The Line (Witching Savannah, #1)(46)

“And Ginny was scared of Paul because his father was from one of the three adversarial families?”

“No, Ginny was scared of Paul because of a prophecy that was made when the three families separated from the rest of us. After Paul was born, Ginny learned that it had been predicted that the mingling of our immediate bloodlines would lead to the birth of a witch capable of reuniting the thirteen families. Neither of us had heard of it until Ginny started flipping out.”

“You think Ginny sacrificed Paul because she didn’t want the families to reunite?” I reached out and gently tugged at her hand.

She rejoined me on the bed. “Who knows what she wanted. I’m not even sure she cared about the families. I don’t think she wanted any light to outshine her own, and she knew she’d end up a dim comparison to my son.”

“Do you think Ginny might have done something to cause the accident?” I asked, surprised that I’d even let myself have such a thought.

“No,” Ellen said. “If I did, I would have killed her myself years ago.” Ellen spoke with such cool clarity that I didn’t doubt her. “Ginny tried to pass herself off as a saint, as some great martyr, but she was a miserable, controlling bitch. And I am glad she’s dead, so three cheers for Mother Jilo or whoever did her in.”

“So you do think Jilo might have done it?” I asked. I knew for a fact that Jilo hated Ginny enough—she hated all the Taylors enough. Ellen just nodded her head in response. “But why would Jilo hate Ginny enough to kill her?”

Ellen crossed her arms as if she had felt a chill. “Oh, darlin’, people like Jilo always walk around with a laundry list of perceived offenses. I am sure that in all the years she and Ginny bumped heads, Jilo found reason enough.”

“I heard Oliver was close to her family at one time. That he was friends with her granddaughter, the one who drowned herself,” I said, fishing for answers. I hoped that Ellen could tell me what had happened so that I wouldn’t have to ask Oliver himself.

“You’re talking about Grace,” Ellen said after a few moments. “Where did you dig up that ancient history?”

“People talk,” I responded vaguely.

“Well, yes, he and Grace used to hang with the same group of friends, but that was way back when he was a teenager,” she said, visibly calculating the years that had passed since. “That was back when he and Adam Cook were buddies. Rumor was that the girl had an abortion and then regretted it. It was a very sad situation, but it had nothing to do with us. I’m sure I don’t need to explain to you that your uncle had nothing to do with her getting pregnant,” she said, smirking at me.

“No, ma’am, I am very sure Uncle Oliver had nothing to do with that,” I said and returned her smile. I wanted to believe that Oliver wouldn’t harm a fly, that he’d done nothing to this Grace. With all that had gone on over the last several hours, I was willing to take comfort where I could find it.

“I’ve been giving it a lot of thought, though,” Ellen said. “And if Jilo was responsible for Ginny’s death, revenge might not have had a thing to do with it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Only that Jilo works a lot of dark magic, blood magic. Ginny was a powerful witch. Jilo could get a lot of mojo out of Ginny’s blood. Maybe we’ve been looking at it all wrong. Maybe it wasn’t a murder. Maybe it was a sacrifice.”

“But what kind of spell would require a human sacrifice?”

“Oh, sweetheart, conjurers like Jilo know how to store up energy from a bloodletting. She could expend it all attempting something big like a resurrection, or she might parse it out over years, using it little by little for money spells, revenge spells, love spells—”

“But I thought you don’t use blood in love spells.” I thought I would be ill. I had been so willing to accept Maisie’s assurances that Ginny’s death could not possibly have been related to the spell I’d asked Jilo to do.

“Well, of course I wouldn’t. You’d have to be pretty crazy or desperate to mess around with love spells anyway. But even the real witches who do them would never use blood. For someone who only borrows power, though, like Jilo, sometimes blood is the only way. Oh, I am sorry. I’ve upset you.” Ellen forced a smile. “Enough of this. Look at the two of us! The past is the past. We shouldn’t be wasting all this feminine beauty and grace on a walk down bad memory lane. Let’s go get that tea.”

“No, I’m sorry. I’m suddenly not feeling well. Maybe another time?”

Ellen regarded me with concern. She placed her palm on my forehead. I knew I couldn’t fake a physical illness with her. “Of course,” she said. “I’m sorry. I should have kept my theories to myself.”

“No. I’m glad you shared your thoughts with me. I just need a little time to process them.”

She traced my jawline with her finger. “We’ll try this again soon.”





NINETEEN


I headed back to my room, the tomboy in me desperate to ditch the dress and pearls. I wanted to put on some shorts. Find my bike. Ride as hard as I could until the sick feeling I was carrying fell away. Maisie had lied to me, and I had lapped it up. I realized now that I had to find Jilo. Go to her and demand the truth. I’d never be able to live with myself wondering if I had Ginny’s blood on my hands. I’d start with Colonial Park Cemetery. If she wasn’t there, I’d return to her crossroads. I no longer felt safe going there alone, but I couldn’t let another night fall without my knowing the truth.