The Line (Witching Savannah, #1)(22)

I shook myself back into my body. “Of course! Of course, I am happy for you!” I pulled her back into my arms. And by God, I was happy for her. I had to be. I simply had to be.

There was a loud rap on the door. I turned and opened it to find Connor standing on the opposite side, pendulum in hand. “Found you,” he said, looking past me at Maisie. “Your aunts and I need to talk to you about the lot drawing.”

“We’ll need Mercy too,” Maisie said. “She’s going to be part of the draw.” I noticed she had surreptitiously tucked the engagement ring back inside her shirt.

“All Mercy needs to know,” Connor said, speaking as if I weren’t even there, “is that she’ll stick her hand into a bag and pull out a white chip of wood. You, on the other hand, stand a very good chance of being selected as Ginny’s replacement. And that would mean a lot of changes in your life.” Connor eyed her. “A lot of changes.”

A shadow crossed Maisie’s face. “Even if I am selected, I won’t make the choices that Ginny did. I’m going to have a life of my own.”

“Well, my girl, let’s see how things shake out before you get your dander all up. And don’t go judging Ginny too fast. You might find yourself wearing her shoes and then you can start making speeches about how you aren’t going to be like her. Come on, now. Your aunts are waiting for us.”

Maisie gave me one last smile. “Happy birthday, sis,” she said and headed from the room.

“I love you,” I called after her. Connor gave me a cool, dismissive look—his nickname for me flitted through my head, “The Disappointment”—then padded out of the room after Maisie. I returned my attention to the jar of memories Maisie had given me. It was cool to the touch, but bright as a nightlight. I took it to my room for safekeeping and hid it inside a box of toys and things from my childhood that I was saving for the day I would have my own children, perhaps the very same redheaded ruffians Maisie had envisioned for me.





EIGHT


I felt the cousins’ prying minds swoop over me, so I extended the mental image of a “No Trespassing” sign and then a fist with a raised middle finger for those who wouldn’t take the hint. The probes fell off in en masse. I decided to get out. It would be lunch time soon, and I knew Peter’s crew always took their break in Chatham Square, so I decided to swing by Parker’s Market for provisions and surprise him with a picnic. The memory of what had happened after my last visit to his work site tried to surface, but I pushed it away. I grabbed my backpack, dumping the Liar’s Tour souvenirs out onto my bed. There would be plenty of time to start doing tours again after Ginny’s funeral.

I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, and briefly considered applying at least a little makeup, using the artistry Ellen had taught me. With the golden light playing on my cheekbones, I looked pretty, even beautiful. It helped that Maisie wasn’t standing next to me. In comparison to her, I would always suffer. Realizing that any attempt at a pageant queen face would melt as soon as I stepped outside, I applied a little moisturizer with sunscreen and called it good. Makeup was the surest way to tell a tourist from a woman who lived in Savannah—only a tourist would be foolish enough to think her foundation could withstand ninety-eight degrees combined with 98 percent humidity. I pulled my hair back into a ponytail, knowing full well that anything else would be a waste of time. I changed into cutoffs and a snug tank top, hoping that the judicious showing of a little skin would make up for the sweaty mess I’d be by the time I arrived. I slung the backpack over my shoulder and went outside.

Stepping out into the Savannah day was like walking into a steam bath. Perspiration immediately begin to build beneath the strap of my backpack. I found my bike and hopped onto it, the metal of its frame fiery against my thighs.

But in spite of the overwhelming heat, I felt freer than I had in months. It was like the weight of the world had been lifted from my shoulders. I no longer had to hide my feelings about Jackson from Maisie. Yes, I was in love with him. No, I didn’t have to act on those feelings. Maybe I was just confused. Hopefully I could move on, with or without Jilo’s meddling. I owed it to my sister to try, and I certainly owed it to Peter. Truth was, I owed it to myself. Maisie and Peter had been the two most loving constants in my life.

After picking up lunch at the grocery store, I dug deep into my bike’s pedals, eager to get to Chatham Square as fast as I could. I didn’t register any more of my surroundings than my basic survival instincts required, and as I neared the square, I hopped off my bike and started walking, already scanning the area for Peter.

“Mercy!” A sleazy voice pulled me out of my thoughts. I was approaching the northeast corner of the square when a new red Mercedes convertible pulled up beside me. “Mercy.” This time the voice came more softly, teetering on the tightrope between greeting and proposition. The car came to a full stop. It was Tucker Perry. Great. “How are you, darlin’? My condolences about Ginny. Terrible business this all is.”

“Thank you, Mr. Perry.” I kept walking, but the car slid predatorily alongside me.

“I sure wish there were something I could do to make you feel better. Take your mind off everything.” His smile was crooked, causing his right eye to squint a tad. I felt the sudden need for a shower. The thought of my lovely Ellen submitting to Perry’s touch made me shudder.