The Void (Witching Savannah Book 3) (20 page)

“That isn’t a bad idea,” Oliver said.

“Of course, I’ll stay there with him. Perhaps in time I can reach him—”

“Don’t be absurd.” Iris cut her off. “That is plain foolish talk. We are not going to allow you to sacrifice your life to that boy’s rehabilitation.”

Maisie folded her hands on the table. “He’s been damaged by those who would end the line.” Maisie’s eyes moved from one of us to another. “I have been damaged by those who would preserve it.”

“No, honey,” Ellen said, leaning in toward Maisie. “You are nothing like Josef. Nothing at all.”

“Nothing?” Maisie asked, but it was to me she addressed the question. “It’s true Josef takes pleasure in killing, but I could end Josef right now and not lose a moment’s peace.” She turned to Iris. “Am I really to live the rest of my life being locked in my room to prevent me from doing harm?” Then to Ellen. “I know you don’t want to see me as being like Josef, but honestly, Aunt Ellen, to me he is the truest of mirrors. Perhaps I can help him. Perhaps I can help myself.” She looked to Oliver. “Uncle Oliver, you understand, I know you do.” Her comment struck me as being a shade cryptic, but I’d process that one later. “Josef may be my only true shot at redemption.”

Hot tears burst from Oliver’s eyes. “I understand, sweetie. I do.”

“How could you agree to this?” Iris turned on her brother.

“Because I don’t really care what we do with the boy. Kill him. Keep him. I do not care. But I do care about our Maisie here, and I just realized how inhumanely we have been treating her. She isn’t a little girl we can warn not to run with scissors. She’s a grown woman. A grown woman who has done horrible things. Things, thank God almighty, it is in her soul to regret.” He paused and looked at Maisie. “That, my girl, is how you differ from Josef.”

“He’s right, Iris,” Ellen said calmly. “We have been unable fully to embrace Maisie. We may not have served her with the death sentence, but we have locked her up without hope for parole.” Ellen turned to Maisie. “I’m sorry. I do love you so very much. If you think doing this might bring you peace, help you find some form of resolution, then I too support you . . .” Her voice broke, and she choked back a sob. “Just promise me you won’t stay away forever.”

Maisie reached across the table to take Ellen’s hand. “I’ll try.”

“What is happening here?” Iris said, fear and anger taking her over.

Oliver stood and circled behind Maisie. He placed his hand on her shoulders. “What’s happening here is our little girl has grown up, and we’ve got to let her go.”

“No,” Iris said, her tone firm, resolute, unyielding. She blinked. “She may be grown, but she is still my baby.” Iris looked to me for support. “You both are. I raised you. You’re mine.”

I drew a breath, fighting the emotions that threatened to overwhelm me. “And we always will be, but Maisie is right. We owe Maisie her freedom. She deserves a chance to become the person she would have been if the dispute over the line hadn’t robbed her of the life she could have had.” I turned to Maisie, and lost all control. “I know I’ve got to let you go, but I don’t think my heart can take another loss right now. If you really need to do this, I won’t stand in your way, but don’t you dare say good-bye.” I forced my chair back from the table and stood. I walked to the door, and put my hand on the handle. I couldn’t look back or I would capture her, bind her to this house forever so she could never leave me. “And by God, you’d better come back to us or I will find you and drag you back . . . again.”

“I’m counting on that,” Maisie said.

“I love you,” I said and yanked the door open.

“I love you too.” Her words found me as I shut the door behind me.

TWENTY-SIX

I started walking in my fastest waddle toward the river. I had to put some space between myself and the realization that I had, once again, lost my sister. So many holes had formed in my heart, I could almost hear the wind whistling through it.

As a reflex, I went out into Savannah, my hometown, trying not to think how the city had been changed for me. So many parts of my city had come to seem polluted. I’d grown up playing in Oglethorpe Park. Now were I to walk its paths, I would either think of Gudrun, or feel the loss of Peter eating away at my heart. Looking across at the Candler Oak, I would sense if not see the remnants of the spell my grandfather had placed there to protect Savannah from the child-murdering demon Barron. Of course now, rather than feeling proud of Granddad, I would be left to wonder how he could have deserted his first family.

The good people of Savannah, the same I’d grown up with, befriended, loved, and tried to help whenever I could, they were rejecting me now my powers had come to me. The change in their attitude was not overt, but I still felt a chill in my heart as true friendship turned to mere politeness. All the same it hurt like hell to be rejected by the people of the city I loved, no matter how polite they were when building the walls between us. I knew the change wasn’t their fault; regular folk just kept witches at an arm’s length. Maybe this aversion on the part of the everyday Joe to those of us who had magic written in our very DNA had developed as a defense.

I realized there wasn’t a single sidewalk in this city I hadn’t walked a rut in. For the first time in my life, I began to see Savannah as the small town it was. A small town with no room for the outsider, even if that outsider had been born and raised here.

