The Line (Witching Savannah, #1)(31)

“Then you are just plumb out of luck,” Connor said.

“You don’t reason with a lightning bolt or negotiate with a hurricane,” Iris said. “The power is a force of nature; witches didn’t create it, we merely found a way to ally ourselves with it. I know on the surface it seems like the power is something witches control, but more often than not I think it controls us.” She shook her head. “Sometimes it seems to me like there is a sentience, a mind behind it. Sometimes it seems like it’s just a current. Either way, it will not be denied.”

“Well,” Oliver said. “Let’s see how things play out before any of us get our panties twisted.”

Out of the blue, a new line of reasoning hit me. “What if it were possible for the job to be shared by more than one person?” I asked, still eager for an out.

“It isn’t a ‘job,’?” Iris corrected me. “It’s a duty. A calling.”

“Besides, sweetie,” Ellen added, “there is only so long that a group of people can share a focus strongly enough to hold the line in place.”

“But Connor just said that the anchors who married other witches could share,” I objected.

“Yes, but for a day at a time or, at most, a week. Small breaks, not on a permanent basis. And it only works then when the two are totally in sync. Almost like twins…” She stopped dead.

We all knew what she was thinking, but not even Connor was callous enough to finish her thought. “And if I had any power?” I asked, forcing her to continue.

“Well, then who knows, perhaps you two could have shared the burden successfully. But that obviously wasn’t meant to be.”

“Mercy, it ain’t your fault.” I was shocked to hear the words coming from Connor. “You couldn’t have chosen to have the power in you any more than Maisie could choose not to. Regardless of who is chosen, your part will end with the drawing of the lots,” Connor said, but not in his usual scornful tone. For once he seemed like he was trying to be kind to me. “And that is all you really need to know.”

There was silence at the table. “Well, am I lying to the girl?” Connor barked.

“No, you aren’t,” Iris responded calmly.

“Listen, girl.” Connor eyed me. “I know I am not the best uncle a girl like you could want. I know I am a mean old bastard. And yes, I try to exclude you from things like this. But maybe, just maybe, I exclude you because you are the only one who can be excluded. Who doesn’t have to be involved. Look at your sister. You don’t think I would love to be able to chase the both of you outside with a fly swatter? Let you both get out in the world and live outside of this bullshit? I may not be kind and I may not be patient, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want the best for you. Be grateful you don’t have to be any more involved in this mess than you are.”

“It is her birthright,” the golem said coolly. “You have no say in this.” Connor and the creature stared at each other. My uncle’s face turned purple with rage, and I knew he was about to let loose. A loud knock on the side door made me jump and lanced the tension from the moment. Oliver jumped up and opened the door before the rest of us could blink.





TWELVE


“Adam,” Oliver said and stepped aside to reveal Detective Cook.

“I’m sorry to bother y’all today,” Cook said. “But I have some news.”

“Come on in,” Oliver replied. For a brief second Oliver’s eyes locked with the detective’s and a nearly electrical charge shot between them, heavy with regret, false pride, and hunger. Oliver looked at Cook the same way I knew I looked at Jackson, guilt and desire wrestling it out in his gaze.

“Hello,” Cook half said, half asked as he took note of the golem. There remained nothing overtly supernatural about his appearance, so Cook seemed to accept him as a natural, if unknown quantity. “Uh, I have something I’d like to discuss with the immediate family, if that is all right.”

“It’s all right, Detective Cook,” Iris said, labeling the policeman for the golem’s benefit. “This is a dear friend of the family, and you can say anything you need to in front of him.”

“Okay,” Cook responded. “Pleased to meet you…”

“Clay,” I interjected. “Emmet Clay.”

“Mr. Clay,” Adam said. I looked over at the golem, surprised to see the corner of his mouth turned up into a sly smile. Emmet appeared to appreciate my humor, and I was glad to have a label for him.

“Detective,” he responded.

“So have you come to arrest us, officer?” Connor drawled, pushing his chair onto its back legs and resting his hands on his impressive stomach. He was itching for a fight, and right now he didn’t care whom it was with.

“No. Not at all.” Cook looked at me, his warm eyes filled with regret. “I’m sorry if I was rough on you the other day. Like I said, in these cases there is usually a family member involved.”

“And in this case?” Maisie asked with a defiance I hadn’t heard in her voice since we were teens.

“No. Not in this case, Miss Taylor. As a matter of fact, I came to let you all know we have made an arrest.”

“You have the killer?” Ellen asked, her voice hopeful, relieved.