The Source (Witching Savannah #2) 7

I knew I hadn’t dreamed or imagined it. Peter was wrong. My mother hadn’t died giving birth to me. It was a blatant falsehood. I had a sudden inspiration and felt around my neck. My fingers found the locket, proof that my mother was alive, or at least had been on the day she’d given it to me. In my vehemence to show it to Peter, I broke the chain that held it. My certainty of what I’d witnessed faded instantly. “Here. Take this. Open it.”

I dropped the locket into his palm and leaned against my pillows. His fingers were too large, too calloused to open the locket easily, but after a few tries he managed to work open the clasp. “What can I say?” he asked. “You sure were a beautiful baby. You and Maisie both.”

I reached out and swiped it from him. I looked down on the pictures, one an image of my infant self, the other of Maisie at the same age. The photos of my great-grandmother and Careu, the golden young man with the confident eyes, had disappeared. I snapped the locket shut and held on to it for dear life.

Another wave of vertigo washed over me, forcing me to close my eyes. “I must be sick,” I said, more to myself than to my companions.

“I’m afraid so,” Peter said. “And it’s been making you have some terrible dreams. Now would it be all right to call Ellen in? Let her do what she does to make you better?”

Even with my eyes closed, I could feel Emmet’s gaze boring into me. “Don’t you see how magic never daunts him as it would a normal man?” they demanded silently. “Don’t you see that he is no more real than I am?” The question quickly faded, only to be replaced by a sense of his concern for my well-being.

I didn’t say a word. I nodded my assent, but in truth I wasn’t sure if the question I’d answered was Peter’s or Emmet’s. Exhaustion overtook me, and I had fallen dead to the world by the time Ellen reentered the room.

TWENTY-FIVE

I climbed out of bed and caught sight of myself in the mirror. Someone had removed my clothes and slipped me into a seafoam-colored silk nightgown. The kind you get for a holiday present and never end up wearing. I sat down on the foot of the bed, trying to pull together the pieces of yesterday, the same as if I were trying to rebuild the shards of glass into the dome that had crushed my mother. Or had maybe crushed my mother. My own reflection faded as the image of her bloodied body rose to mind. I muffled the cry that tried to fight its way out of me. Even if the whole thing had been a hallucination, the fear and sense of loss were real enough to me.

I prayed that the others were right, and I had somehow dreamed up the whole day. That my mother was still alive and I could somehow find an explanation for all of this that would allow me to have her in my life without rejecting my aunts, without rejecting the line.

The robe that went with the gown had been laid out over the chair. In spite of everything, I realized that I was starving, so I pulled on the robe and headed downstairs to find some breakfast. As I came to the foot of the stairs, I heard my name being spoken, but the hushed sound of the words that came after told me that I was being discussed rather than addressed. I crept along the hall toward the voices and found myself by the swinging door that opened into the kitchen.

“I blame myself,” Oliver said. “It isn’t enough that she’s pregnant and has just gotten in touch with her magic, I had to encourage her to go and play librarian in the Akashic records.”

“I disagree,” Iris said. “It was much better that you stepped in and controlled the situation, rather than letting her and Jilo stumble into something neither of them could handle on their own.”

“But to hallucinate that Emily is still alive and we are trying to kill her . . . She’s under too much stress, and I’ve done my share of placing it there.”

“She was determined to find Maisie.” Ellen tried to ease his guilt. “And you had nothing to do with her pregnancy or the fact that the line chose her as anchor.”

“But you can’t possibly think she had anything to do with Tucker?”

Ellen’s silence lasted a moment too long. “No, not intentionally. Not even consciously. But she’s not truly in control of her powers. Maybe her guilt over hurting Peter’s great-uncle blended with her desire to push Tucker out of my life. Maybe she thought she was dreaming. You saw how she dreamed up this whole scene with Emily.” I crept nearer the door, trying to decide whether I should keep silent or burst in and let them have it.

“Oh, Ellen, not even then,” Oliver defended me.

“You saw how she pushed me away. She isn’t herself. Maybe this sudden influx of power has hurt her, changed her somehow. Maybe toying with the Akashic records did something. Maybe there’s a part of her that can no longer discern the difference between real and fantasy.”

“I think it might be for the best,” Iris said, “to support the families in their proposal to send her to visit Gudrun. Let Gudrun teach her how to handle her powers, and then share the secrets of the anchors with her. At least Mercy will be safe there.” Gudrun’s name caused me to flash back to the day when I’d first tasted magic, when a splinter of wood soaked with Oliver’s blood had been turned into a talisman that allowed me to borrow his power. The hardened face that had glared back at me through the mirror when I’d tried to reach out to Maisie.

“No,” Oliver said, and then, “I don’t know. Gudrun proved to be of little use in helping Maisie. There’s also the baby to consider.”

Talking about me behind my back was one thing, but no one would discuss my son without my input. I barreled through the door, leaving it flapping behind me. “Good morning, y’all. What have I missed?”

“Well, from your behavior and the tone you are taking, young lady,” Iris replied, “I don’t imagine you have missed much.” I stopped for a moment, taking in the room’s strange rosy glow that emanated from the pink crystal at the center of the table.

“Sit down, Mercy,” Ellen said. The hurt she had carried with her since yesterday blended with her doubts about me, darkening her eyes. I stayed still, ready to take on my three relatives, but I was a little disarmed by the pain I saw written on their faces.

I had so desperately wanted to believe that the woman who found me was my mother. I still did. However, I also wanted to believe that she was still alive. That we would get the chance to know each other. That my son would get to know her. All the same, I did not want to believe the stories she had shared with me. I didn’t want to believe that Iris and Ellen could have committed such crimes. Beyond that, I still struggled with what struck my heart as my mother’s heretical statements against the line. Could it possibly be true that the line imprisoned us rather than protected us? I was still trying to process the images she had drawn of the benevolent teachers who wanted nothing more than for mankind to return to their waiting arms. Something about all of this struck me as too neat. My mother’s return. Her version of what had led to my birth and her disappearance. Her sudden death in a room that, as far as I could tell, had never existed on this plane. I posed the question to myself. Could these three people before me, imperfect as they certainly were, commit such monstrous acts?

“Take a seat,” Iris commanded, a chair sliding out for me seemingly of its own accord. Magic had become much more evident in our house, much more openly practiced since my own power had been returned to me. I knew that Iris had been holding back on Connor’s account, but I had to wonder if they’d been holding back to spare my feelings as well. Somehow their desire to save my self-esteem didn’t mesh well with what my mother had told me about them. I took the proffered seat, but leaned back and folded my arms across my chest. I wasn’t quite ready to let go of my indignation over catching them gossiping about me.