Not Quite Dead (A Lowcountry Mystery)

Chapter Twenty-Four

Beau finds me in the chapel, the journal open on my lap and my cell phone to my ear. He sits in silence, hand over mine, until I put down the phone. I've called Amelia seven times and left as many messages, twice as many texts, all without a response.

My storm of worry has churned into a hurricane of panic with the absolute certainty that she's in trouble.

"Hey," Beau says, softly rubbing my knuckles. "How are you doing?"

"I've been better."

"We're going to find that woman, Gracie. She's not going to hurt you again."

I wave him away, my own safety the least of my concerns. I'd be happy if she'd never hurt any of my friends again. "Have the doctors been back?"

"Will's out of surgery, but he's in a coma. They're concerned about blood loss and internal bleeding. It's still... It could be better news, sweetheart."

The news hits me with more force than expected, given everything I've just learned about my family, about Jake taking Millie away from me again, not to mention that I've managed to get my ass kicked in one of the safest towns in the country.

Beau's arms go around me. His fingertips trail over my arms and neck, across my cheeks, as gentle as feathers, giving me a moment of peace to utter another silent prayer for the boy who meant everything to me once. Who still does, in his way.

Then I locate my nerve, sit up, stand up. There's only one thing I can actually do right now. "I have to go to Charleston. Amelia needs me."

"What? Isn't she here?"

"No. Jake came and checked her out, and now she won't answer her phone or respond to any texts." I glance down at the diary in my lap, the product of Anne's paranoia, maybe, but after everything Mrs. LaBadie has subjected me to, I'm not willing to write it off as nonsense.

Not to mention that, to my knowledge, a boy has never survived past the age of twelve in our family. Ever.

"Here. Read this if you want. It's the other half of Anne's diary, and I know something's wrong." I step past him, but he's on his feet fast, a strong hand circled around my wrist.

"Stop, Gracie. I'll go with you to check on your cousin if you want, but after everything that's happened, I'm not letting you out of my sight until they find Zaierra."

I'm not sure they'll find her, if they're even looking. Not if she doesn't want to be found. If Anne was right, and if one believes in voodoo, maybe she's not even wholly human. The idea of being alone makes me shake all over, and his offer to come along steadies me. It's more than comfort or protection. It's as though maybe, with him by my side, Amelia might have a chance at being okay.

Mrs. LaBadie's words from the library dance in my mind, the ones she uttered when Melanie accused her of being no better than Anne herself—that she had no control over how the spirits ensured the survival of the curse. That they used "servants."

An abusive, controlling husband seems like a likely candidate for brainwashing.

"Gracie. I'm not taking no for an answer."

"That's okay. I was going to say yes."

We head back down to the waiting area, which has largely cleared out after the news of Will's condition. His and Mel's parents are still there, and my friend sits curled in a chair, watching her hands.

"Mel?"

She looks up, her dark eyes rimmed by red circles and cracked with crimson veins. "Gracie."