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I held my hand out toward her, and she came and clutched it between hers. “If you feel you are ready to face the world, I wouldn’t dream of saying no.” Then a discomforting thought hit me. “Stay out of Peter’s line of sight, though, okay? He’s not himself lately.”
TWENTY
The rain had stopped, and though the air still felt chilly, a few rays of light reached out from behind the dissipating clouds. Claire and Colin had been beloved fixtures in Savannah, and even though not everyone from the church had followed us to the cemetery, still mourners stood in concentric circles eight deep around the open graves where Peter’s parents were to find their final rest. Maisie did her best to remain unobtrusive at the outer edge of the gathering.
I
watched Iris’s eyes scan the crowd, reaching further and further back all the way across the cemetery to its entrance. I knew she was on the lookout for Sam, hoping he might decide to join us. She had phoned him, and left him a message with the time and place. Still, if he hadn’t made it to the church, I doubted he’d show up here, but I didn’t have the heart to strip Iris of hope. Sam might not have shared the common aversion to witches, but having your body taken over by a boo hag could push anyone over the edge. Iris felt the weight of my stare, and her eyes met mine. “You got to be tough to love a Taylor,” she said reaching out and patting my hand. “Guess our Sam just wasn’t tough enough.”
I wondered if Peter would, in the end, prove tough enough. His buddies had pulled him aside. They encircled him, and I felt sure they were carrying on an abbreviated graveside wake. Oliver had followed to watch over Peter, hopefully limiting Peter’s alcohol intake rather than facilitating it. I would have felt better if Adam too had been on hand; he had no magic, but he was a rock. I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt where his allegiance lay, a certainty that felt like a near luxury in recent days. Sadly it was starting to look like his job would make him miss the entire gathering. I could only catch glimpses of Peter through the wall of friends surrounding him. I strained my eyes and willed the crowd to part.
“I hope it isn’t inappropriate for me to have come.” A voice broke through my intention and pulled me back to the present. I looked up to see Jessamine standing a bit off to my side. She had come close enough for us to hear her, but held cautiously back. “Listen, I know this is neither the time nor the place for a discussion, but”—she reached up, self-consciously patting her auburn hair—“I’m going home today. I fly out this afternoon.” She looked away from me to Iris. “I know you know . . . about me. Who I am. When we touched, I saw it in your eyes.” Her eyes fell back to mine. “I heard about all . . . this. I just wanted to offer my condolences. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come.”
I reached up quickly and caught her arm. “Why did you come? Not today. I mean before.”
Jessamine began to speak, then thought better of it. She pursed her lips. Finally she seemed to find her words. “I felt that Jilo had betrayed us. When I learned she had befriended you, I couldn’t believe it. I had to meet you all.” A cloud passed over the sun, and I saw tiny goose bumps prickle her flesh. “I was sure I would hate you.” She rubbed her hand over the exposed skin. “I wanted to hate you. I had grown up believing you were monsters, but seeing you in the flesh, I . . .” She wrapped her arms around herself. “I realized you were no more responsible for my grandfather’s desertion than I was. I saw you were just . . . well, not ordinary people, but certainly not fiends. It made me wonder if my family had not been the lucky ones.” Her eyes swept over the open graves. “All this magic doesn’t seem to bring you happiness.” Her voice trailed off, then she grew flustered. “I’m sorry. I have no right being here, talking like this to you. Especially now. I’ll go.”
“Please stay.” The words came to me by reflex. Jessamine seemed hesitant. Her mouth puckered slightly, and she leaned back away from me.
“Please,” Iris added, and Ellen shifted over a seat so Jessamine could sit between them. Jessamine flashed me one last uncertain look, but then took the seat between her aunts. I knew Iris regretted having jumped to conclusions about Jessamine being involved in all of this. Her desire to blame Jessamine had come from a place of pain, a deep disappointment at having the false image of her father toppled. I sensed she had come to realize this with both mind and spirit, and was glad to have a chance to set things right with her unexpected niece.
Ellen, who had been hiding her red eyes behind the nearly impenetrable black lenses of her sunglasses, pulled the glasses off and put them on her head. “We have siblings we’ve never met,” she said as if the idea had finally hit home. Perhaps emotionally it just had.
“Yes, a sister and a brother, my dad.” Jessamine glanced over at me. “And you have other cousins too.”
Iris reached out gingerly, and placed her hand over Jessamine’s. “The circumstances that led to our meeting were”—she looked for a precise term, but seemed to settle—“unfortunate. I hope we can try this again. When all this is behind us, that is.”
