Free Conjure by Lea Nolan Page B

going on? Is it Dad?”
    “No, he’s fine. He already left for Charleston looking for Missy’s stupid weather vane part. My hand. It’s gotten worse.”
    I yawn. “How’s that possible? Miss Delia said it would be better.”
    “I don’t know what that quack did to me, but see for yourself.” He thrusts his palm into my face.
    “Ah!” I wince and scramble to sit up, totally awake now. His fingers are red and swollen like uncooked Italian sausages, too engorged to bend. And the blisters have grown, stretched into huge, pus-filled boils that literally throb with his pulse. But the rest of his hand is normal—toned and muscular—and strangely unaffected by his engorged fingers.
    “That’s totally gross. Does it hurt?” I gingerly tap his index finger. Suddenly I get a whiff of something I can’t quite place, but it reminds me of vinegar, or maybe something I’ve smelled in Dad’s workshop.
    He shakes his head. His eyes betray the panic he must have suppressed until now. “That’s the weird thing—it doesn’t. And it’s freaking me out because I think it should.” With his lips turned down, he stares at his fingers, and it looks like he might throw up. “Dang.”
    I run my hand through my ratty strawberry-blonde hair, dragging it up off my forehead and behind my shoulder. “We’ve got to get you to a hospital. I know you didn’t want to tell Dad, but we don’t have a choice now.”
    Jack pushes himself off my bed and paces across my bedroom floor, massaging his temples with both his healthy and swollen fingers. “Okay, but first we’ve got to stop by that crazy lady’s house to find out what she did to me. Maybe she poisoned me. We need to know what she used to tell the doctors.”
    I shake my head. “No, I helped her do everything.” I toss off the covers and jump out of bed. “I know what plants she used so I can tell them.” I grab some clothes from the dresser and head to the bathroom to get ready.
    He follows me down the hall. “But Em, you weren’t there the whole time. Remember? You left in the middle of it.” My trip to the elderberry bush suddenly flashes across my mind. “How do you know she didn’t slip something into that concoction she cooked up?”
    I can’t help but think of Miss Delia’s kind face and gentle demeanor. There was something so, I don’t know, good about her that makes me doubt Jack’s right. We only met yesterday, but I can’t imagine her deliberately hurting him.
    “Jack, I don’t think she did anything to you on purpose. Maybe you’re having an allergic reaction?”
    His shoulders ease a little. “Yeah, I guess so.” Closing his eyes, he pinches the bridge of his nose. “But we still need to find out what she used.” He rests his head against the bathroom door. “I’m scared, Em.” His voice breaks.
    I grasp his forearm and muster the most reassuring smile I can. “I know. But we’ll take care of it. I promise. Now go call Cooper while I get ready.” I shut the bathroom door and let the smile slip from my face as a wave of dread washes over me.
    …
    Within an hour, we’re standing on Miss Delia’s porch. I knock on her door and wonder how to get her help without accusing her of hurting Jack.
    The door opens, revealing Miss Delia in a pale orange housedress. Her brow crinkles with confusion. “Emma? I didn’t expect to see you this morning.”
    Before I have a chance to answer, Jack steps forward and thrusts his hand at her. “Look what happened.” The boils are even larger now, stretched taut over the fluid encapsulated inside, and throbbing.
    She recoils. “What did you do, boy?” Her voice is suddenly at least an octave lower, deep and gravelly, and frankly, kind of scary.
    “I used the stuff you gave us, just like you said,” he says.
    She narrows her cloudy eye and sets her jaw. “That didn’t come from what I gave you. You best be on your way. Now.”
    Cooper pulls Jack back and tries to smooth things over. “Miss Delia,