The only time I’d ever really been more than a stone’s throw from it was when I visited Oliver in San Francisco after I’d graduated high school. After growing up in the low country, the hills amazed me. I loved the city and its vibrancy. The way it gravitated toward the new, despite its Victorian façade. Still, at that point, I couldn’t imagine anywhere as home but Savannah. Now I wished I had traveled more. Gone to New York and Paris. But not even a year ago, it seemed like I had all the time in the world to see the world.

Was this how it had been for Ginny? Had the feeling I had right now been the same seed that grew into a harvest of bitterness in her heart? Had she felt trapped, regretful? Had the response of Savannah to her power caused her to come to feel like an unwanted guest at the party? I would not end up like she had, though. I had love in my life. I had someone to live for. Someone who in the end was far more important to me than I was even to myself. I may have lost my husband, but I still had my son, and I forced myself to hold on to the hope that nothing would take him away.

I would have to avoid passing directly in front of the Cotton Exchange. Now, the image of my mother’s torso bound to Old Rex would be forever burned into my mind’s eye. I could swing wide and head down East Broad past the Pirates’ House. I ran inventory of recent trauma. No, the Pirates’ House was still good. Nothing heartbreaking or terrifying had occurred there. Yet.

I could avoid the Exchange area entirely by cutting east down Bay. I stopped dead in my tracks. The green space in front of the exchange was called “Emmet Park.” I couldn’t believe I’d never before made the connection, but another realization piggybacked on that thought. I sighed and let my head fall forward. “You’ve been doing a good job hiding, but I know you’re here. You might as well go on and show yourself.”

The thin air before me opened like an envelope and out stepped my nearly seven-foot friend. “I’ve had to work hard,” Emmet said, “to keep up with your own magical growth spurts. It appears you have surpassed my skills.” He seemed both proud and disappointed in the same moment, never fearing even for a split second I’d lay into him. How many times had we had the talk about stalking?

Another day, a lifetime ago, I would have let him have it with both barrels. Today, I was glad to see his face. “Yes, your creepy habit no longer goes unnoticed.” Even my sarcasm had lost its edge. Only when I took his arm did he seem in the least bit unsure of himself. “Walk me to the water?”

He looked down at me, his dark eyes the promise of a well-needed respite, his strong arm a promise of shelter. “Of course. It would be my pleasure.”

I found myself leaning on his arm for support, taking more comfort, no, more pleasure from his strong and solid body than a married woman—for I still felt married—should. People would talk if they saw us. People would talk if they still even remembered Peter, that is. His Fae mother implied that as Peter reintegrated into his rightful world, he would be disentangled from our reality, every memory of his existence eventually erased from this world. How would it work, this forgetting? Would it roll back like the reverse of a pebble dropping into a pond, his memory receding first from those who knew him least, working its way back to the center, to those who loved him most? Would I be the last person on earth who remembered Peter Tierney had ever existed? Had Peter already forgotten me?

“We will work together to preserve his memory. For the boy.”

I jolted to a stop. Emmet might just end up catching an earful today anyway.

“Too intrusive?” he asked.

I realized from his tone this was an actual question, not sarcasm. “Yes. Way too.”

“I’m sorry.” He began walking again, pulling me along. I didn’t resist.

“How could you read me so easily?”

This time it was his turn to stop dead. He looked at me with wide eyes and an open mouth. “You don’t realize you are broadcasting your thoughts?” He looked me up and down. “Your emotions are wafting off you. Even the stray dogs are crossing the street to stay out of your path.”

“Shut up and walk.”

He did as he was told, for about four and a half steps, then he started talking again. “Colin will know of his father. He will be proud of who Peter was. We will tell him Peter loved the two of you very much, but the pull of his natural world was too strong. We—”

“I’m not sure what all this ‘we’ is about, Emmet. There is no ‘we.’ ”

He looked down at me, and this time his face betrayed an absolute conviction. “I, of course, will raise the child as my own. I will be a father to Colin.”

“I don’t remember asking you.” I didn’t know how to react, how to feel. I was touched by his devotion, angered by his sense of proprietorship, annoyed by his poor timing, shamed by how badly I wanted to throw myself into his arms, frustrated by having to choke back the urge to slap him cross-eyed.

He stopped again. I realized I was not going to be seeing the river today. “It wasn’t necessary for you to ask me. I already love the child as my own, and you know I love you.”

“Emmet,” I said, his name carrying the sound of my exasperation, “I am not ready to even consider moving on from Peter. You have to remember, it isn’t like I’ve lived years as a widow. I’ve only just lost my husband.”

