The Source (Witching Savannah, Book 2)

by Horn, J. D.

  Jilo turned to me, and I saw true terror in her eyes. “It coming for Jilo.” Her voice was a dying whisper. “She sorry it catching you too,” she said, still looking at me. “Yo’ granny, she sorry,” she said, reaching out and pulling Martell to her. I glanced out the windows, but nothing was visible beyond them. The world stopped at the panes of glass, and then the windows themselves began to crack under the growing pressure. All sound stopped as gray seeped in through the walls, draining the already faded flowers of Jilo’s wallpaper to nothing.

  Walls began to curve around us, and the baseboards warped before our eyes. I ran to Jilo and took her and Martell in my arms. The boy was trembling, but instead of resisting, he clung to me. I didn’t know if it would work. I wasn’t even sure a world still existed outside this quivering bubble, but I grabbed them both and held them tight. I closed my eyes and focused on home.

  The next thing I knew, I felt the sun on my face and heard the sounds of birds and traffic. I opened my eyes, and there I stood in the garden, still holding my hitchhikers in a death grip. Martell broke away, stumbled a few feet, and began to wretch. Jilo looked at me with something that went past respect and spoke of wonderment. “Bless you, baby,” she whispered, and then went and stood beside her grandson, patting her hand on his shoulder to comfort him.

  “I’ll get him some water,” I said, heading to the kitchen door.

  “If yo’ uncle has any of that scotch left, I’d be much obliged,” Jilo replied, giving Martell a final pat. I smiled. The old girl was nothing if not resilient; she was already on the mend.

  Walking into the silent house, I sent out a psychic ping to see if it would bounce back to me from any of the house’s corners. Nothing; no one was home.

  I went into the library and found some whiskey for Jilo, then passed through the kitchen to grab a couple of glasses, filling one with water and one halfway with the stronger stuff. I returned to the garden, almost dropping the glasses when I found Iris standing next to the table across from Jilo and a defiant-looking Martell, who sat slumped into his chair. He was pointedly looking away from my aunt and feigning boredom. I handed him his water, which he took silently.

  “Martell,” Jilo said.

  He sat up a little straighter. “Thank you,” he said without much feeling and began to nurse his drink, eyeing the glass I handed Jilo with covetous, underage eyes.

  “Thank you, my girl,” Jilo said.

  “Oh, my goodness,” Iris said. “Have I taught you nothing? Those are the everyday glasses, not the ones we use for guests. This young man here, Martell”—she raised an eyebrow, probably recollecting where and when she’d first heard the name—“he looks hungry to me, and the best you can offer him is water?”

  “I could eat,” Martell said.

  His grandmother tut-tutted him. “Martell, you a guest here.”

  “But Gramma, I was just saying—” He stopped as Jilo’s eyes opened wide, and she pointed her index at him.

  “Thank you, Miss Iris, but they no need to fuss over Jilo and the boy.”

  Iris laughed. “Pardon me, Mother, but there we disagree. If after all these years, Mother Jilo Wills is gracing this home with her presence, it is indeed an occasion worth a bit of fuss.” She looked at me with a wide, lopsided smile that caused the corners of her eyes to wrinkle. I could tell she had always hoped for the chance to start putting the bad blood behind us all.

  Jilo remained silent. She took a deep sip of her drink and slowly closed and reopened her eyes, as happy as a fat cat by a warm fire.

  “Martell, hon,” Iris said, and Martell regarded her with a coolness he must have spent hours practicing in front of a mirror. “Why don’t you come into the kitchen with me and tell me what you’d like.”

  Martell was not stupid. He looked to Jilo for approval this time. She nodded once and waved him ahead. “Go on, boy. Don’ you just be hangin’ around in there neither. You help Miss Iris.”

  “Yes’m,” he responded, and actually rushed up to hold the door open for Iris.

  When the door closed behind them, I went and sat next to Jilo. “What was that? What force could possibly swallow the world around us like that?”

