The Source (Witching Savannah, Book 2) (16 page)

TWENTY-ONE

A fine morning followed a mercifully uneventful night. Iris served us the Southern breakfast Connor had always demanded, fried everything with a pat of butter on the side. Martell tore into his plate, and after a few thank-yous and compliments, Jilo tucked pretty well into hers as well. My stomach was having none of it, so I made myself a bowl of plain oatmeal with brown sugar. Pleased that our guests were happy, Iris kissed the top of my head and excused herself to head out and tend to the flowerbeds.

“It was mighty gracious the way yo’ aunt allowed us to spend the night, oh, and that uncle of yo’s too.” She truly meant what she’d said about Iris, but her comment about Oliver had come more grudgingly, I noticed. Last night he had returned home and come to the library to pour himself a drink, only to find Jilo, Iris, and myself discussing the events of the day, Jilo clad in one of Iris’s robes. “All right, then” was all he said, pouring himself a double and exiting the room without another word.

“Trust me,” I said. “As far as you and my uncle are concerned, that counted as a brass band welcome.” If Ellen had come home the previous night, she had done so long after the rest of us had retired, so I hadn’t had a chance to gauge her reaction.

I was anxious to get back to the discussion Jilo and I had been having before the world literally began to collapse in on us. I did not, however, feel comfortable picking up where we’d left off in the family kitchen, especially with Martell listening in. I would have to be patient. I stood and went to the sink to rinse out my bowl before putting it in the dishwasher. When I looked out the window, I saw that Adam Cook was talking to Iris. He was wearing his serious face; Birdy’s remains must have been found.

“It’s Detective Cook,” I told Jilo and crossed the room to open the door for Iris and the policeman. “Adam,” I acknowledged him. “Two days in a row.”

“Indeed,” he concurred. “I’m pleased to see you’ve caught up with Mother.” He addressed Jilo. “I have been worried about you.”

“No need to worry about Jilo,” she said, cackling.

“It’s good to see you well all the same.” He paused, nodding slowly in her direction. He turned back to face me. “Actually though, I had a different reason for dropping by this morning.” I motioned him to the chair next to Jilo’s, and then pulled out the remaining chair for myself. I said nothing, just arched my eyebrows as a sign he should continue. He shifted in his seat, his legs a bit too long not to bump into the bottom of the table as he did so. “Miss Taylor—Mercy,” he corrected himself, “were you by any chance down by the river last night? Maybe out near Elba Island Road?”

I shook my head, relieved that the God’s honest truth would serve me well this time. “No, nowhere near it. Why do you ask?”

“All right,” he responded without answering my question. “Is Mrs. Weber home, by any chance?”

“No, not right now. Aunt Ellen’s probably out exercising or maybe at City Market,” I said, and Adam wrinkled his brow. “She’s reopening her flower shop.”

“Ah, good for her,” he said.

“Yeah, I think it really is, although right now she’s her own biggest client given all the bouquets she’s planning for her wedding to Tucker.”

“Do y’all have any idea where she spent the night? Do you know if she might have been out with Mr. Perry?”

“That’s exceedingly possible,” Iris said, “but not certain. She told me Tucker had unexpected business to attend to in Atlanta, and she didn’t know if he’d make it in time for the menu sampling she’d arranged for their wedding reception.”

“And did this upset her?” Adam asked.

A pinched smile formed on Iris’s lips. “Inconvenienced, yes. Upset, no. Adam, perhaps you should tell us what this is all about.”

“All right,” Cook said. “Mr. Perry’s boat ran itself ashore about an hour ago out near the bend by Falligant Avenue. A couple of kids spotted it and went to take a look.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Iris said and laughed. I sensed her relief that this visit wasn’t connected to the grisly discovery we had made at the old hospital. “So Tucker failed to secure his boat, and some teenagers took it for a joyride. Probably the same kids who reported it.”

“No,” Adam said. “I have reason to believe that’s not the case.” He looked at me. “You’ve been less than supportive about Ellen and Tucker’s marriage, haven’t you?”

“Listen,” I said. “I have accepted his relationship with Ellen. I have far too much going on in my own life to run around committing acts of theft and petty vandalism. You can assure Tucker I didn’t have anything to do with it.” I shook my head in disbelief.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” Cook responded. “The boat wasn’t empty. Mr. Perry was found inside. I’m afraid he’s dead.”

