The Line (Witching Savannah, #1)(54)

“No,” I said. “I reckon there isn’t. But I don’t believe you truly intended for her to do what she did. I don’t believe you meant to compel her. I think you were grieving and angry. Maybe it was manslaughter, but I don’t believe it was intentional. You are not a murderer.” I stood and walked over to the fire barrel, where the wood was turning to ash. I tossed in a couple of extra pieces of the table.

“And I wonder if you’re too willing to turn a blind eye to the faults of those you love,” Oliver said.

“Come on and help me,” I said. “This is burning out.” He stood and dusted off his shorts. I bent down to grab another chunk of wood, and my hand touched a piece that was much smaller than rest—a splinter about the size of my palm. It was stained deep garnet with my uncle’s blood, like it had absorbed more than the rest. I picked it up and glanced at Oliver, who had turned and was reaching for one of the table’s legs. Without consciously understanding why, I slid the piece into my pocket and then returned to feeding the fire.

“Did Grace kill Ginny?” I asked after he poked the table leg into the fire. Sparks flew up and the heat of the fire combined with the heat of the day forced us a few feet away from the barrel.

“No. When Iris put her hand on Ginny’s body, she opened a door to the other side, and Grace stepped right in. She was just biding her time until she could break through.”

“Maybe Jilo killed Ginny to trick Iris into opening the door?” I asked, wondering if I had been duped into helping that happen.

“No one knew about my part in Grace’s suicide besides Jilo and Ginny,” Oliver replied. “Jilo used her granddaughter’s death as a negotiating tool. They made a pact, Ginny and Jilo. Jilo wouldn’t try to seek revenge if I agreed to move away from Savannah. That’s the reason I only come home a few weeks each year, and why I had to miss out on most of your childhood. The pact only allows me four weeks a year in Savannah. But getting rid of me was just icing on the cake.”

“What do you mean?”

“Jilo got her hands on a big chunk of power. I don’t know the mechanics of how it was done, but Ginny charged up a piece of quartz for her. About the size of my fist,” he said, holding up his hand to demonstrate. “It glowed bright enough to light a football field. I swear. I couldn’t even bear to look at it. Ginny told her to bury it where it couldn’t be found, and to use it carefully. I bet that rock has been powering her tricks for over twenty years now.” He grabbed another leg of the table and added it to the crackling pyre. “No, Jilo cares more for power than she ever did for Grace. She’s fat and happy, and she’d never do anything to risk the comfortable little setup she has around here.”

“So you don’t think she had anything to do with Ginny’s death?” I asked.

“No. I wondered at first, when her grandson Martell was spotted with the murder weapon, but the more I think about it, the more my gut tells me no.” He shook his head at me. “Nothing more concrete than that, just my intuition.”

I looked deeply into his blue eyes, trying to see the old Oliver, the one who Grace had unintentionally excised on our table. His confidence, maybe even callousness, had all but evaporated. I sensed that the Oliver I’d known was gone, and although part of me would miss him, I suspected that my uncle might become a better man now that he’d been freed of the secret he had been carrying all these years. “Will Jilo let you stay now that Ginny’s gone?”

“Fuck Jilo,” Oliver stated flatly. “And f*ck any deals she made with Ginny. I’m not denying I’m guilty, but after last night, I think I’ve sure as hell served my sentence.” He grabbed the ax and punctuated his statement with a quick whack at a large chunk of the table.

“You seem to have this under control,” I said. “I guess I’ll leave you to it.”

“All right then,” he said, but as I started to leave, he called out after me. “Gingersnap, that wood you have in your pocket…” he said, and I felt the blood rush hot to my cheeks, as hot as the fire popping in the barrel. “No,” he said. “It’s okay; I’d say I owe you at least that much after last night. Just take it up to your room for now, and I’ll be up later to show you how to use it right. Don’t try anything till I’ve shown you, okay?”

“Yes,” I responded, my eyes dropping guiltily to the ground. I couldn’t bring myself to look him in the eye. I turned on my heel and fled through the kitchen door. I heard Oliver chuckling as he tossed another bit of wood into the can. His laughter sounded truly happy.




TWENTY-TWO


By lunchtime, Iris and Connor had returned, having purchased a new kitchen table and chairs that would be delivered in the afternoon. The air was thick with awkwardness. Iris walked in with her head hanging low, her arms pulled tightly against her sides as if she were afraid of bumping into things. Connor was still angry, smarting from having been hogtied and gagged by his own wife, even though she’d been under Grace’s control at the time. Ellen had found him naked in a closet, a sock duct taped in his mouth.

Connor opened a cabinet and grabbed a glass, then slammed the cabinet shut. The remaining glasses rattled against each other. He yanked open the refrigerator and poured himself a sweet tea. He tried to slam the refrigerator door too, but the insulation strip muffled his tirade. He made no attempt to hide the fact that he blamed Iris for the whole situation, glaring at her between each gulp of his tea. Iris clearly blamed herself too; she stayed quiet and braced herself against the counter by the sink, staring blankly out the window. I went over and wrapped my arm around her shoulders, but she pulled away.