The Line (24 page)

“Yes,” Ellen said. “Jilo’s signature is all over it, powerful yet amateur. Foolishly constructed and open to a whole bunch of negative side effects. Who asked her to place this on you?”

I didn’t respond, but Ellen seemed to guess the truth. “I see,” she said. Questions flitted across her face, but she chose not to pose any of them.

“Can I break this spell?” I asked.

“Yes, the spell can be broken,” she said after some consideration. “But it is a blood spell. In order to break it, you need to have the blood of the one who cast it.”

“How much of her blood?” I asked, a cold shudder shaking through me. I remembered the sackcloth bag that Jilo had been carrying when I went to see her at the crossroads; the poor hen inside had been destined for something much darker than Sunday dinner.

Ellen removed her hand and the pendant slid back into place. I felt myself grow stronger and more confident when it touched my chest.

“Not much,” she said. “Only as much as she used in her original casting.”

“So all I need to do is hunt down Jilo and ask her for a donation,” I said. I was strangely certain I could find her, but I wondered if even Oliver’s power for compelling would help me extract blood from the old stone.

“It would be best if she revoked the spell on her own, making it like she never cast it,” Ellen responded. “But if she’s unwilling, you could break it yourself with a bit of her blood mixed with a bit of the blood of the person who requested the spell.”

“But how?” I asked.

“Trust your instincts,” she said. “You don’t need my help for this one. If you can reach across worlds to find your sister, you can handle Jilo.”

I was still staring at my newly enhanced reflection when she left the room, but she was right. I was not going to waste another moment of my day. I placed my hand over the pendant and felt the fire circulate in my veins once more. When I slipped it beneath my shirt, I experienced a feeling barely short of vertigo. The world rushed up around me, and I was completely enveloped in the power. Finally the energy settled inside me, and I could think clearly again. Time to deal with Jilo.

I walked down the hall to the linen closet, halfway expecting it to creak open and radiate shimmering haint blue light, just like it had yesterday. The door remained shut. I stood before it for a few moments and then took the knob in hand. When I opened it, a completely normal room lay in front of me—no aquamarine, no amputee cat, and certainly no Jilo. I stepped in and closed the door behind me. I went to the center of the room, trying to sense Jilo’s magic, but the room felt blank. The only magic I sensed within its walls was what I had brought in with me.
This
was why my family had never sensed that Jilo had created a portal in our home. It was hidden from those who were filled with magic.

I left the room and followed my instincts downstairs and out of the house. Jilo was hiding from the police, who were a mere inconvenience to her, and from my family, who could pose a more serious threat. As guilty as Iris may have been for carelessly letting Grace slip into our world, I was guilty too. I had given Jilo a purchase from which to take aim at my family. I needed to convince her to break the spell that she had cast and then break off relations with her entirely. It was wrong for me to put my desire for knowledge and power before my family’s well-being.

I briefly considered taking my bike, but I needed to feel Savannah beneath my feet. After a few steps, I kicked off my shoes. I needed the stones and the sandy soil, the sun-baked concrete, and the tabby sidewalks to guide me. The surfaces tugged at my feet, their energy merging with my own, their molecules communicating directly with mine in a way that couldn’t be explained by the rational world. The sun was nearly overhead, and I knew the ground beneath me must be infernally hot, but I felt no pain. I felt only the pull of Savannah as she guided my feet toward my destination.

Through the lens of the power, I felt as if I were seeing the city for the first time in many ways. Periods of the past interlaced with future possibilities in a way that was confusing at first. Houses rose and fell, the street was paved and then it wasn’t. Towers I had never imagined seeing in Savannah sprouted and then faded. Everything was jumbled up before me, but with each step my focus was narrowing in on the now.

I let my feet carry me forward without questioning their steps. I realized that I was moving away from my home in an ever-expanding spiral. I felt as if I were once again a little girl, playing blind man’s bluff. Savannah called “warmer” or “cooler” to me as I continued along. I approached Whitfield Square, and its gazebo was like an arrow pointing me farther south. My pace quickened as I continued down Habersham past the small liquor store. Instinctually I drew closer and closer to the broadcasting tower on Huntington. And then I knew. I turned onto Huntington, moving as if the air itself were carrying me back toward Drayton, toward Forsyth Park.

