The Source (Witching Savannah #2)

The Source (Witching Savannah #2) Page 28

Oliver’s face turned gray, somehow understanding the whole of the situation from these few words. “I’m sorry. I had no idea. Say nothing . . . to anyone. I’ll handle this. Okay?”

I felt myself begin to tremble in spite of the sun’s warm rays. I drew my arms up around myself and nodded once. And with that began yet another Taylor family conspiracy. That’s all it took. A secret and a shared desire to protect the ones we loved. Oliver put his arm over my shoulders and led me back to my chair.

“I’ve been giving a lot of thought to what the Tree of Life told us about your sister’s situation,” he said in an obvious attempt to pull my thoughts away from Connor. “I think we ought to consider borrowing from your mother’s bag of tricks. We need Tillandsia.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“I think it’s what the Tree of Life was trying to tell us, you, when you saw the doorway to the new Tillandsia house.” He leaned in toward me. “We need power. Big power that the families cannot trace, power that the anchors can’t just switch off if they figure out what we are doing.”

“And you think we can get this power through Tillandsia.”

“Think about it. We may not know what Emily intended to do with the power she was summoning, but we know that she spent years using the Tillandsia ‘gatherings,’?” he said, and I felt grateful for the euphemism, “to build up a battery of power. Power that the united families could not control.”

“Assuming that power still exists, that it hasn’t all been used up or dissipated, how would we access it?”

“If I knew my Emmy, and I do believe I did, that power is still locked up tight somewhere. We, however, don’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell of getting at it.”

“Then why even bring it up?”

“Because we don’t, but you, Gingersnap, do. I’m sure Emily put some kind of lock on it, so that only she could access it, but you carry a bit of Emily in you. I’m willing to bet that it will make itself accessible to you.”

“You don’t know that.”

“No, I don’t, but don’t you think it’s at least worth a try? For your sister’s sake?”

I turned my face toward the sun and closed my eyes, letting myself hide behind the flamingo color of my eyelids. “Of course I’ll try, but I don’t have a clue as to how I’ll do it.”

The brightness faded, Oliver having stepped between me and the light. “’Fraid there is only one way to get ahold of the Tillandsia power.”

“And that would be?” I asked, opening my eyes to see him standing there, haloed like some earthbound angel.

“The only way to access the power built up through Tillandsia is by ‘participating’ in their activities.” This time I didn’t appreciate the euphemism. Not one little bit.

The thought of participating in a Tillandsia gathering—or, throwing all niceties aside, orgy—was repellent. Growing up, I had thought Tillandsia was merely a private group where public people gathered to get their party on without having to worry about headlines. Now, I knew it was oh so much more. My heart broke at the thought that my lovely Ellen had been a willing participant in the group during the years after Paul and Erik had died. She said that even though she knew it was wrong, Tillandsia had somehow eased the pain of her loss. Still, I doubted she had ever used it as more than an anesthetic. It seemed unlikely that she had a hidden agenda like my mother had had, or possibly still had.

A freshly showered Iris rejoined us in the garden. I forced my full focus on her, not daring to let my eyes even stray toward the sundial. Her hair was damp and pulled back into a ponytail. She wore no makeup, but in spite of that fact, she looked younger than I’d ever seen her. She had on her favorite yoga pants and my favorite T-shirt. “Hope you don’t mind,” she said, noticing my noticing.

It had grown way too tight for me these days anyway. “Not at all. It looks cute on you.”

She smiled and blinked slowly, like a happy cat. “Thank you. I thought so too. Have you told her?” she asked Oliver.

“No, not yet. We were discussing other things.” He winked at me.

“Told me what?” I felt a tingle run down my spine.

“We have a plan,” Iris said, “to deal with the situation with the demon at the old hospital. Well, actually, it is Emmet’s plan, but I think it’s a good one. I’ll fill you in later, but clear your calendar tonight, because we are going demon hunting.”

FIFTEEN

My phone rang, and I looked at the number. It was Claire. “Hello?” I answered.

“Oh, Mercy dear, I’m glad you answered,” Claire said, her voice betrayed her anxiety. “Listen, we need to talk. Any chance you could drop by?”

“Of course. I’ll come right over.” I knew she would try to convince me not to share the encounter I had witnessed between her and Emmet with Peter. I felt Peter should know about his brother. Still, I hoped it wouldn’t fall to me to do the telling, as once again, I’d probably lose my nerve. I hoped that his parents would in time come to terms with their grief and tell Peter themselves. In the meantime, I had to set Claire straight about Emmet. She knew he wasn’t exactly human, but still I knew he couldn’t be whatever she believed him to be. To begin with, he had no people. He had donors, the witches who had made him. My family was as close as it came to his having people.

I left Iris and Oliver in the garden and went inside to change into a more presentable outfit, a pleated cerulean blouson sundress Ellen had bought for me. My inner tomboy fought back, so I paired it with some beat-up tennis shoes. I was glad Ellen wasn’t around to catch me pairing the dress with this footwear. She’d never let me out of the house this way. It hit me that I hadn’t yet thanked Ellen for all the trouble she had gone to on my behalf. I decided that I’d at least pick her up a card before returning home.

Stepping back outside, I decided the temperature had risen too high for me to walk, and for the first time, I felt too pregnant for my bike. I grabbed its handlebars and wheeled it inside the garage. “See you later, old friend.” I couldn’t help but give it a pat. An eerie sense of finality washed over me, and I started to cry. “So silly,” I said to myself, shaking off the tears. Hormones and capricious magical abilities made for some very intense, if peculiar, emotions. I closed my eyes and felt my body slipping. My one attempt at keeping my eyes open while jumping from one place to another had made me sick and dizzy. When I opened my eyes, I was standing in the alleyway behind Magh Meall. I rang the delivery buzzer and tried to collect myself, still feeling an inexplicable sense of loss.

I waited as I heard the sound of the large steel bar that secured the back door being removed from the brace that held it. The deadbolt turned and the door opened. Even though Claire had been expecting me, she looked surprised. “Oh, dear, it’s you. That was fast.”

I worried about rubbing her nose in my magic after the meltdown she’d had around Emmet. So I fibbed a little. “I was nearby when you called.” I entered and watched as Claire returned the steel bar to its place and flipped the deadbolt.

“I appreciate your coming by,” she said, weaving her way through the kitchen and out to the bar. I followed on her heels. “We need to talk about what happened last night. I must explain to you . . .”