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Beige threw up his arm, and the throne burst into flames in midair, falling as a rain of ashes. “No?” he asked. “And how do you intend to stop us?”
I began shaking, fear and rage combining to tear reason from my grasp. How could I stop them? How could I prevent them from taking Colin from me? Locking him in a laboratory and sacrificing him to the greater good? My feet made contact with the floor, and I was no longer myself when I strode toward Beige. I approached him like an angry lioness, transformed by fear into a living, breathing embodiment of Durga, the very spirit of a mother’s drive to defend her young. Beige’s confident smile slumped, the corners of his mouth turning down as his brow furrowed. As I neared him, he tried to take a step back, but my hand shot out of its own accord and pierced his skin, above the navel, below the heart, right at his solar plexus, right at the point where the line connected its magic to his. I ripped that connection out of him. He screamed, from pain and from powerlessness. I held the ball of light, bright and shimmering, before his eyes and then shoved it back into him and closed the wound.
His knees gave way, and he tumbled forward. “That,” I said as the other anchors rushed in to catch him, “that is how I will stop you. Do we understand each other?”
“Yes,” he said, nodding furiously as the others helped him balance.
“Good,” I said and reopened the haint-blue room’s exits for the last time. “Now, get out of here and tell the families to stay away from me. Stay away from my child. Stay away from my husband. Stay away from my family. And stay the hell away from Savannah.” The anchors who had remained fled the chamber and rushed into the realm of the living shadows, comforted, I am sure, to face the kind of adversaries to which they felt more accustomed. I made one last turn in the cerulean light, and then watched as Jilo’s chamber folded in on itself, sliding away only at the last possible moment before it disappeared for good.
FORTY-ONE
A truly vintage wedding dress from the 1940s, ivory silk with a cowl neckline and a low-draped back. A bouquet of white roses and blue hydrangeas. Both from Ellen. Iris had loaned me the pendant necklace I was wearing, which had been passed down through more than a hundred years of Taylor women, a diamond-encircled cabochon emerald above a drop-shaped emerald. Iris had also made me a gift of a new pair of emerald and diamond earrings, the emeralds’ color an astonishingly close match to the antique ones in the necklace. From Maisie, I stole a kiss, as she continued to live in her dreams.
Oliver, of course, would give me away. His other contribution to the event was that he’d convinced the justice of the peace and the parks authority with just three days’ notice to let us perform the service in Forsyth Park, where Peter and I had first met. Peter had the idea that we should marry at the foot of the oak we’d always called “the climbing tree,” the one with the lowest and sturdiest branches. No groomsmen, no bridesmaids. Just the two of us before God. Iris had balked at first when Peter and I had said we wanted a simple wedding, no fancy reception, just cake and a band in the park. In the end, she’d capitulated and had even taken out a full-page ad in the Savannah Daily News welcoming the whole darned town.
We had taken over a suite of rooms at the Mansion, and a team of hair and makeup artists were surrounding me, turning me into a fairy-tale princess, an image I’d never re-create under my own steam, even with magic. I loved every minute of it, though, because this day wasn’t just for me. It wasn’t even just for me and Peter. It was for the whole family. My aunts and uncle had arranged everything, devoting their attention to even the smallest details, although I had a surprise to spring on them as well.
“Shame on you,” I said as that surprise trudged into the room, dressed in chiffon the color of blue morning glories and a purple hat large enough to shade half of Savannah.
“Why shame on Jilo?” she asked, scanning me to try to find a place to land a kiss without messing up my hair or makeup.
I popped up and kissed her instead. “You know you aren’t supposed to outshine the bride.”
“Well, darlin’, Jilo can’t help it if the Lord has bestowed such blessings on her. Wouldn’t seem right to hide them.” She laughed, and took a seat on the foot of the bed. “Are you happy, girl?”
Tears started welling up in my eyes just as Ellen and Iris entered the room. “Yes,” I said. “Yes. I am very, very happy.” Jilo nodded in reply.