I felt her nearby—her vibrations and the scent of her magic, ripe with earth and ash. It pulled me closer and closer to old Candler Hospital. Georgia’s oldest hospital, it had opened decades before the Civil War began. The misery of the past roiled from the building like heat off a blacktop. Victims of the yellow fever epidemic had passed through its doors on their way to their final reward—or were sometimes hurried toward it by the doctors who coveted their bodies for dissection. The indigent and the mad had also been hastened inside, few of them ever to leave. During the Civil War, piles of amputated limbs had practically reached the second floor. Even today, thirty-something years after it had been closed as a hospital, Candler seemed glutted, choked on the wretchedness it had absorbed for centuries. Toxins both real and spectral emanated from the building, and the rusted and peeling ironwork seemed to threaten tetanus if you so much as glanced at it.

As I circled to the front of the hospital, I sensed a barrier that separated the building from the world around it. The faculty with which I sensed this barrier was almost sight, almost touch, but independent from both. As I focused on the barrier, I caught a fleeting glimpse of it, a wall of cold blue flame that encapsulated the building.

A spirit on the other side of the barrier flung itself against it again and again, reaching out to me in supplication. He crouched there, naked and unwashed, and my sympathy for his plight drowned out my own fear and disgust. One instant he was there, on his knees, his bloodied hands beating against the wall that held him. The next he and the barrier had vanished from my sight, and the building was bathed in normal late morning light. He must be the soul of one of the madmen who had lost their lives there, I realized. I continued to circle the building until I reached the Drayton Street side. I had seen the defunct hospital so many times while walking in Forsyth Park, but I had never really taken it in before. Well, maybe I had, but only with ordinary human eyes.

The large Candler Oak stood sentinel before it, its Spanish moss–covered limbs nearly three hundred years old. It was an old friend of mine, having served me in many games of hide-and-go-seek over the years. I felt compelled to touch it, to run my hand against its bark and experience it as a witch. I tentatively traced its side with my index finger, and the tree shimmered its welcome, seeming to recognize my touch and invite it. I splayed my whole hand against it, letting my palm scrape against the immense trunk. Suddenly dozens of vivid impressions crossed my mind. I closed my eyes. The ancient oak was trying to communicate with me by sharing the feeling of its deep roots in the cool soil, the sensation of hot sun on its leaves, and the deep sense of place it knew, which could never be understood by those who moved across the face of the earth.

I opened my eyes, and burning in the wood before me were two symbols, similar to those that Oliver had carved into the wood I was now wearing as a pendant. A spell had been placed here and, with the magic running through me, I could see it. The first symbol looked like the letter Y with a line drawn through its vertical center.
A defense, a source of protection, a warning.
The second looked something like a fish standing on its tail.
Property, a parcel of land.
I didn’t know their names, but the magic within me explained their purpose. These runes strengthened the spell that held the mad and desperate energies of the old hospital in check, keeping them locked in place so that they couldn’t spread out into the rest of the city.

I considered the wisdom of freeing those who were trapped on site. It wasn’t the smartest or safest thing to do, but I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving them there forever. Maybe this was the one unselfish thing I could accomplish today. I cast my mind out around the spell, checking for any weak spots, and as I did, a shrill and piercing sound rose in my ears. It was deafening from the start, and it kept getting louder and louder until the pain caused my knees to buckle. The warning was clear—I wasn’t to meddle.

I was still on my knees looking up at the hospital when I felt strong hands grasp my shoulders. My sense of hearing returned in a rush of words.

“Mercy, are you okay?” I spun around to see Jackson. His eyes widened and then narrowed as he took in the new glow that Oliver’s magic had given me. An angry crease formed on his forehead. “What’s wrong with your eyes? What have they done to you? What have you done to yourself?” he asked, his voice full of misery. “I can feel the magic on you.”

I looked into his eyes, feeling their blue warmth, and wanted to possess him, the strength of Oliver’s need to seduce momentarily overpowering the effects of Jilo’s spell. The look of distaste on his face was a cold slap that triggered my conscience and stopped me from acting. I knew that something had changed in him. I had seen him look at Maisie with adoration thousands of times, but he was repulsed by the power in me, even though it was inconsequential when compared to hers.

