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The ground beneath their feet trembled. A flash of lightning fell from the sky, striking Guy’s body right in his solar plexus. Guy began coughing, moaning.
“Hurry, my daughter,” the Beekeeper’s voice sang out. “Repair the damage before he slips away again.” Jilo returned to Guy’s side, once again willing the cocoon of healing aqua light to form around him. “I will see you again. Soon,” the Beekeeper called, causing Jilo’s gaze to rise to the veiled face. Her image vibrated, blinking in and out, then in the next instant, both the Beekeeper and the Red King faded away.
“Thank you. Thank you. Thank you,” she said, not to these unworldly creatures, but to Tinker, the words repeating themselves as she knelt beside Guy and laid her hands on him. This time the magic took hold, healing his ravaged features and realigning them into their usual handsome configuration. His eyes opened. Jilo leaned in and placed a kiss on his brow.
“I’ll get started on burying the bodies,” Tinker said, his voice flat, exhausted.
At the sound of Tinker’s words, Jilo looked up at him, for a moment forgetting the miracle happening before her. “There are four more in the kitchen.”
He nodded, drawing near, looking down at Guy. “See,” he said, his voice full of sadness. “There is magic in this world.”
ELEVEN
The Savannah Morning Star
April 9, 1958
Page D12
NEGRO COUPLE DEAD IN CAR CRASH
A single vehicle crash south of Hardeeville has claimed the lives of a local Negro man, identified as Guy Collier, 41, of the Ogeecheeton area, and his companion, Reena Jewel Lovett, 19, of Limehouse. Both were found dead at the site of the incident. Alcohol and evidence of illegal intoxicants found in the vehicle have led the Jasper County Sheriff’s Office to determine impaired judgment and excessive speed were factors in the accident.
Jilo sat in her nana’s chair, Guy’s throne, unwilling, unable to move. As best she could remember, the sun had peeked in through the windows on the east, then through those situated to the west twice, maybe three times now, since the call came, telling her that despite her best efforts, Guy was no more.
The second Guy was able to rise to his feet, he had stormed through the house, turning out every spot where she’d managed to tuck away any cash. Not enough to get him far from Savannah, but enough for a decent bender. He packed her suitcase, the one she’d carried with her to Atlanta so many years ago now. Back when she had thought she understood how the world worked. Back when she had known beyond the shadow of any doubt that there was no such thing as magic. She didn’t raise a finger to stop him, figuring it would be better for him to be far from her. He’d almost been killed because of her, and she’d already managed to drag Tinker down with her. Poor Tinker, covered head to toe in blood and dirt, had stood between them as Guy screamed insults at her. Raged at her till he saw the haint-blue sparks building on the tips of her fingers and then ran off like a scared jackrabbit. That was the last she’d seen him. The last she’d ever see of him.
She understood now why Opal had never visited, why Poppy had never set foot in this house after that long-ago Christmas. She remembered it all now. Waking to the sound of Henry Cook’s cries. Stepping out into the shadows to see her big sister standing over Henry, that fire poker in her hand, raised and ready to end him.
That demon in Poppy. She had no idea how it had found them, or how it had managed to possess her sister’s body. She still didn’t understand how she did it, but she now could remember peeling away the spirit’s own energy—taking it into herself, then turning it back against him. Her very next memory was of Nana coming home, pulling her into her arms and lying to her, over and over. Just a bad dream.
A bad dream. That’s what all of this felt like. Too much loss, too many lies. Her whole damned life had been a lie. Hell, she wasn’t even a Wills. Not really, at least not by blood.
She was broken, and she knew it.
Perhaps if Jilo hadn’t been able to count on Willy, as faithful as ever, to see to Robinson’s needs, she might have found the strength to move. But she knew Willy would take care of her boy. Now and again, he would come and set Robinson on her lap in an attempt to rouse her, to pull her back. She barely noticed. It was all she could do to dig her hands into the chair’s padded armrests and try to make the world stop swirling around her.
The sun circled around the room once more. She’d sensed no movement, no one approaching, but then out of nowhere, another person’s hands had grasped her own. She felt the weight of eyes on her. Her gaze rose up to meet Tinker’s. “You’re not going like this,” he said, taking care as he worked to loosen her grasp on the chair. “I’m gonna fix this. You’ll see. They don’t call me Tinker for nothing.”
TWELVE
June 1958
“Thank you for coming,” Jilo said, opening the door to Ginny Taylor. Less than a year had passed since she had shooed Ginny away from this very door, but Jilo found it hard to believe she was looking at the same woman. Any sign of Ginny’s feisty gaiety, of her sensuality, had been erased.
“I’m so pleased you’ve reached out to me.” The stylish dress Ginny had worn that night at the club had been replaced by a dark and sensible skirt that fell well beneath the knee, paired with a long-sleeved gray silk blouse. And pearls, each an identical match to the others in size, luster, and whiteness. Ginny’s hair had grown out, and she wore it pulled up in a twist.
Jilo wondered if Ginny, too, was appraising her appearance. She’d lost weight. Too much weight. She couldn’t bring herself to don one of Mother Jilo’s fandango costumes, so she had dressed herself instead in a drab and shapeless dress her nana had picked out for her to wear in Atlanta a million years ago. Jilo had assumed she’d given the thing away, left it in a church charity box, but it had been lying there, all this time, folded in a drawer, just waiting for Jilo to fall far enough to find it.
“Of course,” she said as Jilo stepped aside to allow her entry, “we’re family now. Practically sisters.”
Jilo’s nerves betrayed her, causing her to titter at Ginny’s words. What dim light had remained in Ginny’s eyes froze and faded.
“I’m sorry,” Jilo said. “I didn’t mean to be rude. It’s only the whole world has gone sideways lately.” Her agitated laughter turned as quick as a breath to an unwanted spray of tears. Ginny dug into her purse, then offered Jilo a crisp white handkerchief. Jilo noticed the monogram, VKT, embroidered on its exposed corner.
“Katherine,” Ginny said as she forced the linen into Jilo’s hand, somehow picking up on Jilo’s dim curiosity. “Virginia Katherine Taylor,” she said, closing the door behind her. Placing a hand on Jilo’s shoulder, she guided her into her own front room. “I’m sorry for your loss,” Ginny said, adding, “Guy,” as if by some slim chance Jilo would not have understood. What this decorous woman didn’t understand was that it wasn’t just Guy that Jilo had lost. She had lost herself, too, and she was only now finding the misplaced pieces. “He was a great talent, a loss not only to you, but also to the art world.” Ginny stopped talking and bit her lip, evidently realizing that Jilo couldn’t give a damn about the art world. At least not today. Someday, maybe, someday the old news articles, the ones Guy had kept in a beat-up leather scrapbook, the cuttings that spoke of his genius, of his sense of composition and his use of color, perhaps she would be able to present these to Robinson, engender a sense of pride in her son. That kind of thing was important for a boy.
“I would have come sooner,” Ginny continued, bringing Jilo back to the current moment, “but my own life has undergone great changes since Uncle Finnian died.” Her gaze grew soft, falling away from Jilo. “I’ve inherited certain familial duties that once belonged to him.” She glanced back at Jilo. “Edwin felt quite fortunate to have dodged my fate,” she said, for a moment a bit of her old self shining through.