I jumped. I watched as Iris turned gray and rocked a little from the shock. Jilo reached out and took her hand. “I’m sorry to hear that,” I said, although the truth was I felt more sorry for Ellen than for Tucker. Guiltily I wondered how Tucker’s demise would affect Peter’s fledgling business.

“That sounds very close to sincere,” Cook said. I suddenly realized we had gone back to Cook and Miss Taylor. “I always got the feeling that you didn’t care much for Perry.”

“Well, sure I never liked the guy much, but . . . well, I’m still sorry. I didn’t wish him any harm. Ellen’s going to be devastated.” I wondered if she could find the strength to make it past another tragedy. “What happened to him?”

“I’m not at liberty to share the exact details with you as yet.” He paused, fixing me firmly in his gaze. “But we are treating the death as suspicious, in a large degree because it bears some striking similarities to another case we’ve seen recently. Another death to which you, Miss Taylor, have a connection, albeit tangential.”

I blanched. I was happy that I had been sitting, because otherwise I might have keeled over. Jilo rose to my defense. “If you gonna go about tryin’ to hang this on anybody who disliked that smarmy son of a bitch, you should be puttin’ Jilo on that list long before any of the Taylors. That jackass been gratin’ Jilo’s last nerve since he turned nineteen.”

“I wouldn’t have thought so right off the bat, Mother,” Cook said, a cool smile forming on his lips, “but finding y’all here like this, looking so close and cozy, I will very much take that under consideration.” He pushed himself away from the table and nodded once at the three of us. “Mother, Martell,” he said in farewell. “Miss Taylor, you tell Ellen to give me a call when she gets in, okay? It’ll save me the trouble of having to hunt her down.” He nodded once more and exited through the back, leaving the door open behind him.

I could hear Jilo’s teeth grinding together. “Okay, girl,” she said with a final clack. “Jilo think she wrong yesterday. This ain’t about her. This about you. You know you can count on Jilo, even though she ain’t sure she can do you much good no more. She got to think about her grandbaby here,” she said, nodding her head at Martell. He started to protest, but she held up a finger in his face, effectively silencing him. “Jilo got people over on Sapelo. She gonna take the boy there, make sure he safe. They still things you gotta know, and Jilo tell you once she had a chance to get a bit of rest herself. All that gonna have to wait fo’ now. If you need her, she come running, but she can’t help you or your family no more with getting back that sister of yo’s. Jilo thinkin’ they somebody who jus’ plain don’ want that girl brung back.” She faced Martell. “You help Gramma up,” she said. He did as she told him without protest. “Thank you for your hospitality, Miss Iris.”

“Of course, dear. You are always welcome here. Both of you.”

“Martell.” Jilo lifted her arm. He took ahold of it and maneuvered her slowly toward the door. “You take care, girl,” she said, looking over her shoulder at me.

“Jilo,” I called, and she stopped and turned toward me. “The spell. The one you worked for Tucker. What did you do for him?”

“Jilo don’t guess it matter much now.” She reached out and pushed gently past her grandson. “Fool came to Jilo and said he wanted to do right by your auntie. Spell he asked for would make sure he see her face every time he was thinking about cheatin’ on her.”

She turned and shuffled through the door. Martell reached back and closed it firmly after them. I hung my head between my hands and began to cry. I had been so terribly, terribly wrong.

Iris leaned over me and hugged me. “I need to track down Oliver and let him know,” she said. Oliver had made himself scarce this morning. I reckoned he hadn’t relished the idea of breakfast with Jilo. “Are you going to be okay?”

Before I could answer, the door opened and Ellen entered, beaming sunshine and happiness as she clutched a bouquet of flowers. “Am I hallucinating,” she said as she shut the door behind her, “or did I just witness Mother Jilo Wills leaving this very house?”

“No,” Iris said, “your eyes are not deceiving you. Please.” She tapped the chair next to mine. “Come and sit down.”

