Jilo (Witching Savannah #4)(24)
“My Klan brethren were ignorant of my true aim, but they were all too happy to participate in the ceremony. Men like that are best kept ignorant. Makes it much easier to turn their hate toward your own purpose. They only ask that you let them believe the pallor of their unwashed skin is all they need to be worthwhile. You know,” he said, placing his hand under his chin, “most of the men who fought and died to preserve the institution of slavery never owned a slave. Never would, even if the North had been turned back. I believe those fellows were fighting for the right to feel superior to someone. The fools never realized they shared the same masters you colored did, only we didn’t even have to feed them.” He nodded his head as he spoke, seemingly in agreement with his own idea.
He lowered his voice and leaned in to take her hand, acting as if there should be a shared sympathy between them. She snatched it from his grasp. The look he gave her was that of an adult weary of dealing with a recalcitrant child. “If Tuesday hadn’t lied, if it were true you had no magic, then this would all be settled. Sure, you would have faced some anguish upon waking to learn the child was gone, but her fate would have remained a mystery. Each night, you could have laid your head on your pillow without the burden of involvement. But as with Eve, your rebellious nature has cost you your right to innocence. Now, I’m afraid the choice falls to you.”
Maguire reached back and motioned to Sterling. “The satchel. The satchel,” he said again, never looking at his son, merely wagging the fingers on his upturned hand until Sterling delivered the black leather bag. Maguire’s knuckles turned white as he set the bag on the plaid blanket covering his lap.
He released the handle and unzipped the bag. “If it hadn’t taken so long to track down my old friend here, we would have had this conversation much sooner.” He reached his hand into the opening and pulled out an odd-shaped container. May’s soul chilled at the mere sight of it. “Alabaster,” he said, “very cool to the touch. It belies the fire contained within.” May noticed some kind of lettering had been carved onto the bottle. At least she thought they were letters. Might be they were just pictures. One looked like an arrow.
“This type of ancient jar is what lies behind the stories of genies trapped in bottles,” Maguire said, lifting it up in a quivering hand. “It does contain a sort of djinn. A demon, if you will. Conjured into this world by none other than Gilles de Rais himself.” He returned the jar to the bag. “Sterling,” his son’s name formed a full, if unspoken, command. Sterling stepped to his father’s side and zipped up the case while it still sat on the older man’s knees. Then he moved it to the table behind his sire.
“The demon’s called Barron, but don’t let the sound of his name fool you. He’s no more royalty than you are. Just a minor sprite, really, otherwise I never would have managed to trap him in a container such as this one. No, he’s no great shakes in the grand scheme, and sadly his dark powers do not include the ability to repair the damage your mother has done to me. But he has plenty enough magic to wreak havoc on your little world.” He held up his damaged arm again as if May could possibly have forgotten the sight of it. “Barron has very particular tastes. I’m sure you understand, don’t you?”
May found herself mute with fascination. Her head turned left and right and back again, but then her eyes found his arm, and she froze in shock. The lines of Maguire’s tattoo had settled into a pattern May recognized way too easily. The features of her own grandbabies smiled up at her from three tiny faces. In the next instant, they faded clean away. May bounded to her feet, knocking the heavy, embroidered chair over. She stepped backward around it, never once taking her eyes off the Maguire men.
“There, there,” Maguire said. “No need for a scene. No need to offer up any minstrel-style shenanigans. Sterling,” he addressed his son, commanding him with a nod of his head. Sterling circled around and righted the fallen chair, then returned to his place behind his father. “So tell me, what’s it to be? Are you going to right your mother’s wrongs, or shall I set poor, starved Barron loose on those tender little girls?”
“You, you,” May stammered a moment before she found her voice, “are out of your goddamned mind?” She spun around, nearly tripping in her haste to leave.
“Think it over, May,” Maguire said in a calm, even voice. “Claim the magic that is yours. Undo your mother’s misdeeds. Save your granddaughters. Or run, knowing that Barron will be nipping at your heels the entire way, eager to suck the marrow from your grandchildren’s bones.”
May froze in her tracks, knowing she’d been defeated. Her best hope, perhaps her only hope, was to accept the power she’d tried so hard to escape. She doubted that Maguire would be sated even if she did manage to heal him. She was going to have to learn how to use the magic, fast, and hope it was enough to protect her family. There was no hope that she might one day best the man; how could she succeed where even her mama had failed? And so she turned back to the pair, the same smug smile pasted on both their faces, and asked, “What do you need me to do?”
ELEVEN
At Fletcher Maguire’s bidding, she followed him and his son to the guest elevator, a rarified contraption that May had only cleaned, never ridden. At the sight of the three of them approaching, the operator stepped out of the elevator and held the door open for them. May stationed herself as far as possible from the men, pressing her back into the wooden wall. To her surprise, the young man in the gold-piped maroon uniform and cap did not join them, but rather let the door close behind them. Sterling shifted around his father, taking the utmost care not to jostle him in the tight space, and produced a large and substantial-looking key. After inserting it into a hole in the brass plate, he gave it a turn to the right, released it, and then twisted the control to the left. May felt the elevator begin to descend. She watched as the hand on the dial that showed the floor shifted from 1 to B for basement, then continued to move counterclockwise as the car descended farther than she’d believed a body could go.