Spells for Forgetting(89)

“I’d wager almost everyone on this island knows you lied. The question is about what exactly? And why?”

He stared at the table in a long silence. “About being with August at the lighthouse. I wasn’t with him.”

Finally, we were getting somewhere. “Did August ask you to lie for him?”

“No.” He paused. “I told Jake I was with him because I knew he was looking for August. I wanted to protect him. And myself.”

“Yourself?” My eyebrows raised.

He glanced up at Jake. “Lily and I were seeing each other before she died. I was afraid that if people found out, someone would think I had something to do with what happened to her.”

The charming look that usually hung on Dutch’s face was gone now, leaving only the scared little boy I’d known for thirty-three years. I’d delivered him, red and screaming, under a waxing moon and I’d known the minute I laid eyes on him that he would be trouble. Dutch had always been like a stray pup on the island, especially after his dad died. But anyone with a lick of sense could see that he was a coward.

I sank back into my chair. “If you lied about being with him at the lighthouse that night, then where was he?”

“I don’t know.”

“You never asked him?”

“No. I thought it was better if we just kept to the story.”

Again, I looked to Jake. His face was unreadable, but I knew the way his mind worked. There was an undercurrent to the way he stood against the wall, his back rigid.

“The last time I saw him, he was working at the orchard before the party. I left to go home and change and when I got back, he wasn’t there.”

“All right.” I folded my hands on top of the table. “Why don’t you head over to the orchard. You’ll be late and we don’t need anyone wondering where you are. Jake and I need to talk.”

Dutch hesitated, looking to Jake as if needing his permission. It made me roll my eyes.

“Go ahead,” Jake said.

Dutch nodded, rising from the chair. We listened to his footsteps trail to the door before it opened and closed.

“Well? Now are you ready to do something about it?” I said, watching Jake from across the table.

He stared out the window. There was a reason he brought Dutch to me. We’d all done what we had to for the island, but some of us were more reliable than others.

“The lie that boy told was the only thing standing between you and charging August with murder,” I said. “I don’t think there can be any doubt now. He got away with it and now he’s back, trying to take what’s ours.”

That godforsaken family had had us under a blade for years, wielding the orchard over the town to maintain the power they held. Now, almost every Salt was a rotting corpse, the last of them just waiting to be shot from the sky.

Jake finally turned to face me, running his fingers along the brim of his hat. “Maybe it’s time we handled this,” he said.

“Maybe it is.” I pursed my lips, satisfied.

“I don’t want my brother involved.”

“He doesn’t need to be.” It was better that way, I thought. The mistake we’d made last time was involving too many people. This would have to be quiet.

He slipped the hat back on his head, pulling the keys from his pocket. He gave me one last, long look before he left.

I fixed my eyes on the steam still streaming up from the spout of the teapot, my mind turning. On Saoirse, we took care of our own. We’d been doing it for generations, and this was no different.

I stretched out my hands before me, waiting for the tingle to surface in my fingertips. Still, there was nothing. There hadn’t been in years. Magic was a tricky thing. Fickle. And the last time I’d used it, it had failed me. But this was a problem that had more than one kind of solution.





Fifty-Three


    EMERY


The willow tree hugged the side of Albertine’s little house, towering over it like a giant. The leaves had all dropped and now its long wispy branches swayed in the wind, tapping the windows like fingers drumming a song.

That house and the memories beneath its roof had been like an anchor for me. The thought of leaving them turned my stomach.

My boots stopped at the bottom step of the porch, pinning me there. It wasn’t just the thought of my dad that had kept me here. It was Albertine. Nixie. The memory of my mother. Deep down, I also knew it was fear. I’d wanted to leave. I’d been desperate for it. But I’d also been afraid to go alone.

I hadn’t given August an answer to his question or even made a decision, but I didn’t know if I needed to. If he hadn’t asked me to leave, I was almost certain I would have followed him anyway.

The feel of him was still alive on my skin, making me tremble. It was a kind of magic that scared me. Because if I lost August Salt a second time, I wasn’t sure I would survive it.

I wiped my feet on the mat before I opened the door and stepped inside. “Oma?”

I called out, but there was no answer. No smell of jam simmering on the stove or beat of footsteps in the hallway. My heart always skipped just a little when that happened, reminding me that there would come a day when this house no longer had her in it. I feared that, too.

I made my way to the bedroom, where Albertine’s patchwork quilt was spread neatly over the made bed. “Oma?”