  Jilo wouldn’t look me in the eye. Her eyebrows were lowered, and her right hand quivered and reached up to touch her hair. “That Wren, he ain’t the only demon Jilo had truck with over the years. She honored most of the deals she made, but she might’ve cut corners on a few of ’em.” She cleared throat. “Ever since yo’ uncle and his tree, Jilo ain’t had the heart to take the steps she need to keep the angry ones in line.”

  “What would those steps be,” I asked warily.

  “You gotta offer up appeasement, sacrifice,” she said.

  “Blood,” I said, my mind flashing back to the first time I had encountered her at her crossroads, how she’d been carrying a live chicken in a burlap sack.

  Jilo looked up, shaking her head and holding her hands before her, palms up. “Too much blood. Too much blood on these hands.”

  I grasped her hands and squeezed them. “It may be what you think, and if it is, we’ll figure out how to handle it, but I’m not sure if the attack was aimed at you or me,” I said, thinking of Ryder and Joe and what they had done to Birdy. “The one thing I do know is that this house is the safest place for you and Martell to be right now. At least until we figure out what happened back there.”

  “Are you plumb out of yo’ mind, girl?” Jilo laughed. It was not a happy laugh. It sounded much closer to the ones I used to hear when she was still hiding her gentle side from me. “You tellin’ Jilo that you want her to spend the night beneath the Taylor roof?”

  “Yes, that’s exactly what I am saying.”

  “They ain’t no way that gonna happen.”

  “Why not? Are you too good for us, or are we too good for you?”

  Her face bunched up into a mass of wrinkles, and her eyes drew together into tight little slits. “Yo’ family will never allow it.”

  “Oh, I think what my family will allow would surprise you. You see how Iris is falling all over herself at the sight of you.”

  “Jilo in her yard, she ain’t under her roof. They’s a big difference in those two things.”

  “I don’t know about that. She just dragged your grandson inside, droopy pants and all. Listen, do you really want to go back out . . . out there while you think something has it in for you?”

  She sat there, honestly weighing whether the danger she might face would merit sacrificing her pride. “I don’ know. Jilo, she has history with the Taylor—”

  “And history is all it is. You tell me, which of the still-living Taylors does the great Mother Jilo Wills have a score to settle with?”

  “She gonna have one to settle with you if you keep talking at her with that tone.”

  I couldn’t help it. I laughed, and then she began chuckling too. “Come on,” I said to her. “Come on inside.” I stood up and went over to the kitchen door, holding it open for her so that she could go in before me.

  “No,” she said after a few moments. “Jilo ain’t going in through the back way.” She pushed her chair back and leaned into the table to prop herself up. “You raised in a very different world than Jilo. When Jilo young, that back door was the only way she could go into a fancy white house.” She struggled around the table until she got a firm footing. “When Jilo a girl, she done made herself a promise, and by God, she gonna keep it.”

  “What promise was that?” I asked, letting the door close.

  “Jilo done promise herself that if she ever step foot in the Taylor house, she was going to go in through the front door. You hear me?”

  “Yeah. I think I understand.” I took her arm, and then led her through the gate and around the side of the house to the front entrance. We went up the steps until we were standing before the door. “Well, go on, then,” I said n
odding at the bell.

  She reached forward. The way her hand quivered touched me, her index finger shaking as if she expected the bell to shock it. She gave it a quick poke, and then a more forceful one. Jilo pulled her hand back, and stretched as tall as she could make herself. She held her head up as high as her neck would allow when my smiling, but slightly confused, aunt answered the door. Iris looked at me for explanation. I would have shrugged, but somehow this moment struck me as solemn. “Jilo always promised herself that if she ever entered our house, she would go in by the front door.”

  A look of understanding registered in Iris’s eyes, causing them to appear a little sad in spite of her smile. “Well, of course,” she said. “Do come in, Jilo,” she said and stepped back.

  “Before she do, Jilo has to make something clear,” she said and shot me a look that told me I’d better hold my tongue.

  “Yes?” Iris asked, the smile fading.

