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“You’re talking about Grace,” Ellen said after a few moments. “Where did you dig up that ancient history?”
“People talk,” I responded vaguely.
“Well, yes, he and Grace used to hang with the same group of friends, but that was way back when he was a teenager,” she said, visibly calculating the years that had passed since. “That was back when he and Adam Cook were buddies. Rumor was that the girl had an abortion and then regretted it. It was a very sad situation, but it had nothing to do with us. I’m sure I don’t need to explain to you that your uncle had nothing to do with her getting pregnant,” she said, smirking at me.
“No, ma’am, I am very sure Uncle Oliver had nothing to do with that,” I said and returned her smile. I wanted to believe that Oliver wouldn’t harm a fly, that he’d done nothing to this Grace. With all that had gone on over the last several hours, I was willing to take comfort where I could find it.
“I’ve been giving it a lot of thought, though,” Ellen said. “And if Jilo was responsible for Ginny’s death, revenge might not have had a thing to do with it.”
“What do you mean?”
“Only that Jilo works a lot of dark magic, blood magic. Ginny was a powerful witch. Jilo could get a lot of mojo out of Ginny’s blood. Maybe we’ve been looking at it all wrong. Maybe it wasn’t a murder. Maybe it was a sacrifice.”
“But what kind of spell would require a human sacrifice?”
“Oh, sweetheart, conjurers like Jilo know how to store up energy from a bloodletting. She could expend it all attempting something big like a resurrection, or she might parse it out over years, using it little by little for money spells, revenge spells, love spells—”
“But I thought you don’t use blood in love spells.” I thought I would be ill. I had been so willing to accept Maisie’s assurances that Ginny’s death could not possibly have been related to the spell I’d asked Jilo to do.
“Well, of course I wouldn’t. You’d have to be pretty crazy or desperate to mess around with love spells anyway. But even the real witches who do them would never use blood. For someone who only borrows power, though, like Jilo, sometimes blood is the only way. Oh, I am sorry. I’ve upset you.” Ellen forced a smile. “Enough of this. Look at the two of us! The past is the past. We shouldn’t be wasting all this feminine beauty and grace on a walk down bad memory lane. Let’s go get that tea.”
“No, I’m sorry. I’m suddenly not feeling well. Maybe another time?”
Ellen regarded me with concern. She placed her palm on my forehead. I knew I couldn’t fake a physical illness with her. “Of course,” she said. “I’m sorry. I should have kept my theories to myself.”
“No. I’m glad you shared your thoughts with me. I just need a little time to process them.”
She traced my jawline with her finger. “We’ll try this again soon.”
NINETEEN
I headed back to my room, the tomboy in me desperate to ditch the dress and pearls. I wanted to put on some shorts. Find my bike. Ride as hard as I could until the sick feeling I was carrying fell away. Maisie had lied to me, and I had lapped it up. I realized now that I had to find Jilo. Go to her and demand the truth. I’d never be able to live with myself wondering if I had Ginny’s blood on my hands. I’d start with Colonial Park Cemetery. If she wasn’t there, I’d return to her crossroads. I no longer felt safe going there alone, but I couldn’t let another night fall without my knowing the truth.
As I passed the door to the linen closet, I heard it creak open behind me. I turned back to look. Through the narrow opening of the door, I could see the aura of haint blue telling me that another world awaited me on the other side. Jilo’s world. Somehow she knew I’d be ready for her. Ripe for the plucking. The thought that she had such intimate knowledge about me terrified me. I hesitated in the rippling strip of aquamarine light. Jilo had made it clear that her sole interest in me was to use me to bring pain to my family. She might still be doing her best to make me like her, or maybe she’d moved past that idea and on to plan B. If Jilo was behind Ginny’s death, I might be walking right into my own execution.
But I had to know what had happened to Ginny. The door swung all the way open, the blue scintillating like a swimming pool in full sun, and without letting myself think another thought, I stepped across the threshold. The door closed behind me of its own accord, and for a moment I was blinded by the bright sun as it reflected off the river. I recognized the spot, of course—it was the bend where the river met Bonaventure Cemetery.
“Savannah,” Jilo began without looking at me. “Whole damned place a graveyard. Funny thing is we got a whole mess of bodies with no markers, and then we got markers that ain’t got no bodies.” She laughed at her own joke, finally turning to me.
I was desperate to ask her whether or not she had killed Ginny to set the spell in motion, but before I could get the words out, she asked me a question of her own.
“You ask your sweet uncle about my Grace yet?” She bent over, picked up a stone, and began rolling it smoothly through her fingers.
“No,” I responded. “The timing hasn’t seemed right.” And then the words “Did he do it? Did Martell kill Ginny?” burst out of me.
“No.” She paused and held the stone still in her palm. “My Martell did not kill your Ginny, and that all Jilo has to say on the matter for now.”
“Connor said that you wouldn’t have enough power to free Martell on your own,” I pressed her.
“Oh do he now?” she laughed, her whole body shaking.
“Yes. He thinks you couldn’t siphon off enough power to physically transport him from one place to another.”
“But you know otherwise, don’t you?” she asked, her eyes narrowing as her mood quickly morphed from mirth to anger. “Oh don’t you worry, sweet little princess,” she hissed. “Jilo know you think she killed Ginny for yo’ little love spell, but those lily hands are clean. Jilo ain’t no fool. If they a price to pay for stealing a little bit of power, what do you think gonna happen to someone who take out an anchor? Jilo, she might be up for a skirmish with a witch or two from time to time, but they ain’t no way she taking on every last damned last one of them. Killing Ginny, whoever done that signed they own death sentence.”
I wanted to believe her, but I’d also wanted to believe Maisie. My family seemed so certain that transporting Martell was beyond anything she should be able to do. If I found out how she’d worked this particular feat, it might help me figure out the true depth of her power. Whether she really could work miracles under her own steam, or whether she was lying to me too. “But you moved him like you moved me. How do you find the power to do that unless you took it from Ginny?” I asked.
