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I stopped and turned back toward her. “I changed my mind. I don’t want your help. Forget I came.”
“Too late,” she replied. “You done asked.”
“I won’t give you anything. I won’t pay you.”
“Jilo don’ care, little girl. She gonna do it, just ’cause she lookin’ forward to see how it gonna play out.”
I started walking again, forcing myself not to run. I prayed to God and all my ancestors that she was bluffing. Getting what I wanted, what I came to this crossroads for, would be a curse now, knowing now its source was rooted in murder.
“You give my best to Ginny,” she called out behind me, squawks of laughter mixing again with hacks of phlegm.
THREE
Great-Aunt Ginny summoned me shortly after sunrise, the message being passed on to me by Aunt Iris. Ginny dealt with me directly as little as possible, so I knew it spelled trouble. Sam mustn’t have fallen for my story. Or maybe he had believed me, but had gone to see Ginny anyway.
“I have no idea what this is about,” Iris said to me as she poured her husband Connor another cup of coffee. “But I suspect that you do.”
“Just what have you been up to, girl?” Connor asked, shifting his massive bulk on his chair. He gave me a steely glare from behind his towering stack of pancakes.
“I haven’t been up to anything,” I replied, pouring myself some juice. I did my best to look innocent and not think of Jilo.
“You might as well come clean now, darlin’,” Iris said, taking the pitcher from my hand. “Maybe then I can plead with Ginny on your behalf.”
“I don’t need you to plead for me,” I said, suddenly angry. “I am tired of Ginny and the way she thinks she can boss everyone in this family around. It’s about time someone stood up to her.”
Connor laughed and leaned back in his chair. “Well, we all wish you luck with that. But when she hands you your ass in a brown paper bag, don’t you come crying to me.”
“She wants you there by nine,” Iris said, shaking her head. “Do not be late.”
I wasn’t about to give them the satisfaction of hearing me slam the door, so I went out quietly. Ginny wanted to see me by 9:00. Fine. She’d obviously caught wind of my visit with Mother Jilo, even if she didn’t know the specifics of why I went. I had no doubt that she was furious, and that I was going to catch all seven shades of hell from her.
I had plenty of time, so I figured I would at least take the scenic path to my execution. I grabbed my bike from the garage and headed toward the river, in the exact opposite direction of Ginny’s house. I spun up to Columbia Square and stopped in front of the Davenport place. The house was one of Savannah’s many officially haunted locations, with one unique twist—the resident ghost was a cat. Ever since I was little, I had used this place as a barometer when I was worried about something. If things were going to turn out okay, I would always spot the spectral old tomcat staring out the window. If I didn’t see him…well, things were generally not going to go my way. I waited in the square for ten minutes watching the windows. “Here, kitty, kitty,” I called softly then decided to hell with it. Let Ginny bring on her worst. She had been trying to run my life for twenty years. Enough was enough. Today was going to be my independence day.
St. John’s bells carried over the sound of Savannah’s “rush hour,” and I counted eight peals. Out of nowhere the thought came to me that Peter would shortly be arriving at a site a little off Chatham Square, where he and his crew were renovating an apartment building. I had to see him. I had to know if Jilo had held true to her promise, a promise that had felt more like a threat. I hated myself for having gone to her, and my one consolation about the chewing out that Ginny undoubtedly had in store for me was that she’d be able to heavily curtail, if not completely disable, any magic Jilo had sent my way.
Before I even registered what I was doing, I was back on my bike, heading toward Peter’s work site, which was just past Aunt Ginny’s house. I zigzagged to Taylor Street, passing Calhoun Square and then Monterey Square, where a group of retirees were busy snapping photos of Mercer House. I made a wide berth of Ginny’s house, because I certainly didn’t want the old biddy to spot me on my bike if she was out on her morning walk. I didn’t want to be berated out in the open for any and all to see. And more important, I didn’t want anything to keep me from seeing Peter. I had to know if Jilo had worked her spell.
I recognized him from blocks away; his bright red hair was hard to miss. Already shirtless in the growing heat of the day, he was walking with a couple of bags of concrete slung over his square, lightly freckled shoulders. I dismounted and watched him. He was facing away from me. His worn jeans hugged his lower half in a way that would without doubt stop traffic, if there were any.
I compared my mental image of Jackson to the man who stood before me. They were about the same height and close to the same build; I wasn’t sure who could take the other in a fight. Other than that, they didn’t look much alike. While Jackson had blond curls and classic features—the kind of face you’d find carved into marble in a museum—Peter was a fiery redhead, and his Celtic features were anchored by a strong chin. Like the rest of him, Jackson’s eyes were perfect, a piercing blue the color of a bachelor’s button; Peter had mismatched eyes, one royal blue and one nearly emerald.
Jackson was as close as I had ever seen to the physical ideal, but the truth was that Peter’s quirky imperfections were closer to my physical ideal. He was a fine sight. And I loved him, really I did. Just not in the way I loved Jackson. I felt no new passion for him tugging at my heart. I was relieved and disappointed at the same time.
Peter seemed to sense that he was being watched, and he turned to face me. There was no way I could take off without being seen, so I raised my hand and waved. “Didn’t want to distract you,” I called. He lowered the cement to the ground and walked toward me, the sunlight glistening on his skin.
I had known Peter my whole life. Jackson was a newcomer to Savannah. But when I looked at Peter, I saw a dear and beloved friend, and when I looked at Jackson, I saw a piece of myself that had been missing since birth. I had no idea why, and it frustrated me to no end. I wanted to want Peter. I just didn’t.
“You can distract me anytime you want,” he said with a big smile.
“No, I don’t want to get you in trouble with the foreman,” I responded, unconsciously maneuvering my bike between us.
“He isn’t here yet. He’s off bidding on another project in Isle of Hope,” Peter responded, leaning across my bicycle to plant a quick kiss on my lips.
“I was in the neighborhood,” I said, pulling back. “Ginny has summoned me to the royal court.”
“Uh-oh,” Peter smiled. “What have you done now?”