  “Before she come in, it only fair you know. Jilo, her sins, they comin’ home to roost. You offer Jilo sanctuary, and you might find yo’self caught up in her mess.”

  “Sanctuary?” Iris looked at me, trying to glean information from my expression. She must have accepted whatever she saw there. “The Taylors can take whatever the world tosses at them. Come in, Mother.”

  “Thank you,” the old woman said, gingerly lifting her foot over the threshold.

  TWENTY-ONE

  A fine morning followed a mercifully uneventful night. Iris served us the Southern breakfast Connor had always demanded, fried everything with a pat of butter on the side. Martell tore into his plate, and after a few thank-yous and compliments, Jilo tucked pretty well into hers as well. My stomach was having none of it, so I made myself a bowl of plain oatmeal with brown sugar. Pleased that our guests were happy, Iris kissed the top of my head and excused herself to head out and tend to the flowerbeds.

  “It was mighty gracious the way yo’ aunt allowed us to spend the night, oh, and that uncle of yo’s too.” She truly meant what she’d said about Iris, but her comment about Oliver had come more grudgingly, I noticed. Last night he had returned home and come to the library to pour himself a drink, only to find Jilo, Iris, and myself discussing the events of the day, Jilo clad in one of Iris’s robes. “All right, then” was all he said, pouring himself a double and exiting the room without another word.

  “Trust me,” I said. “As far as you and my uncle are concerned, that counted as a brass band welcome.” If Ellen had come home the previous night, she had done so long after the rest of us had retired, so I hadn’t had a chance to gauge her reaction.

  I was anxious to get back to the discussion Jilo and I had been having before the world literally began to collapse in on us. I did not, however, feel comfortable picking up where we’d left off in the family kitchen, especially with Martell listening in. I would have to be patient. I stood and went to the sink to rinse out my bowl before putting it in the dishwasher. When I looked out the window, I saw that Adam Cook was talking to Iris. He was wearing his serious face; Birdy’s remains must have been found.

  “It’s Detective Cook,” I told Jilo and crossed the room to open the door for Iris and the policeman. “Adam,” I acknowledged him. “Two days in a row.”

  “Indeed,” he concurred. “I’m pleased to see you’ve caught up with Mother.” He addressed Jilo. “I have been worried about you.”

  “No need to worry about Jilo,” she said, cackling.

  “It’s good to see you well all the same.” He paused, nodding slowly in her direction. He turned back to face me. “Actually though, I had a different reason for dropping by this morning.” I motioned him to the chair next to Jilo’s, and then pulled out the remaining chair for myself. I said nothing, just arched my eyebrows as a sign he should continue. He shifted in his seat, his legs a bit too long not to bump into the bottom of the table as he did so. “Miss Taylor—Mercy,” he corrected himself, “were you by any chance down by the river last night? Maybe out near Elba Island Road?”

  I shook my head, relieved that the God’s honest truth would serve me well this time. “No, nowhere near it. Why do you ask?”

  “All right,” he responded without answering my question. “Is Mrs. Weber home, by any chance?”

  “No, not right now. Aunt Ellen’s probably out exercising or maybe at City Market,” I said, and Adam wrinkled his brow. “She’s reopening her flower shop.”

  “Ah, good for her,” he said.

  “Yeah, I think it really is, although right now she’s her own biggest client given all the bouquets she’s planning for her wedding to Tucker.”

  “Do y’all have any idea where she spent the night? Do you know if she might have been out with Mr. Perry?”

  “That’s exceedingly possible,” Iris said, “but not certain. She told me Tucker had unexpected business to attend to in Atlanta, and she didn’t know if he’d make it in time for the menu sampling she’d arranged for their wedding reception.”

  “And did this upset her?” Adam asked.

  A pinched smile formed on Iris’s lips. “Inconvenienced, yes. Upset, no. Adam, perhaps you should tell us what this is all about.”