Jessamine stared dead ahead, saying nothing. Then she nodded and turned toward Iris. “I cannot speak for my family, but yes, I think I would like that.”
The priest cleared his throat, causing a silence to ripple out from a circle where he stood as the center. Peter’s friends scattered slowly, and I saw Oliver maneuvering Peter in our direction. Peter was speaking, and Oliver responded by nodding silently. If Oliver was surprised by Jessamine’s presence, he gave no sign. I wasn’t sure the new arrival had even registered with my husband.
Those gathered tightened the circle around us. The scattering of white wooden folding chairs could not begin to meet the demands of all the mourners gathered at the grave, so many were left to stand shifting from foot to foot, some leaning one against the other for support. I was glad I wouldn’t need to stand, but the sight of the white chairs reminded me of my wedding not so many weeks ago.
It had been such a short time since Peter and I had made our vows to each other. Still, it felt like many lifetimes had passed since then. I could barely recognize the man who stood at my side.
He looked uncomfortable in his new dark suit. The only other suit he owned, he’d been wearing since high school, and the pants no longer held quite the same color as the coat. There had been no thought of getting Peter to a haberdashery. He’d barely even gotten out of bed since the fire. Oliver took the size from the old suit and eyeballed the necessary alterations. The slim cut of the jacket would be perfect once Peter’s cast was removed. For now it hung over his shoulders, and he looked for all the world as if he might shrug it off. The way he continued to look past me made me wonder if he wouldn’t rather shrug me off too.
I reached up and grabbed his hand. Peter looked down at me, and for a moment, just a moment, I saw a tenderness in his eyes. The moment passed as the priest began to speak. I wished I could have held his gaze even a second longer. A shudder went through me, and along with it a presentiment he would never look at me that way again. Peter held on to my hand, but looked away. I could tell he wasn’t focusing on the priest’s words. His eyes continued to scan the horizon, as if he were expecting an arrival.
“In sure and certain hope of resurrection.” The words pierced my consciousness, drawing my gaze back to the twin AstroTurf-bordered openings at my feet. Something about the phrase struck me. The resurrection wasn’t guaranteed; the only thing that was sure and certain was the hope. As the thought crossed my mind, Iris, who was sitting on my right, reached over and pulled my head against her shoulder. I let it rest there, happy to close my eyes and let the peekaboo sun warm me.
Peter’s grasp on my hand tightened, and a charge of tension pulsated through the connection. I sat up and turned toward my husband. His face wore an anxious expression, his forehead bunched up to form creases. A bead of sweat trickled from his temple. He seemed to sense something at the edge of the cemetery. His eyes scanned the bushes at its boundary. I let my gaze follow his. I couldn’t see anyone, but I, too, could sense an uninvited guest. I touched Iris’s shoulder, pointing toward the spot where my instincts told me the interloper waited. Iris craned her head forward and narrowed her eyes to focus on the spot, only to look back at me and shake her head. She raised her eyebrows and gave her shoulders a slight shrug. She could sense nothing.
Peter turned to face me, and as he did, the beautiful mismatched color of his eyes changed to pools of mercury, the silver betraying his Fae blood. I wasn’t sure if this change would be evident to anyone else, or if it was my witch blood that allowed me to see it.
“Do you hear that?” He voiced his question loudly, drowning out the priest’s final petition. “They’re laughing.” He dropped my hand, his own anomalous gl
ee leading him to echo the sound of the laughter he heard.
The priest stopped in midstream. “Of course, they are home with the Lord,” he said, either misinterpreting Peter’s words or willfully covering what he had interpreted as a psychotic break. The priest granted us a beatific smile, then rushed to the prayer’s conclusion. He had moved too slowly, though. Peter had already dropped my hand and bolted, breaking through the assembly like he’d been called in a game of red rover.
“I got this,” Oliver announced. “Peter, come back,” he called after Peter in a tone that made it clear to those of us who were familiar with Oliver’s magic this was not a simple request; it resounded with his tried-and-true power to compel others to do as he wished. Oliver turned toward us, flummoxed when Peter carried on, ignoring his command.
“Well, don’t just stand there,” Iris said, “follow him.”
“I am not wearing the right shoes for this,” Oliver said, shaking his head. Then he went off, bobbing and weaving his way through the mourners who had, at least for the moment, all but forgotten Claire and Colin as they turned as one to follow my disappearing husband with their eyes.
“Peter,” I called out after him, but he didn’t stop. He didn’t even slow. He carried on in a straight and singular line, leaping over the gravestones that had lined up between him and his goal, a goal I couldn’t even see.
