The Source (Witching Savannah #2)

The Source (Witching Savannah #2) Page 35

Nearer the opposite end of the park, where the paths intersect in a V and become one, sat her battered green lawn chair, her red cooler balanced on top of it. The top of the cooler leaned against the side of the chair, leaving its contents exposed. I could make out a sheet of yellow paper that had been taped to the cooler’s side. The writing was too distant for me to make it out. I kept an eye on the horizon, scanning for Jilo as I drew near her ersatz office, but I couldn’t catch even a glimmer of her, visually or otherwise. It startled me when my eyes registered the rolls of cash stuffed into the open cooler. I’d never seen that much money in one place before. I reached out for a roll of hundred-dollar bills. A shot of energy stung my hand and burned my fingers. I looked at the note. “Out of business. Take what you gave me and not a penny more.”

“It looks like Mother Jilo has closed up shop.” A deep voice came from behind me. I turned to see Adam towering head-and-shoulders over me. He worked out of the police station on the other side of the cemetery’s wall, so I wasn’t surprised to meet him in Colonial. “I saw you at the gate. Thought I’d follow you in and see if you knew anything about this, seeing as you and Mother have grown so close over the last few months.”

How or why he kept tabs on me and Jilo didn’t seem as important to me as what was up with her. “I don’t know,” I said, more to myself than to the detective. “The other day, she wasn’t quite herself, but I never expected her to pull something like this.”

“She was upset? Maybe someone’s been threatening the old lady?”

At this I burst out laughing. “Have you ever known Jilo to run from a fight?”

Adam smiled. “I reckon as not.” He held a hand out toward the cooler, but I swept it away.

“I wouldn’t do that,” I said, “unless some of that money belongs to you.”

“No, no. I never came to Mother for ‘professional’ services. I just like to keep an eye on her to make sure she’s getting along all right. She was nearly family after all.”

“I kind of feel like she’s family myself,” I said, amused to see he was somewhat taken aback by this.

“The Taylors joining forces with Mother Jilo? Lord help us all.” He shifted uncomfortably and shrugged his shoulders, turning his torso a bit away from me. His posture told me that he would be happier if what he perceived as the traditional balance of power was kept in place. “Well, if you talk to Mother, you tell her I asked after her. Let me know if she’s doing okay, right?”

“Sure.” I could do that. I was worried about Jilo’s sudden abdication, but I kept telling myself that steel doesn’t dent easily.

Adam raised his right hand in a brief wave. “Okay, I will catch you later,” he said and started down the V’s right fork, which ran parallel to the wall of tombstones. I sighed quietly. It wouldn’t be long before what was left of Birdy was found, and then Adam would be paying us yet another official visit. To my surprise he stopped in his tracks, turned, and took a few quick steps back toward me. “Oh,” he said in that innocent tone that I had come to learn meant he was about to spring something big on me to try to get a reaction. I am hiding things from him, and he is dropping bombs on me. So much for our newfound friendship. “The old man we found. Peter’s great-uncle.” I said nothing, forcing my face into a question mark. “We’ve pretty much finished looking into the items sewn up in his coat lining.”

“I don’t understand.” I pretended Jilo hadn’t already told me about the small fortune that Peadar carried on himself. “What was in it?”

“Uh, just a few personal belongings,” Cook said. “We’ll pass them on to the Tierneys soon. You take care, okay?”

I nodded, and he took off again. I was happy that the Tierneys would receive the treasure Peadar had left behind. I fought off the wave of guilt that blamed me for being the agency by which he had left the world. I didn’t have the luxury of wallowing right now. I glanced around the cemetery, miraculously free of tourists at the moment, then closed my eyes and envisioned home. The sliding sensation made me feel giddy and a little light-headed, but when I opened my eyes, I stood near the garage. Easy enough, but so far I had only attempted sliding short distances, and to places I knew well. I had never before attempted to find a person, and even as close as Jilo and I had grown, I still had no idea where the old woman kept her residence.

I focused on her, envisioning her face’s tight lines and the way they crisscrossed one another, the ebony beads of her eyes. I got the impression of a room, not her magnificent haint-blue chamber, but a sitting room, the shades pulled tight. I sensed cool and shadow, the hum of a box fan, a shade being blown open by the outside breeze, an inch of sunlight piercing and then disappearing from the room. A voice, Jilo’s voice, humming a tune I did not recognize. A heavy book resting on her lap. The sensations sharpened.

“You leave me alone, girl,” Jilo said. “I don’t want none of you today.” She waved her hand, and the room warped before my eyes, nearly fading. I was in no mood to be dismissed, and I felt no small sense of pride when I managed to hold my focus. Jilo and I arm wrestled for a few moments; she tried to force me away, but I insisted that she allow me to draw near. Her world floated up like a bubble, popping open and spreading around me as the sense of sliding fell away. I’d won the fight, but Jilo had managed to hold me off well enough that instead of appearing before her in her room, I found myself standing outside an old farmhouse that could have been situated anywhere between Valdosta and Florence for all my eyes could tell. A rusting red tin roof. A wide wraparound porch, shimmers of fading haint blue on the overhang, and the same shade peeling from the frame of the front door and window casings.

Four of my five standard senses told me that I recognized the place, though, recognized the crunch of the gravel beneath my feet as I took a few steps toward the house, the spring of the steps as I climbed to the porch. I realized this was the house where Jilo had brought me the day of Ginny’s funeral, when she’d had me blindfolded, kidnapped, and driven here by the ghost of Detective Cook’s grandfather. I had been so terrified of Jilo and her magic then. Now, instead of being afraid of her, I feared for her. Funny how quickly your world can change. I reached for the screen door, but the front door opened before my hand could make contact.

A very tall young man, a much younger and somewhat more masculine version of Jilo, stood in the doorway, blocking my entrance. He was dressed plainly in a tight white tank top and too-loose jeans. A wide leather belt held the pants in place, a full two inches below the top of his boxers and only an inch or so above indecency. “She says that she doesn’t want to see you.” His accent struck me, bereft as it was of the Southern softness my ears had become accustomed to.

“And who are you?” I asked, trying to make it sound as if I really had the right to ask any questions.

He threw back his head and laughed. “That’s right, you wouldn’t recognize me, would you?” He stepped out of the house, closing the door firmly behind him. “Truth be told, I barely recognize you. You were such a frightened little mouse the last time you came here. Now look at you, all full of the magic and not in the least little bit scared.” He stepped closer, standing only a few inches from me, trying to use his height to intimidate me.