The Line (Witching Savannah, #1)(36)

“It’s only that…” Peter began to protest, but Jackson took another step toward him, crowding him back.

“Mrs. Flynn said she’d like you to leave.”

“Jackson, this really isn’t necessary,” Iris said trying to calm him.

He ignored her and pushed Peter. “Get,” he said. “I can take care of Mercy. She doesn’t need you.”

“Don’t touch me, man,” Peter warned, tensing. “And don’t pretend you know what Mercy needs.”

Jackson shoved him again, but this time Peter was braced and couldn’t be budged. “I said you need to get,” Jackson snarled, his face taking on an ugly sheen again.

“That’s the last time. Don’t touch me again,” Peter growled back.

“Boys.” Ellen laughed nervously. “Enough of this nonsense.” Without warning, Jackson pulled back and swung at Peter. Instinctively, Peter weaved out the way of the punch, and Jackson’s fist swung past him and lightly grazed my temple. I barely felt a thing, but Peter registered what had happened and tore at Jackson like a wild man. Before I could blink, he had pounced on Jackson and was pummeling him.

“Stop it! Stop it!” Maisie began screaming at the two, tearing at the back of Peter’s shirt.

Suddenly Oliver reappeared. “Freeze,” he commanded with authority, and the two fighters instantly stopped. I tried to go and coax Peter off Jackson, but to my surprise, I found that I couldn’t move either—I couldn’t even blink. All I could do was focus on the tableau of Peter sitting on Jackson’s chest, his hand frozen mid-punch. Maisie backed away from the men as the cousins reappeared en masse, most of them happy to have a bit of entertainment.

“What the hell is going on here?” Oliver demanded.

“A couple of young bucks butting horns, I’d say,” Connor said.

When Oliver looked to me for explanation, he realized that I was caught up in his freeze frame. “You’re good,” he said, and I was finally free to move again. I was surprised to see Emmet towering over the rest of the crowd, a smile of amusement on his face.

“Mercy,” Iris addressed me. “You understand why I say your young man cannot be here tonight? It’s for his own good. Things may go on tonight that he is not ready to understand. He wants to protect you, but you need to protect him. Things may go smooth as silk with the lot drawing, or they might not. If they don’t…well, who knows what could happen.”

“Yes, ma’am, I do understand,” I replied.

“Good.” Iris smiled. “And he’s welcome here at any other time.”

“Jackson might have other thoughts on that subject.” Connor smirked.

“Speaking of Jackson,” Iris continued. “He has shown that he is not mature enough to be a part of tonight’s business.” She held up a hand in a preemption of Maisie’s anticipated protest. “Don’t you say a word. He started the fight, and by any rights I should toss him out on his ear. That ring on your finger is the only reason I am not. He doesn’t have to leave the house, but he cannot participate. I’m sorry, but until he learns to communicate with his words and not his fists, it’s too dangerous to have him involved.” Maisie didn’t respond. She just looked at Jackson and then back at me with narrowed, angry eyes.

“Okay. It’s decided then,” Oliver said. “Peter goes home, and Jackson sits tonight out.” He snapped his fingers, and the duo on the floor fell apart. “Enough,” Oliver addressed them. They moved in slow motion, never taking their eyes off Oliver, still under his thrall. “Peter. Like they say at last call, you don’t have to go home but you can’t stay here. You will return tomorrow for dinner with roses for your girl and a bottle of good scotch—exceptionally good scotch—for the rest us. Good night.” Without a word, Peter rose and exited. Jackson’s eyes followed him as he left, anger still smoldering just beneath the surface.

“And now it’s your turn,” Oliver began.

“Wait!” Maisie called out. “Please, Uncle Oliver, let him be. I’ll talk to him.” Oliver looked at Iris.

“All right, missy,” Iris responded. “But make sure he stays out of the way tonight, and that he shows up at dinner tomorrow with a brand new attitude.” Oliver sighed and snapped his fingers a second time. Jackson shook his head, hungover from the toxic combination of Oliver’s spell and Peter’s fists. Maisie rushed to his side and knelt down beside him. I was surprised that he wasn’t more bruised than he was. My temple was slightly throbbing, and I reached up to touch it. It had started to swell a little. Jackson followed my movement with his eyes, and his face clouded over with regret.

“Mercy, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’d never want to hurt you.” Maisie froze as surely as if Oliver had hexed her and looked up at me. I said nothing.

“No, you just meant to beat the holy shit out of her boyfriend,” Connor said.

“It doesn’t matter what your intentions were,” Ellen said. “You’ve hurt Mercy physically, but she’ll mend. I’ll see to that. What you are doing to Maisie…that, I can’t cure.”

Jackson turned his attention to his fiancée. He started to speak, but Maisie jumped up and ran upstairs. Jackson watched helplessly as she fled, his shoulders falling and his head drooping. A nearly inaudible curse parted his lips.