  “All right,” Cook said. “Mr. Perry’s boat ran itself ashore about an hour ago out near the bend by Falligant Avenue. A couple of kids spotted it and went to take a look.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Iris said and laughed. I sensed her relief that this visit wasn’t connected to the grisly discovery we had made at the old hospital. “So Tucker failed to secure his boat, and some teenagers took it for a joyride. Probably the same kids who reported it.”

  “No,” Adam said. “I have reason to believe that’s not the case.” He looked at me. “You’ve been less than supportive about Ellen and Tucker’s marriage, haven’t you?”

  “Listen,” I said. “I have accepted his relationship with Ellen. I have far too much going on in my own life to run around committing acts of theft and petty vandalism. You can assure Tucker I didn’t have anything to do with it.” I shook my head in disbelief.

  “I’m afraid I can’t do that,” Cook responded. “The boat wasn’t empty. Mr. Perry was found inside. I’m afraid he’s dead.”

  I jumped. I watched as Iris turned gray and rocked a little from the shock. Jilo reached out and took her hand. “I’m sorry to hear that,” I said, although the truth was I felt more sorry for Ellen than for Tucker. Guiltily I wondered how Tucker’s demise would affect Peter’s fledgling business.

  “That sounds very close to sincere,” Cook said. I suddenly realized we had gone back to Cook and Miss Taylor. “I always got the feeling that you didn’t care much for Perry.”

  “Well, sure I never liked the guy much, but . . . well, I’m still sorry. I didn’t wish him any harm. Ellen’s going to be devastated.” I wondered if she could find the strength to make it past another tragedy. “What happened to him?”

  “I’m not at liberty to share the exact details with you as yet.” He paused, fixing me firmly in his gaze. “But we are treating the death as suspicious, in a large degree because it bears some striking similarities to another case we’ve seen recently. Another death to which you, Miss Taylor, have a connection, albeit tangential.”

  I blanched. I was happy that I had been sitting, because otherwise I might have keeled over. Jilo rose to my defense. “If you gonna go about tryin’ to hang this on anybody who disliked that smarmy son of a bitch, you should be puttin’ Jilo on that list long before any of the Taylors. That jackass been gratin’ Jilo’s last nerve since he turned nineteen.”

  “I wouldn’t have thought so right off the bat, Mother,” Cook said, a cool smile forming on his lips, “but finding y’all here like this, looking so close and cozy, I will very much take that under consideration.” He pushed himself away from the table and nodded once at the three of us. “Mother, Martell,” he said in farewell. “Miss Tayl
or, you tell Ellen to give me a call when she gets in, okay? It’ll save me the trouble of having to hunt her down.” He nodded once more and exited through the back, leaving the door open behind him.

  I could hear Jilo’s teeth grinding together. “Okay, girl,” she said with a final clack. “Jilo think she wrong yesterday. This ain’t about her. This about you. You know you can count on Jilo, even though she ain’t sure she can do you much good no more. She got to think about her grandbaby here,” she said, nodding her head at Martell. He started to protest, but she held up a finger in his face, effectively silencing him. “Jilo got people over on Sapelo. She gonna take the boy there, make sure he safe. They still things you gotta know, and Jilo tell you once she had a chance to get a bit of rest herself. All that gonna have to wait fo’ now. If you need her, she come running, but she can’t help you or your family no more with getting back that sister of yo’s. Jilo thinkin’ they somebody who jus’ plain don’ want that girl brung back.” She faced Martell. “You help Gramma up,” she said. He did as she told him without protest. “Thank you for your hospitality, Miss Iris.”

  “Of course, dear. You are always welcome here. Both of you.”

  “Martell.” Jilo lifted her arm. He took ahold of it and maneuvered her slowly toward the door. “You take care, girl,” she said, looking over her shoulder at me.

  “Jilo,” I called, and she stopped and turned toward me. “The spell. The one you worked for Tucker. What did you do for him?”

  “Jilo don’t guess it matter much now.” She reached out and pushed gently past her grandson. “Fool came to Jilo and said he wanted to do right by your auntie. Spell he asked for would make sure he see her face every time he was thinking about cheatin’ on her.”