The Source (Witching Savannah #2) 7

“No,” I said. I found it unthinkable that Ellen would do such a thing. When it came down to it, I felt a much stronger need to defend her than I did my own mother. “She loved Tucker, and she would have no motive for hurting me.”

“And you once believed that your sister loved Jackson, and that she’d never want to hurt you either.” That stung, especially since he was voicing my own repressed fears. “Listen to me,” he said, with an anxiety that I’d never heard before in his voice. “If Emily is truly dead—and I still think that’s questionable—who would have reason to kill her? Who was harmed most by your mother’s actions? Who else has been participating in Tillandsia all these years? Who knew the truth about the power generated by the group? Who would have the power to turn those same forces against your mother? Against you? Who else is a strong enough witch to turn that Ryder buffoon into a collector?”

“All right. Stop.” No longer caring that I might be seen, I crossed my arms and willed myself home. I found myself in the garden, Emmet still by my side. How he had managed to attach himself to me was a question for a later time. I scanned the house and garden to see if anyone was home, but we had the place to ourselves.

“I ask that you consider what I’ve said. Whoever gave the order to cause the dome to fall could at best be considered indifferent to your well-being. Perhaps you are correct in your convictions. Perhaps Ellen is an innocent.”

“She is.”

“If that is indeed the case, then you should question why Oliver is so eager to get his hands on the power that has been built up by Tillandsia.”

“He wants to use it to help Maisie,” I said, my growing irritation playing in my voice. “That’s his only interest in Tillandsia. And what do you have to say about Iris?”

“Well, your aunt is a widow now. Don’t you think it is possible that she may in some part blame you for that? No, it may be that your aunts and uncle love you and want to protect you, but are you willing to bet your life on it? Your child’s life?”

I considered his words. Yes. Yes, I would bet my own life on trusting my family, at least what remained of it, in spite of Maisie, in spite of Ginny, and in spite of my mother’s accusations against them. But no, I could not, would not, risk little Colin’s life by betting on any of them. “You’re right. I can’t take the risk.” There had been too many lies, whether well-intentioned or no. “I’m afraid there’s only one person I trust that deeply.” His black eyes warmed with hope, and I felt bad dousing their light. “I’m sorry, but I’m talking about Jilo.”

He covered his disappointment by tilting his head and trying to look as if he had just learned an interesting clinical fact. “Then we shall request her assistance.”

“I’m not sure she will help.” I’d never thought anything could frighten Jilo, but she had been terrified by what had happened with the gray rainbow. “And I’m not even sure what it is you are proposing.”

“The old woman will do anything you ask,” he said, and then added, “I think you are right to place your trust in her.” He crossed the garden and leaned over to touch the rose quartz in the flowerbed. It glowed as brightly as a lightbulb. “If I cannot dissuade you from attending Tillandsia tonight, then I propose we do what your uncle suggested, what your mother requested. Reach out and take control of the power of Tillandsia. We’ll do it without your family. We will do it on our own.”

“Okay, and then what?”

“We drain the power from Tillandsia and store it elsewhere, put it in our pocket so to speak, for use when we have a clearer view of who is pulling the strings and working against us. We use it to protect you. Then, once we know where we stand, I will not interfere with you retrieving your sister, assuming there is enough power remaining.”

“Assuming that there is power, and that we can access it, how or where could we store it?”

“Your friend Jilo has vacated her haint-blue cell. She designed it to hold energy.”

I thought about that. Of all the people I knew, Jilo had the most expertise when it came to siphoning off energy and finding a way to store it. At least since Ginny had died and stopped draining off my own power. “I will contact her and ask her to help. I have to do something.”

“I will do whatever I can to support you.” His eyes crinkled a bit. “But there’s one final aspect we must consider.”

“And that would be?”

“Your uncle seemed convinced that the only way to tap into Tillandsia’s power would be to enter into a sexual ecstasy.”

I had filed that little tidbit away as something to consider only when absolutely necessary. Even though the horse had broken well free of the barn, Peter and I had agreed, at my urging, to wait until after the wedding to make love again. Now I needed to show up and tell him he had to put out as part of a magical rite. I worried more about my own dignity than his willingness.

“Of course,” Emmet began, “it would be unwise to expose Peter to this untested magic. It might trigger his awareness.”

“His awareness of what?” I snapped.

“That he’s a changeling.”

“Damn it, Emmet,” I said. My head started hurting. I closed my eyes and tried to compose myself. “He can never know.”

“I understand, and that is why I am counseling you against bringing him tonight.”

Emmet was right. Again. “So what do you propose?”

“I offer myself—”

“Oh, no. You hold on right there.” I threw up both of my hands. “That is not happening. I am engaged to Peter. I love Peter. I will not allow anyone else to touch me that way.”

“I understand.” He drew nearer to me. I took a couple steps back, but then froze when his eyes locked onto mine. “I understand you wish to remain faithful to your fiancé. I won’t say that I would not like to lie with you as a man.” In spite of myself and my storming, guilty conscience, the image of our naked bodies straining against each other rose in my mind. “But I respect you and your commitment to Peter. I would never attempt to touch you that way as long as you honor that commitment.”

“Good,” I mumbled, trying to rid my mind of the thought of Emmet’s body, but still transfixed by his intense gaze.

“You must acknowledge, however, that if ensnarement is the intention of whoever sent you this invitation, they will be surprised to find that you have a very capable and coolheaded witch as your escort, rather than your impulsive carpenter.” I couldn’t deny that Emmet’s firepower might come in handy. He smiled, his eyes narrowing, lending a mischievous look to his normally serious face. “Besides, there are so many ways I can pleasure you without even touching you.” My temperature spiked as a vibration tingled through my body. “I can bring your pleasure centers to life with nothing more than a word, a thought.” I felt a surge rise up through my body, firing up each chakra as it passed into a tangible rainbow. Red, a shock, mercury rising. Orange, I felt a wave of shivering satisfaction swell up inside me. I should have protested what he was doing, but yellow, I felt so safe. Green, I knew I did have feelings for him; this wasn’t merely a carnal act. Blue. My pleasure expressed itself in a gasp. A soft moan. My eyes closed, and my head tilted back. Indigo. My eyes fluttered open to see the devotion on his face, the beautiful intensity of Bernini’s David made flesh, the purity of the feelings he held for me. The world around me turned violet, as he fully suffused me with his power. I fell forward into his waiting arms.