“Well, then, I guess this is a day of miracles all around.” Ellen said, ignoring Iris’s request. “First of all,” she said, handing the flowers over to Iris, “I ran into the delivery boy on the way in, and these are for you. A rather more fandango combination than I will be sending out once my shop is open, but . . .” She stopped herself. “Expressive.” She turned quickly toward me and her eyes flashed wide. “I’ll bet you anything they are from that young buck she danced with at the wake.” She slapped at my hand and giggled like a schoolgirl. “Iris has a boyfriend,” she sang out. She winked at me, but then the smile fell from her face. “Sugar, what is wrong? Aren’t you feeling well this morning?” She reached out to touch me, but read something in my eyes. Her hand stopped a little short.

“Ellen,” Iris said.

Ellen ignored Iris’s tone and forced a smile back to her lips. The smile did not reach her eyes. “It is such a beautiful morning out there. You just need to get out of this house and . . .”

Iris and I looked at each other, neither of us sure of what to do. “Aunt Ellen,” I said, “you should listen . . .”

“No,” she said, shaking her head once and turning away. She had sensed that we had bad news. I could see she was shutting down, pulling away, trying somehow to keep the moment from happening.

Iris reached out and grabbed Ellen’s hand before she could make her escape. Ellen turned back to face her sister. “Detective Cook came by a little while ago. I’m afraid there’s been a mishap . . .”

“A mishap . . .” Ellen echoed, the color leaving her face as she pulled her hand away.

“I’m sorry, Ellie, but Tucker, he’s dead.”

Ellen’s knees started to give at the word.

“Maybe you should sit?” I asked, rising myself.

“No. No. No,” she said, shaking her head. “This cannot be happening. This cannot be happening again.” She pulled her arms in around herself. “Not again, not again,” she kept repeating. I was reaching to put my arms around her when the bouquet on the table caught my eye. The flowers had all withered away.

TWENTY-TWO

At Ellen’s insistence, Iris drove her to meet with Detective Cook. I stood in the kitchen, staring out after their car and trying to take it all in. The air in the house felt thick with tension, so after a few moments I went out to the garden. I found a place at the table and first rested my chin on my hands, then leaned back, placing my right hand as a protective barrier between Colin and the world around us. I couldn’t believe Tucker Perry was dead.

I tried Peter’s number for the third time, but it went straight to voicemail again. I hoped to catch him before he heard from someone else. I texted him, telling him to call me.

Adam had intimated that Tucker’s death seemed somehow similar to Peadar’s. I could only surmise that meant Tucker had been left with a hole punched through him. Tucker had without doubt made plenty of enemies over the years, but how many of them had access, natural or borrowed, to magic? And why was his murder made to look like the accidental harm I caused Peadar’s body? Was the intention to implicate me or just toy with me? Who might have connected the dots between me and the body left at the old powder magazine?

Ryder’s face, twisted in rage, rose up in my thoughts. I’d humiliated him and cost him an appendage. On top of that, he probably blamed me for what he’d done to Birdy. Could he be trying to seek revenge? I’d assumed he’d arrived in Savannah after Peadar’s death, but he’d been awfully proud about his ability to follow me around without attracting my notice. Maybe he’d been here early enough to witness what had happened at the powder magazine?

I needed to find out just when Claire had contacted Ryder. I reached for my phone and almost clicked on her number, but was derailed by the thought that Ryder had been granted the powers of a collector by a witch. A real witch. And there were so many witches who had been unhappy to see me chosen as anchor. If I were somehow Ryder’s true target, there was any number of witches, half of them from my own extended family, who might have sent a collector to do their dirty work for them. Maybe Claire had just been a puppet? Had she somehow been influenced to contact Ryder? Had her distrust of Emmet been fed by magical means? I hated myself for making Tucker’s death, Ellen’s tragedy, all about me, but I suspected due to the circumstances, it might actually be all about me.

My left hand sought out the locket my mother had given me, pulling it out from beneath my shirt. The feel of it caused my analytic mind to switch off and my emotions to take over. I knew I had to be strong for Ellen, but I was deeply afraid. I craved my mother’s comfort and wanted the reassurance of her scent, her embrace, but I hadn’t even heard from her since she’d spoken to me through a tourist’s borrowed mouth outside St. John’s. I loosed the locket’s clasp, wanting to take a little comfort in the baby pictures of myself and my sister.

The locket popped open, but to my surprise, it did not hold the same pictures I’d seen before. Maisie’s had been replaced with the photo of a man. Confident blue eyes beneath a shock of blond hair. Lean face with sensuous lips and a dimpled chin. He looked familiar, but I couldn’t place him. The picture that had replaced my own I immediately recognized as a miniature version of the photo Ellen had given me of Erik’s grandmother, my own great-grandmother, Maria.

