The Void (Witching Savannah Book 3) (27 page)

“I’m sure. Everything here is in good hands.”

An arthritic hand hovers over the telephone receiver. Jilo has lifted it and returned it to its cradle ten times over. She’s an old woman, and she knows her end is near. Jilo grimaces. She doesn’t have time to pussyfoot around like this. She’s held on to her sister’s secret for years now, throwing all the hate she could find within herself against the Taylors. But then that fool Ginny went and got herself killed, and, well, somehow all the hate seems like too heavy of a burden to carry on her own.

She’s been watching the younger Taylors. Oh, sure, they’re snooty all right, but at the end of the day, they aren’t really bad people. And Jilo feels it in her aching bones: she has arrived at the end of the day.

She feels moved for reasons she can’t really understand to see to it that her sister’s children and grandchildren spend a bit of time getting to know the cracker side of their kin. Right now, she can’t remember why she ever felt otherwise. They might love each other, or they might wring each other’s necks, but that is none of her nevermind. They deserve the chance, regardless of the outcome. She stares at the avocado-green phone with its square of gray buttons. Finally she summons her determination and dials the number scrawled in pencil on the back of a used envelope. The dialed number begins ringing, and she very nearly hangs up, but a voice on the other end says, “Hello?”

Jilo hesitates. She can’t understand what is possessing her to do this, but doing this she is.

“Hello?” the voice on the other end says again.

“Hello. This is Jilo Wills. We have to talk.”

THIRTY-FIVE

Forsyth Park was nearly filled to capacity, but Iris and Ellen had claimed a spot for the family picnic in the shade of what had become known to the Taylor-Tierney clan as “the climbing tree.” Three blankets, six lawn chairs, and a touch of magic formed the boundary.

It would be a perfect Fourth. Mid-eighties, and for once a blessed streak of low humidity had claimed Savannah as its own. Ellen took off her sunglasses and placed them on top of her head. “I have to tell you, every time I look at that cooler, I think of Jilo.”

Iris smiled. “Hers was red. This one is blue,” she said, but seemed incapable of convincing herself. “No. I see what you mean. Who knows? Maybe it means somehow she is still here with us.”

“And ready to play referee just in case this little family reunion goes awry,” Ellen said and laughed. Then her expression softened, grew more serious. “Why do you think, after all those years of keeping Daddy’s other children a secret, she broke down and told us?”

Iris pulled one of the chairs closer. “I don’t know. She and Ginny squabbled so for decades, even though sometimes I swear those two were flip sides of the same coin. I think Ginny’s death made her realize her own mortality. Maybe she just wanted to make some form of amends.”

“Maybe she felt guilt for having cozied up to the demon that killed Ginny.”

“Possibly, but I think it went deeper than that. Those two old girls shared a connection. I can’t even hazard a guess what it was, but I think with Ginny gone, the dam Jilo had built broke. She chose to clean up her side of the street before she passed on herself.”

“Are you nervous about meeting them?”

“Frankly, yes. If the rest of them are anything like Jessamine, well, then we’ve got our work cut out for us.” Iris sighed. “A lot has changed since Ginny’s passing.”

It had been a little over two years since what witches had come to call the “Great Shift” occurred on the heels of Ginny’s death. Somehow her demise had triggered an end of an era, no, the end of an epoch. The line still stood, that life on earth as we knew it continued was testimony enough to that fact, but the line had broken free from its anchors, seemingly of its own will. The historians of the line, witches like Iris herself, had only found one other similar shift such as this. The last was when the line was decoupled from the great monuments that had served as its original anchors, and was bound instead to the living anchors who had shouldered the burden of the line for millennia. That first shift had been debated, voted on, and carefully orchestrated. This change had occurred in a blink of an eye without a soul’s having seen it coming.

“Everyone’s magic is crazy now,” Ellen said. “Witches who were once quite capable can now barely bend a spoon with both hands, and others who’d been perfectly average are accidently blowing doors off their cabinets.”

“We are still in a period of adjustment, but in the end we will adjust.” Iris felt something tickle her ear, and she swatted, thinking a bug had landed on her. “I wonder if the old rumor was true after all?”

“Which old rumor?” Ellen asked and laughed. “I’ve lost count.”

Ellen was right. If Iris chose to apply herself, she could collect a canon of purported truths and old witches’ tales concerning the line. Maybe with the Great Shift, she ought to do just that. Save the stories for posterity. “We’ve always been told that witches get our power from the line. The rumor is that the exact opposite is true. That the anchors used the line to control all magic and parcel it out in the way they saw fit. Maybe the line has rebalanced things, or even left us capable of what we naturally should be without the help or drag of others.”