“Nothing,” I said. “It’s nothing permanent.” I reached into my shirt and pulled out the wooden amulet. It was hard to summon the will to remove the necklace, but I managed to pull it off and let it fall to the ground beside me. The world around me faded, losing the vibrant colors and sharp edges that had been revealed by Oliver’s magic. It was once again my simple, everyday world.

“Burn that thing,” Jackson said, reaching down to grab the necklace.

“No!” I blocked him with a show of force I never would have thought myself capable of without the power. Then, more calmly, “Not yet. I’ll destroy it tomorrow.”

He backed a few steps away from me, surveying me for any remaining traces of the power. “This isn’t meant for you, Mercy. This ‘magic’ ”—he said the word with disgust—“is unnatural. It’s wrong. I’m done with it.”

“You can never be done with it,” I said. “It’s what Maisie is, what she’s made from.”

“That’s why I’ve been looking for you,” he said. “I’m through with the magic. And I’m through with Maisie. I’ve decided to break off our engagement.” I started to protest, but he held up his hand to silence me. “I mean it. My eyes have been opened. I saw what Maisie turned into the night of the lot drawing. I’ve been asking myself if I could truly love her after what happened. The sight of her, floating above the ground, the way she enjoyed hurting us. The look in her eyes. It sickened me.
She
sickened me.”

“You shouldn’t have been there. You shouldn’t have seen any of it.”

“But I was. I did. And I don’t know how to deal with it. The reason I showed up at your house yesterday is that I wanted to talk everything over with your family. I hoped it would help me figure out if I wanted to carry on with Maisie.”

“You can’t decide that by talking to anyone other than Maisie,” I said, but Jackson just shook his head.

“No,” he said. “I had my answer as soon as I laid eyes on you, and when we went into the house—I can’t live with this weirdness in my life. As long as I’m with Maisie, it will be a part of my life, and I just can’t abide by that. It took me a while, but I’ve finally gotten it through my thick head what your family is all about. And this magic is not natural. I’ll never forget the things I saw yesterday. I’m sorry, but what I felt for Maisie is dead. I could never love her again.” His face softened, and his eyes bore into me. “But you aren’t like them. Not usually, at least. Mercy, I’ve got to say it. I wish to God that I’d met you first.”

“You don’t mean that,” I protested out of loyalty for Maisie. Or was it only Jilo’s spell that was keeping me from throwing my arms around him? In my secret and guilty dreams, I had heard him say these words to me thousands of times. But in my dreams there were never any consequences.

“I do mean it,” he said. “You’re real. You’re human. Quite frankly, I don’t know what Maisie is anymore, but I know I can’t love her. I can’t build a life with her. I sure as hell cannot make her the mother of my children.” He hesitated a moment and then said, “I’m leaving Savannah, and I’d like you to come with me.”

“I couldn’t—”

“No, don’t answer me now. Take some time and think it over. I know that you’ve made promises to Peter. I know you feel responsible for him and Maisie, but I think that deep down you know I’m right. We belong together, and the farther we get from this place, the clearer that truth is going to be to you. We could go anywhere, as long as it’s far from here. Seattle, Los Angeles, you name it.” His voice had been growing in intensity, but he stopped and ran his hand through his blond locks, taking a moment to compose himself.

I couldn’t process his words. Jilo’s magic made it impossible for me to consider leaving Peter, and my love for Maisie made the thought of breaking her heart even more impossible. But in my mind’s eye, if only for a fleeting moment, I could see us together on that other coast, holding hands by the beach. I pushed the image away.

“But even if you don’t choose to leave with me,” Jackson said, “you still need to get away. You cannot let their magic poison you. Leave that thing here.” He nodded toward my necklace on the ground. He stepped closer to me and took me into his arms. He didn’t try to kiss me; he just nuzzled my hair, breathing in deeply. Then he whispered into my ear, “Sleep on it tonight. I’m leaving tomorrow. If you want to go with me, and I hope and pray you do, meet me at dawn in front of Saint John’s. I won’t see another day in Savannah.” He turned away from me and hopped into his GTO, leaving behind a peel of rubber the length of a full good-bye.