Using my nail, I carefully peeled out the man’s photo. It came out of the locket with minimal effort, but nearly fluttered past my hand to the ground. I reached out and snatched it up. The man bore a certain undeniable resemblance to Erik, although I remembered my uncle, my
father
, as being more robust, more virile than the young man in the all-too-small oval. Carefully, I turned it over in my palm. The ink on the back had blurred and faded with age, and the script was painfully cramped and foreign-looking, but I could still make out a word, a name: Careu. I returned the picture and closed the locket. Grabbing my phone, I did a quick search on the name. The results came back with a definition in Romanian (“square”), and several options for health care, but nothing that provided any insight.

The skin on the back of my neck began to tingle. Sensing that someone was watching me, I turned, expecting to find Emmet. “Your mother has requested that you come with me.” The words came from my mother’s driver, the man I’d only seen for a few moments a couple of weeks ago. Now he stood on the other side of the gate that opened onto our garden. This time, maybe because it was the first chance I’d had to observe him in full sunlight, I realized something was off. His complexion was gray and waxy in appearance, and the muscles in his jaw didn’t seem to move enough to produce the words he said. It seemed almost as if someone was projecting words through him. The out-of-sync way his lips moved, combined with the synchronicity of his arrival and my thoughts about my mother, prickled my intuition.

I had been waiting, day after day, for word from my mother. I had heard nothing from her since the cathedral, and now her driver was showing up right after news had broken about Tucker’s death. As badly as I wanted to see my mother, I didn’t feel right about the situation. I didn’t like her driver’s vibe. I didn’t like the way she’d implied that my aunts had made her desert Maisie and me but refused to divulge any details. Iris and Ellen and, to a lesser degree, Oliver, had taken care of me my entire life. When it came right down to it, I didn’t know my mother. Besides, I’d grown wary of getting into limos alone after the last spin around town I’d taken in one.

“I tell you what; I need a few minutes to get ready. You give me the address, and I’ll meet her there.” He stayed where he was by the gate, not stirring. My phone began to ring. No number showed, but I answered anyway. I could use this as an opportunity to create a cover story for why I couldn’t go with the driver.

“Please get in the car with Parsons before the family comes home,” my mother’s voice commanded. “You aren’t safe there, darling girl. Let Parsons bring you to me. Please come.” The phone clicked off at the same moment the driver reached over and unlatched the gate.

An unexpected arrival. An ambiguous threat implying that the people who had raised me might want to harm me. Neither of those things felt right. On top of it all, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this Parsons was being held up by invisible strings, and should they be cut, he’d fall immobile to the ground. I wondered if my mother herself was the puppeteer, using Parsons much as she had controlled the tourist outside the cathedral. Still, my need to see my mother and get some answers trumped my inhibitions, so I did as she told me.

The drive led us out of Savannah proper, and I squirmed as we passed the old powder magazine on Ogeechee, the memory of my last visit there making it impossible for me to take an easy breath until we entered Richmond Hill, where Ogeechee changes into the Ocean Highway. Richmond Hill came and went. We passed a small graveyard to my right, and shortly afterward, we turned off the highway and entered into a maze of country roads, more of them gravel than not.

I felt a bit claustrophobic behind the tinted glass. I pressed the window button and was relieved that it opened, relieved that at least something in this world remained under my control. Dusty, dry air hit me. Outside the limo’s arctic twilight, a fine early fall day was taking place. The blue sky and warm air worked together to help unwind some of my tension. I hung my hand out the window, enjoying the feeling of the air rushing around me. It reminded me of Iris, and how she could use the air currents to fly. I was more than a little disappointed that that particular trick didn’t seem to be in my repertoire. If I could let myself be taken and carried by the wind, I’d probably never come down. I couldn’t understand how Iris could have voluntarily put that ability on hold during her entire marriage to Connor. He had been weak but extremely prideful, and Iris had managed his resentments by dumbing down her abilities.

