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.
Finally, the last of the buttery sandalwood burns off and the smoke dissipates. Grasping the gris-gris bag between my fingers, I giggle. It buzzes with brilliant white energy, shooting tingles up my arm.
“Holy cow! Feel this.” I hand it off to Miss Delia then dump water into the mortar to drench any remaining embers.
It jiggles in her palm like it’s filled with Mexican jumping beans. “Well done, Emma.” Miss Delia laughs. “This is a strong mojo. That boy of yours should realize how lucky he is. If you didn’t care about him so much, it wouldn’t be half as powerful.”
Slumping into a stool at the counter, I sink my heavy head against my palm. “I guess that explains why I’m so exhausted. It took a lot out of me.” I yawn.
“But you’re doing so much better than even a few weeks ago. Back then you’d be asleep by now and couldn’t have produced something near as potent. You’re learning and your resistance is beginning to build.”
Beginning? At this rate, I won’t have the strength to get to the end. “Isn’t there anything we can do to speed things up? Because I’m not sure how much more of this I can take.” Or if I’ll make it home before I conk out.
“There’s always a way with hoodoo, but I don’t like shortcuts.”
Easy for her to say. She’s not the one who’s half-uncon-scious. But I know better than to argue with her, especially since I can barely concentrate.
“We’ve done more than enough for today, Emma. Give this bag to Cooper and let’s see how it works.” She passes it back. It pulses against my palm as images of Cooper and me flash across my mind. Us hand in hand at the beach, in his father’s car, on his boat, or just hanging out in his room, they’re like little video snippets of some of our happiest times together. And they’re literally in my hand.
It’s time to show Cooper how powerful my love is.
Chapter Three
A laugh, high-pitched and overly enthusiastic, carries into the kitchen from the living room.
The hair on the back of my neck rises. Something’s up.
A surge of reserve energy jolts my system, bolting me upright. Clutching the gris-gris bag, I slip off my stool and push open the swinging door.
Taneea is perched on the couch facing Cooper, her legs tucked beneath her, leaning as close as possible without falling into his lap. At least she’s finally taken off those ridiculous boots.
Now I’m awake.
“You’re hilarious.” She swats his biceps.
“Uh, thanks.” Wedged against the end of the couch, his expression is a mixture of panic and pure horror.
“I know. He’s a total crack up. He’s always leaving me and my brother in stitches.” I cross my arms and give her the evil eye to clue her into the fact he’s my boyfriend and off-limits.
Cooper leaps off the cushion and bolts to my side. “Emma! How’d everything go in there?” He slips an arm around my waist and reaches for my hand, which I gladly grasp.
I smile extra-wide. “Great, as usual.” Hopefully.
“Ready to go, then?” His light blue eyes plead, letting me know this isn’t a request.
“Yeah, sure.” I stifle a yawn, a remnant of casting the Protective Shield.
“It was great to meet you, Taneea. I’m sure we’ll be seeing a lot of each other this summer,” he says, ever the southern gentleman.
“I bet we will.” Her lips crack into a wicked grin as she twirls a pink curl around her finger. Peeling her eyes away from him she glances at me. “And you too, Emma.”
“Sure.” I stifle a snicker. As if she’s got a chance with Cooper. My Cooper. Not likely.
Turning toward the kitchen I pop open the kitchen door. “We’re leaving, Miss Delia. See you tomorrow. Call me if you need anything.”
She rolls her wheelchair into the living room. “I’ll be fine. Besides, I’ve got my great-granddaughter here now. We’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”
With a grunt, Taneea pushes off the couch and skulks toward one of the back rooms.
…
A half hour later, Cooper and I are sitting on the private beach at High Point Bluff, his family’s plantation, breathing in the balmy salt air. The late afternoon sun is idyllic as it shimmers off the teal-green water of St. Helena Sound. As usual, I’ve kicked off my flip-flops and dug my toes into the toasty sand, hunting for the cool, moist grains below the surface.
Cooper leans close and nuzzles my neck. “I couldn’t wait to get out of there.”
I snort. “Really? Cause it looked like you and Taneea were getting along so well.”
“It did?” He pulls back, his eyes fill with alarm.
“I’m kidding.”
He laughs; his spicy pine scent fills my nose as he plants a kiss behind my ear, sending a wave of tingles over my body. “Good, because I wouldn’t want to give her the wrong idea. I mean, she’s hot and all, but she’s definitely not my type.”
Wait. Did he just say she’s hot? As in…attractive?
I lean away. “You think she’s good-looking?” My brow knits.
“Well, sort of. In kind of a hot-mess sort of way.”
My heart seizes. “For real?”
He gulps. “Uh, yeah?” Only he sounds a whole lot less sure of himself now that he’s admitted it out loud. “I mean, her clothes and hair are all about attracting a guy’s attention and well, she does.”
I look down at my stone-colored twill shorts and scoop neck T-shirt. Boring. Then to my beat-up leather flip-flops. Even more boring. But they’re me. The wildest I ever get is a peasant blouse and bohemian skirt. I couldn’t pull off short shorts if I tried.
Staring out onto the Sound, I watch an osprey dive-bomb the water feet first, then ascend into the air with a fish clutched between its curved talons. I’m feeling about as optimistic as that trout.
He nudges me in the side with his elbow. “Hey, did you hear everything I said? She’s not my type.” He reaches his strong hand to stroke the side of my face. “You’re my girl, Emmaline,” he whispers in his sweet Lowcountry drawl.
Ah, there it is, finally. My real name. He’s the only one who uses it, except for my parents and that’s only when I’m in serious trouble, which is practically never. Brushing a long strand of strawberry-blonde hair off my face, he tucks it behind my ear as his powder-blue eyes search mine. “You always have been.”
My heart skips a beat. “Really?” My voice flutters as my knees turn to rubber. It’s a good thing I’m already sitting because otherwise, I’d collapse onto the sand.
He nods. “Yes.”
His lips graze mine and all my silly, stupid fears slip away. I should know better than to worry about his feelings for me. Especially since we’ve got a much bigger, and very real, problem to deal with. The Beaumont Curse looms, destined to turn him dark and depraved. Which reminds me about the gris-gris bag that’s stuffed in my messenger bag.
Clearing my throat, I dig out the mojo. “Miss Delia and I made this for you.” I dangle the necklace with the tiny white pouch before him. “It’s a black magic Protective Shield.”