“I’m well aware of that,” he said, and I was surprised to hear my vexation matched by his own. “But you have to remember I have waited for you my entire life.” I started to speak, but he held his finger up to my lips. “You don’t have to love me. I don’t expect you to lie with me. I just want you to allow me to act as your support. To fill the void that has been created in your and Colin’s life. I’ll make an excellent father.” He tapped his forehead with his finger. “I’ve got the experience of eight men and one Jewish mother filed away in here.” He was referring, of course, to the nine witches, including Rivkah, who had created the golem from driveway dirt. When the line’s power struck him and turned him into a real boy, he retained the memories of their life experiences.

I had come across the first stirrings as he rose from the earth. The sight of him had terrified me. Now he frightened me in a different way. I knew he was right. Colin couldn’t hope for a better father, other than his own, that is. But I wasn’t at all ready to entertain his plans. I pushed Emmet’s hand away. “I know you care. I do. But you can’t replace Peter.”

“I don’t want to replace Peter. I want to dedicate my life to preserving his memory. To raising his son. To cherishing the woman he too loved . . .”

“He’s forgotten me.” I began crying, and Emmet pulled me into his strong embrace. I let him. I let myself take comfort from him.

“He didn’t forget you.” Emmet stroked my hair. “Peter could never have forgotten you. His feelings, his memory, his history—everything was unwound. Peter not only lost you and Colin. He lost himself.” Emmet placed a gentle kiss on the top of my head. “Don’t blame him. Don’t resent him. I know he would never have left you if he had even the slightest choice in the matter.”

I drew in a breath, then sighed it out. I let his words soothe me, and I relaxed in his arms. I knew I could let myself go limp, but still I wouldn’t fall, because Emmet held me. “Peter would kill you if he saw you holding me like this.”

Emmet reached down and turned my face up to meet his. “No. Peter loved you. He truly loved you. I’m sure of that. Given the circumstances are what they are, your hotheaded fairy man would thank me.”

“I would only be using you, Emmet.” I tried to look away, but he wouldn’t let me.

“Then use me.”

“I care for you, I do . . .”

“You don’t have to love me. I’m not asking you to feel one way or another for me. I am only asking you to lean on me. Let me help you stand until you find the strength to stand on your own again.”

“What about when I do?” I searched his face for any sign of concern. I saw none. His black curls had grown back, and were threatening to fall over his eyes. “What if I don’t need you then?”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Mercy,” he said and pulled me down the sidewalk. “I’m a fabulous catch. You’ll come to your senses soon enough.”

I tugged on his arm, trying to slow our pace, but he didn’t let me. “I don’t want to hurt you, Emmet. I’m going through hell right now. I’ve lost so much.” I realized he didn’t even know yet about Maisie.

“I know,” he said, and at first I thought his comment was a validation. “About Maisie that is.” In spite of my appreciation for him, I reached up and slapped his shoulder. “Again, not my fault. I told you that you were broadcasting.”

I realized maybe he was right, so I let it go. “Your strength and your support are so tempting, but you deserve a woman who can truly love you.”

“Don’t worry about what I ‘deserve.’ I am willing to gamble that someday you might just return my feelings.”

“Or I might just end up putting you through hell.”

“I’ve already gone to hell and back for you. I’m not afraid of a second trip. Ugh . . .” He brushed his chest where my head had been. “Enough of these tears. You’ve gotten me all wet.” He winked at me and smiled, and even though it felt somehow adulterous, my heart responded, if only a little.

Emmet had once tried to convince me the line had created him for me. Could this be so? Had the line somehow known? Somehow anticipated my losing Peter and provided me with a soft place to land? Peter was gone. Forever. And all the tears in the world would not bring him back to us. The best I could hope for was to raise his son into a man he would have been proud of. The worry that Colin might never see the world tried to creep back up on me, but I refused it. I would put no energy into that fear, and every shred of my magic into making sure he would. I leaned my head into Emmet’s shoulder. “I’ll pay for the dry cleaning.” For an instant I allowed myself to imagine the life Emmet wanted us to share, and the knot that had formed in my core loosened. Maybe he was right.

I felt a tingle race down my spine, but I realized instantly that it had nothing to do with Emmet. A witch, a powerful one, was nearing. The tingle increased in intensity until I felt it buzzing through me from head to toe. Emmet spun me into a protective embrace, leaving me incapable of seeing anything past his shoulders. I heard the sound of a car pulling up next to us, and struggled to loosen Emmet’s grasp. It was like trying to pry open a vise. “Emmet,” I said, and his name worked like a charm; his arms remained wrapped around me, but loosened their hold enough that I could turn.

A limousine, the shade of a storm cloud about to burst, came to a stop beside us. I hated limos. Nothing good ever came from riding in limos. The dark rear window hummed as it opened. As the onyx glass slid down, the sight of incredibly pale skin and impossibly fair hair came into view. Horrible blank eyes reigned over an expressionless face.

“Fridtjof Lund,” I whispered.