The Line (Witching Savannah #1)

The Line (Witching Savannah #1) Page 54

“It’s too late. You’ll tell everyone what I did to Ginny,” he said.

“No,” I lied. “I’ll never say a word, and neither will Jilo. Isn’t that right, Jilo?”

“Yes,” she breathed out cautiously.

“No one has to know. We can go back to the way things were. Ellen’s worried about you. She was asking me if I’d seen you. If you let Jilo go, I’ll give you the spell.” I held the paper out to him. “We’ll have a do over,” I said.

He looked at me warily. “Promise?” he asked.

“I promise,” I said and drew closer to them, holding the spell in an outstretched hand, but keeping it far enough from him that he couldn’t snatch it away. “Just hand me the knife, and I’ll give you the paper. He silently nodded, and I could see the hope return to his eyes. “One,” I said, stepping within reach. “Two,” I said, holding my left hand out for the knife. “Three,” I said, handing him the paper.

The knife’s handle fell into my waiting palm, and I watched as his face turned bright with joy. He stood beaming up at me, the spell clutched in his little hand. Without hesitating, I swung the knife through the air, slicing a deep cut into my right palm. I reached out, and in one movement, smeared my blood across Wren’s forehead and shoved him backward.

Immediately catching on, Jilo staggered up from her chair and opened a gateway to the realm of hungry shadows that lay somewhere between where we were and Candler. Both of us knew that the human blood combined with Wren’s fear would make him an irresistible target. Wren stumbled, almost caught his balance, and then tripped backward, falling into the world of the living shades. I saw his face for only an instant, and then a blackness swooped in on him, lifting him up and away. We heard his screams for only a moment, then the sickening crunching sound of mastication. Jilo slammed the portal shut.

“Well how in the hell did you think Jilo knew all yo’ family’s secrets?” I could tell that her feistiness was her means of defense. She had expected me to come out swinging at her, but I felt nothing but relief.

“You, I will deal with later,” I said, happier than I ever would have imagined that she was safe, that we both were. “Now, open the door and let me go home.”

Jilo leaned forward on her chair and looked at me. “You just saw Jilo feed that little one to the night. You trust Jilo that the door she open is the one to yo’ home?”

“Actually I’m the one who fed him to the shadows. Besides,” I said, “I am starting to think you really are the only one I can trust.”

TWENTY-NINE

Hours had passed in our world by the time I returned home. The house was in upheaval, and my family was tearing it apart both physically and psychically in search of any evidence of what had happened to me. I saw Oliver first. He was standing on the other side of the linen closet door, a marker in his hand. Symbols and lines like the ones I’d seen in Maisie’s notebooks had been written all up and down the hall. Strangely, my first thought was how much primer it would take to cover the marks.

He dropped his marker and pulled me into his arms. “My God, Mercy! What happened to you?”

“It’s a long story,” I said. “Let’s find Iris and Ellen, and I’ll tell you all about it.”

And I did. Oliver, Iris, Ellen, and Emmet, who had insisted on joining us, all clustered around the kitchen table, and I started at the beginning and told them everything. I spoke of my feelings for Jackson. I confessed about my visit to Jilo’s crossroads, telling them about the love spell I’d wanted and the love spell Peter had bought, which Jilo had, in the end, broken. I told them about the damaged souls at Candler and the living night that existed somewhere in a realm not so far from our own. For the benefit of their understanding, I relived Connor’s manipulations and my own foolish actions. I told them about how Wren had spied for Jilo and what his fate had been. They all sat silently listening to me. The stillest of all was Emmet, who was too reticent to speak and nine times too smart to judge.

It was a little before six when I stood and left them. No one objected to my departure, and no one asked me where I was going. There were all too busy processing everything I had told them.

I stepped out into the garden, then crossed over to my faithful bicycle, which was leaning against the garage. The air had changed in Savannah; it felt charged but fresh, as if a storm had passed through in the night. I hopped onto my bike and pedaled up Abercorn and around Lafayette Square. St. John’s loomed across from me, it spires reaching up to heaven. I directed my own eyes upward, thanking whomever was in charge for getting me through the night and asking for the strength to make it through the coming day.

I dismounted and walked the last few steps through the park, crossing the brick street to Jackson’s GTO, which he had parked directly in front of the church. Jackson was leaning against the hood of the car, drinking a cup of drive-through coffee. He was staring westward, as if he intended to keep to his word about not seeing another sunrise in Savannah. I took one last long look at him before he caught sight of me, knowing all too well that I might never lay eyes on him again. The light of the eastern horizon had already begun to glow in his golden curls, but his face remained shaded. He turned to face me as if he felt the power of my gaze. There were dark circles under his eyes, and he I could tell he had been out all night, probably fighting, certainly drinking. He raised his cup to me in a salute.

As I got closer to him, I noticed that there was a vicious cut along his right cheek, and a bruise on his temple. He reached up and touched it. “Last night out. I shared my reasons for getting out of this little piss-hole of a town, and the natives didn’t take too kindly to my opinion.”

“I’m not going with you,” I said, ignoring him. “At least not today. And you can’t leave today either.”

“Naw,” he said after a moment, still rubbing a finger over the bruise. My heart almost melted at the sight of his swollen face. “It’s time for me to be moving on. I’m all packed up, and I quit the docks yesterday. There’s nothing to hold me here.”

“You can’t leave Maisie without facing her. You need to stay and talk to her. Explain things.”

“Yeah, and let her turn me into a frog,” he said, trying to make it sound like a joke, but I could tell that he was terrified of facing Maisie.

“She won’t do that. She’ll scream at you. Heck, maybe even throw something at you. But you’re breaking her heart, you deserve to face a little screaming. You’ve got to stay here and face up to her. And if there is ever going to be something between us, you have to let me take the time to face up to her too.”

“She’ll hate you,” Jackson said.

“We’re sisters, a big part of her already hates me,” I said and smiled. “But a big part of her loves me. I couldn’t just run off with you behind her back. We could never be happy together that way.”

“I’ve told you, Mercy. I can’t stay here. Not even for you. I can’t live with your family’s weirdness, with this crazy magic crap. I need a normal life.” He paused. “I was hoping that it could be with you, but I guess that wasn’t meant to be.”