One thought of Connor led to another, and my blood began to boil as I considered the way he’d planned to let Ginny’s house burn down around me. Even though the son of a bitch had believed himself to be my father, he’d been ready to kill me to get his hands on a little more power. I trusted that Oliver would dispose of the spirit trap in a way that would free us from Connor for good. I looked down and realized that blue sparks had begun to form on my fingertips, my magic ready to strike out and protect me from a danger that was no longer there. I closed my eyes and leaned my face into the breeze, letting it calm me. The car hit a rough patch in the road, jarring me back to attentiveness. That’s when I realized that I could be heading into another, very similar confrontation right now. As badly as I wanted to trust my mother, experience had shown me the importance of remaining vigilant. I wanted to believe she wouldn’t expose me to danger, but only a little over three months ago, my own sister had turned me over to a boo hag for sacrifice. If it weren’t for the betrayals I’d suffered at the hands of my uncle and my sister, I would never have entertained my mother’s insinuation against my aunts and uncle. Maisie and Connor had both betrayed me, though, so I needed to hear my mother out. I was running a little low on trust all the way round right now.

We slowed as we approached a private drive, framed by stone gates and canopied by parallel rows of ancient live oaks. The driver eased between the gates, turning off the rough public road and onto the newly paved roadway. The smell of creosote perfumed the air. I leaned out of the car to get a better view of the house—no, mansion—at the end of the lane. The words “decrepit grandeur” came to mind as we came nearer. It was a fine old house. Georgian, with a nearly square base, stretched into a rectangle by the addition of a wide porch at both the entrance and above that, on the second floor. Four windows down, four windows up, with a door dividing each row. Six Doric pillars, obviously intended more as decoration than support, stood guard, wearing their badly battered and peeling coat of white. Various pieces of construction equipment staged around the house promised that better days would be coming. In front of the house, the straight drive intersected with an oval. The fresh soil in the oval’s center was clearly destined to provide nourishment for flowers, perhaps a young magnolia? Was this to be my mother’s house? Had she truly come home?

The car came to a full stop, and I swung my door open and hopped out before the driver could reach it. “You should have allowed me to assist you, miss,” he said, the words sounding again as if he’d swallowed someone else’s phone. I gave a weak smile in answer, and let him push the door closed. I took a few steps back, away from the house, so that I could take in the full effect. I backed up without looking behind me and bumped into a sawhorse, surrounded by very fresh sawdust. My eyes had started back to the house when they got stuck on a name stenciled on the sawhorse. “Tierney Construction” leapt out at me, and I swung around surveying the rest of the equipment that had been left in place. Everything that wasn’t large enough to have been rented had Peter’s name stenciled or otherwise inscribed on it. The unexpected connection between my mother and my fiancé didn’t sit right. My instincts had kicked in again, doing their best to warn me away. Something was not right.

“Mercy,” my mother’s voice called to me from the porch. “Come in,” she said, and stood there waiting at the top of the steps, her arms wide-open for an embrace. As confused as I felt, the sight of her buried my apprehensions. I wanted so badly to believe in her. I couldn’t resist it. I ignored the pavement and took a straight line across the oval’s unplanted garden. “Careful, careful,” my mother called out, laughing.

I flew up the steps and into her arms, spinning her around. The joy was undeniable until it up and winged away when my eyes landed on the house’s black-and-red door. “Tillandsia,” I whispered into her ear.

She pushed her way free of my weakening embrace. “Yes, my darling girl, Tillandsia.” She took me by one hand, and with the other, turned the knob on the very door that I had seen in my vision. The improbable hope that Maisie would be standing there, safe on the other side of the door, flooded through me, but when the door creaked open, it revealed nothing but a freshly sanded wood floor and two comfortable and modern armchairs that looked hopelessly lost in this enormous space. As my eyes traced the lines of the entranceway, I wondered what furniture could possibly be consequential enough not to be dwarfed by such a setting.

The area in front of me was immense and hexagonal. A dome skylight, which had not been visible from the house’s exterior, hovered above it. A set of stairs to my right carried on past the second floor to a gallery, which probably allowed a 360-degree view of the surrounding landscape, thanks to the dome. I realized the Georgian exterior was merely a façade. Symmetry played a very small part in the house’s interior. My mother closed the door behind us and took her place in one of the easy chairs. “Spectacular, isn’t it?”

“Yes. From the outside, I would have never guessed.”

“I’m afraid there isn’t much more to show you yet. The entrance here is the most complete portion. All the same, your fiancé’s crew is doing a wonderful job.”