The Line (Witching Savannah, #1)(25)

Guilt forced me to look away, and I returned my focus to my surroundings. The quirky, historic Savannah that I loved faded quickly into a no-man’s-land of generic strip malls and discount stores. The road to the cemetery seemed too suburban to belong to Savannah proper, and I only felt a returning sense of home as we drew near the gates of the far more famous Bonaventure Cemetery, where my own mother and grandparents were interred. You can’t reach Greenwich without passing by Bonaventure, and I promised myself that once the heat broke, I’d bike out and bring flowers for their graves, and maybe even a few for Ginny’s.

The sun had reached its apogee, so the minister took mercy on us, speeding through a prayer that we all knew would mean little if anything to Ginny and then sprinkling the first handful of earth over the coffin. I broke away from the gathering and returned to the car, praying that the driver still had the air-conditioning running.

I was within yards of the waiting limo when an elderly man approached me. His face was familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it.

“Miss Taylor, I would appreciate you coming with me.”

Three things stopped me dead in my tracks: his calm demeanor, his gentle voice, and the terror in his eyes. My heart started beating like mad. I’d been around witches my entire life, and I instantly knew that he was being compelled, and through him, so was I. His request was no request, and I had no choice but to comply. That sure didn’t stop me from trying. I lifted a foot and told it to move backward. It carried me forward instead, bringing me one step closer to the car. I turned my head, hoping that someone from the family had followed me and would figure out what was going on, but no luck. They were probably still gathered around Ginny’s grave. The only other people in sight were a group of ghost hunters. They were shooting pictures of one of the more elaborate gravestones, desperately hoping to catch a glimpse of the supernatural yet completely oblivious to what was going on right under their noses.

I tried to call out to them, but instead heard myself saying, “Thank you, I’d love a ride” loud enough for all the ghost hunters to hear. I took a few lunging steps forward, walking awkwardly enough to cause someone in their group to comment on my sobriety. Within moments, they lost all interest in me and went back to taking pictures of illuminated dust.

The driver helped me into the passenger’s seat of the car, then leaned in over me. “This ain’t permanent,” he said. He passed his hand over my eyes, and my vision instantly went black. “That is only until I get you where we going. Now you gonna sit still for me and don’t make any fuss.”

I felt my body go rigid. My adrenaline-induced sweat chilled in the car’s air-conditioning and started to trickle down my spine. He buckled me in and closed the door for me.

“I sure am sorry about all this, Miss Taylor,” he said as he took his place behind the wheel. “I’m sure you’ll understand when I say I ain’t got no more choice about this than you do. Jilo making me take you, just like she making you come.” He shifted the car into drive and turned right.

“What does Jilo want from me? Where are you taking me?” I asked, fear mixing with anger.

“She won’t let me talk to you about that, miss,” he said.

“Then tell me how I know you,” I demanded. “You look familiar.”

“Why, you don’t know me at all,” he responded. “But I believe you have met my grandson. He’s a policeman.” Pride played in his voice, overcoming the forced circumstances that brought us together.

“Detective Cook is your grandson?” I heard myself ask. Now that I knew, the resemblance was unmistakable. They shared the same warm skin and tea-colored eyes. Jilo must have felt pretty confident in herself to use Cook’s grandfather as a pawn in her game.

“That’s right, miss.”

“Can you call him? Tell him where you are taking me?”

“Oh, miss, you know Mother Jilo is cleverer than that,” he responded. “I’d love nothing better than to help you, but she got me on a very short leash. And I can’t fight against her power any more than you can.”

I followed as best I could the turns we made, sure that once or twice we must have looped back. Oddly, we never stopped. Not for a stop sign. Not for a light. I lost any hope of knowing where we were headed.

We continued driving for what seemed like hours. Then I felt the asphalt give way to loose stones beneath us, and after a while we finally slowed and stopped. He opened my door, and the car was flooded with heat and the sound of cicadas.

“Allow me,” he said, reaching in to take my hand. He helped me out of the car, and I began to listen intently for any sounds that might betray our whereabouts. I heard only the insects and the crunch of gravel beneath my feet. “We gotta walk the rest of the way from here, but it ain’t far.”

Suddenly I knew I was going to die in this place. He had taken me out to a grave, where he would kill me and leave me, and my body would decay. I wouldn’t even see it coming. Maybe in time, Connor would track down my remains with his flaccid pendulum. But it would be way too late. I’d be as dead as Ginny was.

“You’re going to kill me, aren’t you?” I heard my disembodied voice ask.

“Good lord, sweet girl! No, I ain’t going to harm a hair on your pretty red head.” We continued on down the path, the gravel changing to sandy soil that began to filter into my shoes.