The Line (Witching Savannah, #1)(42)

“No. Nothing like that. It’s only that…”

“It’s only that there is a possibility. And you need to follow your conscience and make the best possible decision for everyone involved. Now you have a better understanding of what it’s like to anchor the line. You have to close some doors, honey, no matter how nice a yard they open out onto.”

“I’m trying to close the door. I have closed that door. That’s why I want to leave,” I protested.

“No, honey. That’s not deciding, that’s running. Just like you did last night when you got scared. Choosing and then living with the consequences, that’s what deciding really is.” She reached up and ran her fingers through my hair. “You’re the one who looks likes more like your mama, you know.” Of course I knew that from the photos of my mother, but it always felt good to hear it. “And I’m afraid you may have more of Emily in you than I thought.”

“What do you mean by that?” I asked, suddenly defensive.

“My sister had a taste for other women’s men too. She made the wrong decision more than once, and her choices never brought anyone happiness. Especially her. I’m sorry, my dear. I never wanted to speak poorly of your mama to you, but I don’t want to see you make the same mistakes she did.” My arms drew involuntarily around me, forming a shield between my heart and her words. I hated hearing this about my mama. It fit in too well with what Tucker Perry had told me about her participation in Tillandsia.

“Listen, girl,” she continued. “If you follow your true heart and the good sense you were born with, you’ll see that Jackson isn’t the right man for you. Maybe young Peter is, and maybe he isn’t. But I know you. You would never find happiness if you broke Maisie’s heart in the process. She means too much to you.”

She was right. Despite the craziness of last night, I loved Maisie too much to take anything from her. And now I was committed to Peter. Even if Jilo’s magic was at the root of my actions, I was the one who had gone seeking it. I couldn’t hurt Peter. I considered telling Iris about what had happened with him, at least in broad strokes, but I wasn’t ready to confess my connection with Jilo.

“I loved my little sister dearly,” Iris said. “She sure wasn’t perfect, but I loved her. And she gave me you and your sister. I’ve never asked you for anything like this before, and I hope I never have to again, but I am asking you now. You stay with us, Mercy. Stay until we can get things settled here. You may not have power like the rest of us, but you do have the power to help hold us together.”

I couldn’t look at her. I wanted to say yes, but I didn’t want to make a promise I was afraid I might not be able to keep.

“Promise me you will at least think about it, and that you’ll talk to me before you leave. No disappearing in the middle of the night. You can give me that, right?”

“Yes,” I replied, the sleepless night having caught up to me. I was too tired to argue.

“Good, then,” Iris said. “I’m going to back to my room then before your Uncle Connor wakes up. He’ll never stop pestering me with questions if he realizes you were at Peter’s all night, and I’ll have to tell him lies to shut him up. You get upstairs too and change clothes. Go on now.” She swatted at me playfully.

When I leaned down to kiss her on the forehead, she smiled at me with so much love in her eyes. I wasn’t sure what Jilo was selling, but I couldn’t, wouldn’t, believe that this woman who had raised me—or, for that matter, anyone in my family—had anything in their hearts for me other than the best of intentions. Iris glided out of the room, and I followed her up the stairs. When I reached my bedroom, I went inside and closed the door softly behind me. Dawn had begun to break, so I closed the blinds before slipping beneath the sheets. Within moments I was dead to the world.





SEVENTEEN


When I awoke, I knew that someone was in the room with me. I felt the weight of unfriendly eyes on me, and I scrambled up in bed with a gasp.

“No need for all of that,” Connor said. “It’s just me.” He had pulled the chair from my makeup table over to the foot of my bed and was sitting there watching me sleep. The chain of his pendulum was laced through the fingers of his right hand.

“What do you want?” I asked.

“Now don’t get all riled up,” he said, letting the pendulum fall to its full length. “I wanted to have a talk with you in private.”

“So you chose to sit there watching me sleep like some kind of boo hag?” I asked. The boo hag was the low country’s own version of the boogeyman—well, maybe more of a cross between the boogeyman and a vampire. It was a creature that sucked the life out of you as it watched you sleep. Connor had cracked open the shutter behind him just enough for a sliver of light to pour in. Since it was coming from behind him, I could only see him in silhouette, his features were obscured by shadow. Flooding the room with sunlight might have helped dispel the sense of menace, but something told me not to risk walking by him to throw open the shutters. I reached over and snapped on my bedside lamp.

The light revealed an odd look in his eyes that I would never have expected to see there. Regret combined with tenderness, a caring that shook my sense of who this man was to me. “You sure are your mama made over,” he said. “A little discipline would have done her good too,” he said. The hardness I was accustomed to returned to his eyes.