“Oh, now, now,” Iris said reaching for a tissue. “No waterworks until after the photos,” she said. Then she noticed Jilo. “Oh, Jilo. I am so glad you liked the hat. I knew it would suit you perfectly.”
“I love it. Thank you,” Jilo said softly and smiled. So much for my ability to surprise anyone. I looked at these three beautiful women. Each of them, in her own way, was a mother to me.
“Let’s loosen her hair a bit,” Ellen said to the stylist. Then she turned to me. “I’ve got a crazy idea,” she said. “It’s only that the thought of you and Peter marrying here in the park reminds me of when you were still a scrawny little tomboy. Well, since you aren’t wearing a full-length gown, how would you feel about doing this barefoot?”
A knock at the door interrupted the decision. “May the future mother-in-law come in?” Claire asked. We hadn’t seen each other since the day Ryder and Josef had barged into the bar. I hadn’t been purposely avoiding her, I had just been busy. I knew from her tone that she was concerned that I might actually turn her away.
“Of course,” I said, waving her in. “Would y’all mind if Claire and I had a moment alone?”
The assistants dropped everything as soon as I made the request, but my aunts exchanged a look before moving. Jilo grumbled a little under her breath, but then she worked her way off the foot of the bed. Once the room had been cleared, Claire stepped closer. “You, my dear girl, are breathtaking.”
“Thank you,” I said, reaching out to take her hand. “I am so sorry, Claire. For what I did to Peter—your natural son Peter, that is.” Heck, I should probably apologize for what I’d put her adopted son through as well, but I would spend the rest of my life doing my best to make it up to him.
“No, I am the one who’s sorry. It was only my grief and confusion talking. I know that you tried to help him and that he was already dead when you put your hands on him. I know,” she said, tapping her hand against her heart. “Listen, I have realized that the Fae did live up to their promise, just that time must move a bit differently in their world than in ours.” She paused. “When the police found him outside the powder magazine, he was wearing a heavy overcoat.”
>“We thank you for this meeting.” Beige’s words broke in through my panic, and shimmers at the edge of the room announced that many of the anchors had already begun to take leave. My heart raced. They had tricked me. They might not completely understand, but they knew the line had tapped into fairy magic, using my baby as the conduit.
“No,” I said, slamming the exits closed before any more could fade. “You will not harm my child,” I said, feeling the intensity of my emotions build. “You will not study my child.” I flew up from Jilo’s throne, grasping it with my magic and hurling it at them. “You will not use my child.”
Beige threw up his arm, and the throne burst into flames in midair, falling as a rain of ashes. “No?” he asked. “And how do you intend to stop us?”
I began shaking, fear and rage combining to tear reason from my grasp. How could I stop them? How could I prevent them from taking Colin from me? Locking him in a laboratory and sacrificing him to the greater good? My feet made contact with the floor, and I was no longer myself when I strode toward Beige. I approached him like an angry lioness, transformed by fear into a living, breathing embodiment of Durga, the very spirit of a mother’s drive to defend her young. Beige’s confident smile slumped, the corners of his mouth turning down as his brow furrowed. As I neared him, he tried to take a step back, but my hand shot out of its own accord and pierced his skin, above the navel, below the heart, right at his solar plexus, right at the point where the line connected its magic to his. I ripped that connection out of him. He screamed, from pain and from powerlessness. I held the ball of light, bright and shimmering, before his eyes and then shoved it back into him and closed the wound.
His knees gave way, and he tumbled forward. “That,” I said as the other anchors rushed in to catch him, “that is how I will stop you. Do we understand each other?”
“Yes,” he said, nodding furiously as the others helped him balance.
“Good,” I said and reopened the haint-blue room’s exits for the last time. “Now, get out of here and tell the families to stay away from me. Stay away from my child. Stay away from my husband. Stay away from my family. And stay the hell away from Savannah.” The anchors who had remained fled the chamber and rushed into the realm of the living shadows, comforted, I am sure, to face the kind of adversaries to which they felt more accustomed. I made one last turn in the cerulean light, and then watched as Jilo’s chamber folded in on itself, sliding away only at the last possible moment before it disappeared for good.
FORTY-ONE
