks.
“I just realized there’s something I need to do before I can go over there.”
“Like what?”
I contemplate explaining, but seeing as I’m keeping my energy booster from Miss Delia, I can’t exactly spill the beans to him. “Nothing much. It’s a hoodoo thing. You wouldn’t understand.”
…
In the morning, I squint as I pour an extra-large dose of my new-and-improved super-energy tea into a vial, and then slip it into my messenger bag. Among other things, I added some kola nut to this batch, which is supposed to restore vitality and combat fatigue. Here’s hoping it gives me that extra punch I’m looking for.
I’ve called Cooper about a dozen times this morning, but his cell goes straight to voice mail, and no one’s picking up at the Big House either. So I’m guessing he’s too tired to answer, much less drive me over to Miss Delia’s. But with only three days till his birthday, time’s running out.
Desperate, I yank my old ten-speed out of my dad’s workshop and sling my messenger bag over my back. I haven’t ridden a bike in years but Miss Delia’s isn’t far so it should be a snap.
A half hour later, I chug my way up the long, uneven drive that leads to her house. Although it’s only ten o’clock, the sun is already scorching and sweat has drenched my hair and shirt and dripped down my backside into my shorts. I’d cry if I had any more fluid to spare.
Peddling up to the bottle tree, I lay the bike on the ground and jog up to the hose that feeds the garden. Dumping my messenger bag on the ground, I twist on the spigot and let the cool water flow over my hand, then drink my fill before I douse my hair and clothes anew, washing the sweaty grime from my skin.
Miss Delia wheels out onto the porch. “Lord, child, what are you doing?”
I swallow a few extra mouthfuls before I turn off the spigot. “Cooling off. I rode my bike, but I almost had a heart attack in the heat.” I wring out my hair and T-shirt, splattering the flagstone walkway with water. “Cooper was supposed to drive me, but I couldn’t reach him.” Leaning over, I scoop up my bag and sling it over my shoulder.
“I suspect not.” Her brow is creased and her mouth is turned down.
An eerie sensation creeps up my spine. “What do you mean?” I walk up the path to the porch.
She looks like she’s debating whether or not to say something, but then swats her hand. “Aw, heck. There’s no sense in sugarcoating it. He was here bright and early this morning to pick up Taneea. Barely said a word before they let out of here.”
My stomach drops. “He was?” My voice trembles. I step toward the porch and grip the railing to steady myself.
She nods. “Yes. I’m sorry.”
“It’s the Beaumont Curse. I’m sure of it.” I explain my suspicions about his recent behavior, the proximity of his birthday, and the unusual strength and impatience of the curse.
She sucks her teeth. “It’s an interesting theory, but I’m not sure it’s right.”
My heart stops. “Why?”
“You said he’s wearing the mojo bag you made and that it’s working?”
I nod. “Checked it myself. It popped in my hand.”
“Then he’s protected from black magic, at least until he turns sixteen. Once his birthday hits, well, now that’s another story.”
“But the Beaumont Curse is different, isn’t? Couldn’t it grab him early?”
“I doubt it. These things follow their own set of rules. If it’s supposed to take hold when he comes into his manhood, well, that’s when it’ll happen.”
I run my fingers through my damp hair. “But it’s not like that has an exact date either. How does the curse know when to attack?”
“I suppose it just knows. Come inside and towel yourself off. Then you can tell me why you rode over.” She wheels her chair back into the house, a definite sign she’s done debating this point.
Fine. But she hasn’t answered one thing: if the Beaumont Curse isn’t causing him to be aloof and spend time with Taneea, then what’s up? Potential answers pop into my mind, most having to do with Taneea’s see-through clothes and plentiful cleavage, but I force them from my brain. That’s not Cooper. But still, he’s acting strange. I’ve heard Miss Delia’s side, but this time I can’t agree. She’s got to be wrong about the Beaumont Curse.
Hopefully Cooper’s weirdness can wait a couple days. Claude Corbeau may not.
Wringing out the last drops of fluid from my shirt on the cracked porch, I follow her into the house and head straight to the bathroom to towel myself off. Taking advantage of the privacy, I flip open my bag and pull out my vial of tea, uncork the bottle, then throw my head back and hope for the best.
The muddy liquid is tangy and bitter, like a crushed aspirin tablet that dissolves on your tongue, only a thousand times more potent. I gag, then force down the entire bottle of putrid liquid that could probably peel the paint off Miss Delia’s front porch.
My pulse thrums as my blood charges through my veins. The pads of my fingers prickle as they awaken to sensation, registering every single cotton loop on the towel still in my grasp. Glancing down at the sea-green fabric, each thread is magnified and distinct, a separate entity apart from the whole. Dragging my eyes from the wondrous detail of this simple cloth, I peer into the mirror hanging on the wall. My pupils are dilated like saucers, leaving only a tiny sliver of space for my irises. Drawing a quick breath, the flowery scent of the hand soap on the counter fills my nostrils.
Holy cow. I feel strong. Invincible. Like I could get back on that bike and ride to High Point Bluff without so much as breaking a sweat. This tea is amazing.
Miss Delia’s in the kitchen, clanging pots she shouldn’t be moving in the first place. A few short strides later, I’m down the hall, through the living room, then burst through the swinging door, accidentally slamming the door against the kitchen wall.
Miss Delia startles and clutches her chest. “Lord, Emma, you nearly scared the life from me. I told you before not to sneak up on me.”
“Sorry.” Clamping my hand over my mouth, I gasp, shocked by my own strength. I’d only thought I’d tapped the door. Better reel it in. Otherwise she’ll know something’s up. “I’m just really anxious to tell you the latest with Claude. Yesterday, after the funeral—”
She lifts her hand. “Whoa. Slow down, girl. You’re moving faster than a hummingbird at a bee balm plant. Sit down. Take a breath.” She gestures to the stool next to the worktable.
Oops. I guess I’m not hiding it as well as I thought. Sucking a huge breath, I pace across the kitchen as slowly as I can, but my heart’s beating a conga in my chest, propelling me forward. Concentrating on each deliberate step, I finally reach the stool and ease myself down on its well-worn top.
Miss Delia leans toward me, squinting through her good eye. “You okay?”
I nod. “Yes. Just at little antsy.” My pulse throbs in my ears.
“Squirrelly is more like it.” Crossing her arms, she takes me in for a long moment. “Well, go on, what’s got you so excited?”