Everyone was indeed out of sorts, but the only ones who seemed to have suffered any real ill effect had been the former anchors themselves. Their magic had been cut from them, as cleanly as if the line itself had wielded the scalpel. Both the united and the rebel families had been affected. Even the great Gudrun had not escaped the fate. She had sent a distress cry to the other anchors to save her in the moments before the dimension to which she had been exiled folded in on itself and disappeared for what might well be forever.

“I don’t know if I like the sound of that.” Ellen poured a glass of lemonade and offered it to her sister. “Sounds a bit too much like what the rebel families wanted. You know, consolidate the power among the strong, crush the weak.”

“Good heavens, Ellie,” Iris said, taking the sweating plastic glass. “There is plenty of room between absolute magical communism and offering the world up as tribute to the rapacity of the old ones. I’m not saying I have any answers. I just think we witches have let the radicals do most of our thinking and all of the talking for us for far too long.” Ellen poured herself a glass of lemonade. Her expression told Iris her sister was not convinced. “Now the volume has been turned down on the extremists, maybe those of us with common sense can begin to carry on a conversation. We may get nowhere, but it’s been too long since we’ve tried talking. Maybe the young ones from the rebel families don’t want their home destroyed any more than we do.”

“Why,” Ellen asked, “do you think witches’ connection to the line ended with Ginny?”

“I don’t know.” Iris fanned her imagined bug away once more. “Maybe the line thought she was somehow special. I fear in my heart of hearts we misjudged the woman.”

“Tomorrow, I’ll make up a nice bouquet, and we’ll head over to Greenwich to visit her.”

“Yes,” Iris concurred. “Let’s do that.”

Ellen drew her knees up and wrapped her arms around them. Iris had to smile as something about the pose stripped decades away, leaving Ellen looking once again like a young girl. Still, Ellen’s face clouded over with concern. “A lot of folk are frightened that even though the old ones remain banished, many lesser evils may filter through.”

“Don’t worry, sweetie. Even if it’s true, I’m sure it’s nothing we witches can’t handle.”

“But we aren’t exactly accustomed to managing these infestations on our own.”

“Then we will simply have to learn. I think for far too long we have forgotten the line is a security net, not a hammock. We are all going to have to toss in and do some work if we want to preserve our way of life.” Iris noticed movement in her peripheral vision and ducked just in time to miss being hit by a football.

Ellen stood and placed one hand on her hip. “Paul Edwin Weber, you and Martell be careful with that darned thing.”

“Sorry, Aunt Iris. Sorry, Mom,” Paul called and waved at them.

“Really, Ellen, you still speak to Paul as if he were a little boy. He’s getting married in two months.”

“Ugh. Please, do not remind me of that.”

“Ellen,” Iris said, her tone a warning. “She’s a lovely girl.”

“That she may be, but—”

“Sorry, Mrs. Weber,” Martell said, running over and scooping up the ball.

“Any news from Jessamine?” Iris asked.

“No, ma’am. She told me she was picking up the family at the airport at noon, and they are supposed to be here by twelve thirty. That’s the last I’ve heard from her.”

“By the way, how is your summer job with the police going?” Ellen asked. Iris knew her sister really did care about Martell, but she was sure the timing of the question had a lot more to do with avoiding the topic of Paul’s impending nuptials.

“Really well, thank you. I even got to go on a ride-along with Adam. I mean Detective Cook.”

“You are family, Martell,” Ellen said. “It’s okay for you to call him Adam.”

“But not to his face,” Iris said, rising from her chair. “Speak of the devil.”

Adam trudged along, struggling under the weight of an enormous wicker basket. “Heads up,” Martell called to Paul and threw him the football. He chased off toward Adam. “Here, let me help you with that,” he said and relieved Adam of his burden. The older man regarded the younger with a mixture of gratitude and hurt pride.

Iris jumped in to save Martell from the consequences of his good intentions. “Martell was telling us how much he enjoyed going out with you on a ride-along.”

Adam stopped and flashed her a look that said he knew what she was up to. “Yeah,” he said, patting Martell on his back. “He’s going to make a fine officer
after
he finishes his degree in criminal justice.”

“All right, all right, I get the message loud and clear,” Martell said and smiled at Adam. Martell idolized the detective. His expression gave that much away.

“Martell,” Paul called and held the ball aloft. Martell ran off in Paul’s direction, catching the ball as it came his way.

