Jack takes a deep breath and kills the lights. “Oh-kay. You do realize hanging out with you is a bizarre experience, right? If you weren’t my sister, I’m pretty sure I’d think you’re crazy.”
I sigh. “Yeah. Sometimes I wonder if I am, too. But honestly, I’m just listening to my spirit guide.”
“I’d love to meet her.”
“So would I.” Actually, maybe not. Frankly, the whole thing is still kind of spooky to me.
Miss Delia starts to speak and wave her arms around, but it’s almost impossible to see through the woods.
“Drive up closer so we can get a better look.”
Jack steps on the accelerator. The electric engine makes only the faintest noise, allowing us to roll right up to the last tree before her house. We’ve got a perfect view of the bottle tree and clearing. Miss Delia’s seated in front of the fire, a metal lock box in her lap.
With a shaking hand, she unlocks the box, then pries open the lid and pulls out what looks like a mojo bag. Clasping the tiny pocket between her palms as if in prayer, she mumbles to herself, then raises her hands above her head and calls,
“Fire and heat in darkest night,
Join forces to reveal this curio’s might
To concoct black magic strange and dark
Sealing one’s fate from just a spark.”
She tosses the mojo onto the flames. The fire blazes just as before.
Shaking her head, she pulls out another bag and follows the same ritual.
“What is she doing?” Jack whispers.
“Testing something.”
“By throwing it into the fire? What the heck is it?”
“Uh, it’s a hoodoo thing. I don’t think I’m allowed to tell you.” It’s best not to explain that those bags are likely filled with black magic curios so dark and dangerous Miss Delia’s igniting them on her own, because she fears I’m not strong enough to resist their power. And that they’re wrapped in those tiny swatches of cotton because she doesn’t want their raw materials to touch her skin. No wonder she kicked us out of here. She’s been planning this all day. With my energy drained and magical powers out of commission, the stuff in those bags would probably consume me in a second.
For the next few minutes, Miss Delia prays and tosses mojos into the fire. Each time a tiny bag lands in the flickering orange flames, she leans forward as if waiting for something to happen. Seconds pass before she sinks back into her wheelchair looking more disappointed with each failed attempt. I’m not sure what she’s waiting for, but it obviously hasn’t happened.
A somber expression crosses her face as she withdraws a black packet from the lock box. She crosses herself, then looks to the sky and mouths a prayer.
My scalp pricks. I edge closer on my seat.
Drawing a deep breath, she encases the mojo between her palms and shuts her eyes. Then she raises her hands once again and shouts the incantation. The bag sails from her hands and lands on a flaming log.
A yellow-white flash ignites, shooting sparks up and out of the fire. Tiny embers land in the dry foliage beneath the tree. The ground rumbles, shaking Miss Delia’s wheelchair and swaying the low-hanging bottles in the tree.
Jack’s eyes pop. “What’s going on?”
“Her test worked. It unleashed some powerful magic. Just hold on.” I grip the golf cart’s dashboard, anticipating the inevitable shockwave that’s bound to charge our way.
An explosion blasts in the bonfire, splitting the burning logs and causing them to collapse on themselves. Thick plumes of black smoke billow into the oak’s canopy, their sooty tendrils caressing each bottle and causing them to vibrate and glow a sinister red. Within moments, the tree is bathed in crimson light, like a giant burning bush without the flames.
Jack gasps.
The quaking escalates, rattling like a speeding freight train as it stretches across the yard and rocks the golf cart. At the epicenter, Miss Delia tenses and grips the arms on her chair as the quake thrashes her from side to side.
Suddenly her head yanks back as if whiplashed, then snaps forward as she begins to convulse. Her body spasms, flopping around like a fish on a line.
She’s having a seizure. This is why I’m here.
“Miss Delia!” I leap from the golf cart and race to her.
“Emma!” Jack’s voice echoes behind me.
“Come on! She needs us,” I scream over my shoulder. His footsteps follow behind me.
Rushing over the shaking ground, I lose my balance but somehow manage to stay on my feet. Halfway to the bottle tree the earthquake begins to ebb, as the vibrations slow and turn shallower.
Miss Delia’s mouth is covered in white foam. My feet kick into overdrive, closing the space between us. Steps away, I reach to console her but she jerks forward and lunges out of the chair, landing face-first in the dirt. Her upper body quivers as her lifeless legs splay on the ground.
The earth finally stills as I kneel at her waist and try to flip her on her side, but she’s still flailing around and it’s nearly impossible to do by myself.
Jack crouches beside me and pries his hands beneath her side. “On three, okay?” he says, anticipating my request for help.
I nod as he counts. “One.”
“Two,” I add.
“Three.” We say together and push her over.
“We got you, Miss D.” Jack clasps her hand.
Her gaze bores into me.
“You’re going to be okay. I promise.” I hope it’s the truth as I wipe the spit from her lips and peer into her mouth to make sure her airway is clear.
The light in the bottles fades, dimming to black. At the same time the fire shrinks, the flames collapsing on themselves as if someone doused the inferno with a bucket of water. Miss Delia stills. A low moan rolls up her throat.
I brush the dirt from her face. “Shh. Don’t try to talk. We’re going to get you inside, okay?”
She nods, ever so slightly, and her eyes shut.
“Jack, I need you to pick her up and carry her inside. I’ll bring up her chair.”
“No problem.” He slides his arms under her back and knees, then strains to stand with her in his arms. The muscles in his neck pull and his face turns magenta.
He grunts. “For a little old lady, she’s heavy.”
“You sure you can handle it? Maybe we should carry her together. You can’t drop her. She’ll break a hip.”
“Nah. I got it.”
Biting my lip, I push her chair and watch as he struggles to carry her through the yard, past the garden, and up the steps. I can’t help but remember how Cooper scooped her up so easily earlier this summer after the plateyes first attacked. In his arms, she seemed as light as feather. In Jack’s, she looks more like a sack stuffed with of overgrown potatoes.
Inside, we bring her straight to her room and lay her on her bed. Though her eyes are still closed, her pulse is strong. Jack runs to the bathroom for a basin of warm water and a washcloth while I race to the kitchen for a glass of water and a vial of Four Thieves Vinegar.
We meet back at the same time and Jack gives us some privacy. As I remove her clothes and cleanse her face and arms, I think about all that has happened tonight. Because of my brainless, wretched mistake, Miss Delia is angry with me. If she dies, I’ll have to live with the fact that our last conversation was an argument and that she’s lost trust in me. There’s only one thing to do—she can’t die. Not before I’ve found a way to make things right between us.