important. I wanted to be able to listen to my own thoughts, but Connor’s drivel lined my skull like ugly wallpaper.
Surrounded by my nearest blood, I felt entirely alone. I wished Peter could be here with me, but the site foreman had given him a very clear choice: show up for work as usual or never show up again. I offered to have Oliver pay the man a visit, but Peter seemed somewhat offended by the idea. “People like me, Mercy, like us, we don’t rely on those kinds of tricks. We come by things honestly.” I respected him for that, and even though I wished he were here to hold my hand, the way I knew—without even looking—that Jackson was holding my sister’s, I was glad he felt the way he did.
I turned away from the window and my gaze fell on Maisie. It didn’t take a mind reader to know that her mind was focused on one thing, the drawing of the lots. It was scheduled for tonight. I closed my eyes and said another silent prayer, this time for Maisie. I hoped that the power would settle itself on another. She thought she was prepared for the responsibility, but I wanted her to have her own life. A life that wasn’t anchored to the line. And in my heart, I felt a sudden conviction that my prayer would be answered, that Maisie would be spared the burden of assuming Ginny’s mantle, at least for now.
I felt the weight of Jackson’s gaze fall on me. My heart began to pound when our eyes met, and the temperature around me soared. I always thought it was a joke when people said that you hear violin music when you’re looking at your true love, but I swear I heard the rush of strings. I tried to look away, but his eyes held mine like a vise. Could that look in them be longing? I wondered if Maisie was right, and he really was torn between us. There had been that moment at the hospital after all…For a second I was lost, drowning in desire for him. The flame that I’d tried to smother was rekindled, and it burned all around me. Then I noticed that Jackson was indeed holding Maisie’s right hand in his left. A dark red shame filled me as I acknowledged that my thoughts were a betrayal of both my sister and Peter. I would not pursue my interest in Jackson, nor would I do anything to encourage him.
Guilt forced me to look away, and I returned my focus to my surroundings. The quirky, historic Savannah that I loved faded quickly into a no-man’s-land of generic strip malls and discount stores. The road to the cemetery seemed too suburban to belong to Savannah proper, and I only felt a returning sense of home as we drew near the gates of the far more famous Bonaventure Cemetery, where my own mother and grandparents were interred. You can’t reach Greenwich without passing by Bonaventure, and I promised myself that once the heat broke, I’d bike out and bring flowers for their graves, and maybe even a few for Ginny’s.
The sun had reached its apogee, so the minister took mercy on us, speeding through a prayer that we all knew would mean little if anything to Ginny and then sprinkling the first handful of earth over the coffin. I broke away from the gathering and returned to the car, praying that the driver still had the air-conditioning running.
I was within yards of the waiting limo when an elderly man approached me. His face was familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it.
“Miss Taylor, I would appreciate you coming with me.”
Three things stopped me dead in my tracks: his calm demeanor, his gentle voice, and the terror in his eyes. My heart started beating like mad. I’d been around witches my entire life, and I instantly knew that he was being compelled, and through him, so was I. His request was no request, and I had no choice but to comply. That sure didn’t stop me from trying. I lifted a foot and told it to move backward. It carried me forward instead, bringing me one step closer to the car. I turned my head, hoping that someone from the family had followed me and would figure out what was going on,
Surrounded by my nearest blood, I felt entirely alone. I wished Peter could be here with me, but the site foreman had given him a very clear choice: show up for work as usual or never show up again. I offered to have Oliver pay the man a visit, but Peter seemed somewhat offended by the idea. “People like me, Mercy, like us, we don’t rely on those kinds of tricks. We come by things honestly.” I respected him for that, and even though I wished he were here to hold my hand, the way I knew—without even looking—that Jackson was holding my sister’s, I was glad he felt the way he did.
I turned away from the window and my gaze fell on Maisie. It didn’t take a mind reader to know that her mind was focused on one thing, the drawing of the lots. It was scheduled for tonight. I closed my eyes and said another silent prayer, this time for Maisie. I hoped that the power would settle itself on another. She thought she was prepared for the responsibility, but I wanted her to have her own life. A life that wasn’t anchored to the line. And in my heart, I felt a sudden conviction that my prayer would be answered, that Maisie would be spared the burden of assuming Ginny’s mantle, at least for now.
I felt the weight of Jackson’s gaze fall on me. My heart began to pound when our eyes met, and the temperature around me soared. I always thought it was a joke when people said that you hear violin music when you’re looking at your true love, but I swear I heard the rush of strings. I tried to look away, but his eyes held mine like a vise. Could that look in them be longing? I wondered if Maisie was right, and he really was torn between us. There had been that moment at the hospital after all…For a second I was lost, drowning in desire for him. The flame that I’d tried to smother was rekindled, and it burned all around me. Then I noticed that Jackson was indeed holding Maisie’s right hand in his left. A dark red shame filled me as I acknowledged that my thoughts were a betrayal of both my sister and Peter. I would not pursue my interest in Jackson, nor would I do anything to encourage him.
Guilt forced me to look away, and I returned my focus to my surroundings. The quirky, historic Savannah that I loved faded quickly into a no-man’s-land of generic strip malls and discount stores. The road to the cemetery seemed too suburban to belong to Savannah proper, and I only felt a returning sense of home as we drew near the gates of the far more famous Bonaventure Cemetery, where my own mother and grandparents were interred. You can’t reach Greenwich without passing by Bonaventure, and I promised myself that once the heat broke, I’d bike out and bring flowers for their graves, and maybe even a few for Ginny’s.
The sun had reached its apogee, so the minister took mercy on us, speeding through a prayer that we all knew would mean little if anything to Ginny and then sprinkling the first handful of earth over the coffin. I broke away from the gathering and returned to the car, praying that the driver still had the air-conditioning running.
I was within yards of the waiting limo when an elderly man approached me. His face was familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it.
“Miss Taylor, I would appreciate you coming with me.”
Three things stopped me dead in my tracks: his calm demeanor, his gentle voice, and the terror in his eyes. My heart started beating like mad. I’d been around witches my entire life, and I instantly knew that he was being compelled, and through him, so was I. His request was no request, and I had no choice but to comply. That sure didn’t stop me from trying. I lifted a foot and told it to move backward. It carried me forward instead, bringing me one step closer to the car. I turned my head, hoping that someone from the family had followed me and would figure out what was going on,
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