“So where is that handsome brother of ours?” Ellen asked. She was not about to discuss Paul’s wedding plans today; that was pretty clear.

“Dear Lord, do not get me started. I feel like I am living in the
Twilight Zone
.” He snorted. “Ponder this if you will. My soon-to-be husband is going to arrive late today as he and my ex-wife are busy planning a party for Jordan.”

“That’s right,” Iris said, grabbing Adam’s hand and shaking his arm. “He finishes his internship soon!”

Adam smiled proudly. “My son, the doctor.” His eyes narrowed and gleamed with mischief. “How about you, Ellen? Are we to have the pleasure of Tucker Perry’s company today?”

“Why yes, we just might. He’s got some deal cooking that he insisted couldn’t wait, but he promised he’d try to make it.” Ellen suddenly seemed to take offense. “Listen, I know you all don’t like Tucker—”

“We all like Tucker fine,” Iris said, “but you’d better warn him that if he lives up to his reputation and breaks your heart, I
will
turn him into a toad.”

Ellen looked at her sister with a deadpan face. “If Tucker breaks my heart, I will turn him into a toad without your help, thank you.”

“Note to self,” Adam said. “Never piss off a Taylor.”

“That is good counsel to keep, Detective,” Iris said, feeling happy. No, she didn’t have a special man in her life. Not even a scalawag like Tucker. But she wasn’t alone, and she was a very happy woman. She said a silent prayer of thanks for the day she found the strength to send Connor packing. She’d heard he’d remarried. For the fourth time. This time a witch who lived outside Tulsa. Iris wished Connor all the happiness he deserved.

All thoughts of Connor vanished as she caught sight of a certain redheaded toddler stumbling along, one hand holding on to his mother, the other balled up and stuffed in his mouth. “Colin,” Iris said and held her arms open. Maisie released him, and the boy carried on with faltering yet functional steps until he collapsed in his great-aunt’s loving embrace. Peter followed behind, weighted down like a pack mule with his son’s accoutrements. “Happy Fourth,” he said, unburdening himself first of a highchair, then of a diaper bag.

“Happy Fourth, sweetie,” Ellen said, then went up on her toes to place a kiss on his cheek.

“Mom and Dad will be here in a bit. They told me to warn you they can’t stay long.”

“We understand,” Iris said and scooped little Colin up in her arms. “After Saint Paddy’s and Christmas, this is the bar’s biggest day.”

“Listen, I hate to bring this up,” Peter said as he and Maisie exchanged a nervous glance, “but will Emmet be here today?”

“We did invite him. We felt a duty to,” Iris said, realizing the Great Shift did perhaps claim one last victim: the golem that had been created to attend the drawing of the lots that would determine Ginny’s replacement. Something had occurred during the change that left him a living being. A man in his own right.

“Listen,” Peter said. “I don’t know why. Heck, I don’t think Mom even knows for sure herself, but she just plain does not like that guy. If he does show up . . .”

“We’ll make sure to keep them separated.”

“I don’t think we have anything to worry about,” Ellen said, her attention suddenly becoming the sole possession of Colin. “No we don’t. No we don’t,” she cooed at the boy, whose face lit up at her attention. “The last several weeks, Emmet’s taken to spending most of his time at Bonaventure. I don’t know what it is about the place that attracts him so, but I’ve followed him there a couple of times.”

“Is he visiting the graves, or what?” Maisie asked.

“Not graves, just one particular one. He spends hours sitting next to the statue of Corinne Lawton. As far as I can tell, he goes there every day and . . .” Ellen hesitated, as if she were wondering if she should go on.

“And what?” Adam asked, his ears pricking up at the mention of an unsolved mystery.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I mean, it felt wrong for me to be there. Spying on him. I should never have said anything.”

“But now you have,” Iris prompted, “so spit it out.”

Ellen shifted Colin to her hip and began to bounce him. “Emmet sits there talking to someone.”

“That’s kind of crazy,” Peter said.

“No, what’s crazy is I could have sworn I heard someone answer him.” The group fell silent, each looking from one to the other until all eyes fell again on Ellen. “I don’t know,” she said again and shrugged.

Colin suddenly warbled out some very happy if indiscernible sounds. His face lit up, and he pointed at the climbing tree. “What are you looking at, little man?” Ellen took the hand he had pointed with in her own, giving it several rapid-fire kisses. He laughed. In the next instant, Colin’s attention was captured by the sound of a bicycle’s bell.