J. Horn - The Line

Ellen licked her lips and looked at the floor, and I could tell that she was trying to work out what she needed to say. “Iris is devastated,” she finally began. “She has been forced to see that the man she loved, and God only knows why she loved him, was a monster, a murderer. She has a black, black anger against him, and she wants him to pay for what he tried to do to you. But Connor—or, rather, the man she thought Connor was—was the only man in the world for her. And while she’s angry at what he did to you, she hasn’t even begun to get angry over all the things he did to her. She has a lot to reconcile, a lot to move past.”

“Should I go tell her about the baby?” I asked.

“Sweetie, she is going to be so happy to learn about the baby. He may be the only thing that helps pull her through this mess. But she isn’t here now. She and Oliver are down at the police station.”

“Why?” I asked.

“They had to go answer some questions. You see, Iris served as Connor’s alibi for the day of the murder. When she handed over that forged suicide letter, Cook wanted to know why she’d lied for her husband.”

“They aren’t going to charge her with anything?” Peter asked.

Ellen practically snorted. “Please, Oliver went with her to make sure that wouldn’t happen. He’ll get her off the hook and probably find some way to get himself laid in the process. But I’m afraid I do have some vexing news. We got word today that some of the families are sending their representatives for Maisie’s investment ceremony early. They’ve heard about what happened with Connor and Wren—the truth, not the nonsense we’ve fed the police—and they’ve decided that they should come early to ‘help us out’ with the preparations due to our ‘bereavement.’ ”

“Which means we have to shift into high gear to prepare for their arrival,” I said, standing.

“You got it,” Ellen replied. “And Iris wants all of Connor’s belongings out of here before they arrive. You could help me by packing up his clothes and other effects from their room before Iris gets back,” she said and paused. “ ‘Effects,’ ” she repeated. “An interesting choice of words when talking about a man like Connor.” She shook her head. “Well, you know what I mean.”

“Yes, I do,” I said. It would take a long time to soothe the ripples Connor had set loose in our lives.

“And you, Peter, can carry these heavy boxes of records out to the garage. The less that reminds Iris of Connor around here, the better.”

“Don’t get me wrong,” Peter said. “I’m glad to help out in any way I can, but couldn’t you…” He hesitated. “Well, couldn’t you do some kind of spell to handle all of this?”

Ellen laughed. “Yes. I could. But I need something tangible to focus on right now. Besides, I’m told that doing things the non-magical way builds character.”

“Okay,” Peter said. He turned to me. “Don’t you go lifting anything heavy.”

“Oh, and so it begins,” Ellen said and smiled.

I took a couple of empty boxes up to the room that Iris and Connor had shared for longer than I’d been alive. I opened his closet and pulled out his rack of ties and his three suits—two dark ones and the tan one he wore during Savannah’s hottest months. Those went into the first box. Next, I swept his shirts up in my arms, leaving them on their hangers. As I shuffled over to lay them on the bed, his scent rose up around me like a shroud. I tossed the shirts down and started removing the hangers. Folding them up as fast as I could, I stacked them into another open box. There was a lot more of Connor in this room than I’d be able to cart out in two cardboard containers. A sense of heaviness began to overwhelm me, and I left off to go grab a few more boxes from the library.

Ellen and Peter were nowhere in sight when I returned, so I grabbed some of the still flattened containers and headed back upstairs. The door to the room had swung shut behind me, so I had to fumble with the doorknob, the boxes awkwardly tucked under my arm. When I stepped into the room, I felt all hope abandon me. I sat on the side of the bed, put my head in my hands, nearly crushed by the weight of my sorrow. I felt more than saw a movement, and lifting my head, I caught a glimpse of Connor in the mirror. The misery I was feeling was radiating from him. I knew then that Savannah had refused to grant him peace or pardon him for his sins.

Three of the witches arrived early to prepare the house and grounds for the investment. The ceremony would take place outside, so I sought sanctuary from their activities in one of the library’s wingback chairs. But in spite of my best efforts, I found myself at least momentarily in the thick of it. Rivkah Levi, a tornado from New York, swept past me, Emmet in tow. The two were meticulously searching the house for energy leaks or ingresses. It was important for all of the psychic energies be balanced and accounted for before the anchor energy was settled on Maisie. “It’s worse than cleaning for Pesach, ” Rivkah said to me cheerfully as she dragged Emmet away.

Bodaway Jones, who was loaded down with enough silver and turquoise to fill a jewelry store, drifted by me, chanting and fanning a smudge stick with a feather. He nodded an acknowledgment of my presence without stopping his chant. His intent was to drive all of the negative presences from the house. I wondered if I should warn him about Connor, but I didn’t have the heart to tear another layer of skin off Iris. If he was doing his job correctly, he might catch Connor up in his net without Iris ever having to know.

Ekala Maringar had arrived with the other two, but she’d disappeared into a guest room soon afterward and hadn’t come out for food, water, or anything since. I occasionally caught snatches of her voice from behind the closed door. Ekala was living in dreamtime, working with her ancestors to weave the silver cord that would bind the line to Maisie, or at least that’s what Bodaway had told me. It was of the utmost importance for no one to disturb her, so I gave her room a wide berth when I could.

The truth of the matter was that the whole process struck me as absurd. In the end, the whole event would probably hold all the charm and allure of a justice of the peace wedding, but they were all building it up to be a full-fledged coronation. I’d never had the taste for pomp and circumstance, so I wasn’t in the least bit hurt when they sat me down and explained that only those born of the power could be present for the ceremony. Rivkah had very diplomatically requested that I find some other place to be while it was taking place, and I was more than happy to oblige. “We’ll skip all this, won’t we, buddy?” I asked my child, not sure if there was a soul in there yet to respond to me. Even if there wasn’t, something about knowing that Colin was growing inside of me made me feel at peace.

“Who are you talking to?” Oliver asked, stopping to place a kiss on my forehead.

“I am talking to Colin,” I said proudly. “And we both think we should get out of the way of all of these witches for a while.”

“Well, Mr. Colin,” Oliver said. “I figure that you are about the luckiest soon-to-be-in-the-world boy for having such a beautiful and understanding mother. I hate that you are being chased out of here,” he said, meeting my eyes. “But you saw what happened at the drawing of the lots. We like to pretend that everything is cut-and-dried, but things can easily go wrong when you have ten strong personalities playing volleyball with a nuclear bomb.”

“How can this be safe for Maisie?” I asked. “She was sent off for less than two weeks of training, and now she’s expected to come back and anchor our end of the line.”