The Line

FOURTEEN


Instead of a few strays, this time the entire clan was gathered as close as possible to the foot of the stairs. On each side of the foyer, the doors to the library and the formal living room had been thrown open, so that those who couldn’t manage to crowd in and see could at least strain an ear to hear. The stairs and the landing were also littered with cousins. As the eldest family member present, Michael MacGregor had been chosen to serve as the master of ceremonies. He stood near the grandfather clock, whose pendulum had been stopped so as not to distract from the proceedings. The golem, nearly as tall as the clock, stood silently beside him.

Michael had always been a man of action, so none of us was shocked to hear him start by saying, “Y’all know why we’re here. No need to drag this thing out.” His backwoods accent might make an outsider think of him as slow, but his mind was razor sharp. He may have been rough around the edges, but roughness belied an intellect worthy of the Ivy League. “No disrespect to Ginny, but I’m ready to get back to Tennessee.”

“We’ll go in alphabetical order. Not one of the traditions,” he added, “but since I suspect we all know how this is going to play out, it will add to the drama.” His comment was met with chuckles and nods from some and overtly angry glances from others. The anchor had been a Savannah Taylor for generations, and most of the group seemed to feel pretty sure that the tradition would not be broken. There were others, especially some of the younger cousins, who were positively itching to get their hands on the line’s power.

“Now it’s time for the representatives to come forward. Who is representing the Duval family?” he asked loudly.

“I am,” Lionel, a slight, middle-aged father of three raised his hand and came forward. The Duval branch had been dealt a heavy blow to their egos when Katrina ravaged New Orleans. They were hungry to reestablish themselves, hoping that the line would select one of them, restoring honor to the family. I liked the Duvals. It would be nice to have that branch return to Savannah.

“My son Micah has been selected to represent us MacGregors,” Michael stated proudly as a younger version of himself pressed forward. The MacGregors couldn’t care less who got picked. They were simply fulfilling a duty by being here. Checking the box. “I believe I overheard that Teague Ryan is representing your group?”

“That’s correct,” a decidedly non-southern accent responded, as Teague stepped forward to shake MacGregor’s free hand. Teague scanned the room, doing his best to meet the eyes of every member of my immediate family, as if he were issuing an open challenge. The intensity of his desire for control scared me. Even though I prayed that the line would indeed pass my family over as Teague had suggested it would, I prayed that it wouldn’t pick him. He wasn’t a man who would use the power well.

“I’m here for the Taylors. The ‘hick’ Taylors, that is, not the fancy city Taylors,” said Abby, an ample yet kind-looking woman about Ellen’s age. It was true, the extended Taylors were pretty rustic in their manners and dress. But we really didn’t look down on them, at least not much. As she brushed past Connor, his eyes latched onto her. He seemed genuinely amused by her comment, and more than a bit drawn to her curvy figure. He made no attempt to hide his appreciation from Iris, nor from Iris’s family. My aunt had long ago grown accustomed to her husband’s wandering eye, and Abby wasn’t interested enough in Connor to notice him, so his leering didn’t cause anyone undue concern.

“And the Savannah Taylors?” MacGregor asked.

“I will do the honors,” Oliver said, looking at his sisters, who offered their consent through silence.

“All right. Let’s get to it. Thirteen lots in the bag. Five people to draw and for you young ones out there, I can guarantee you the red lot will be picked by one of them. ’Cause it ain’t the person that’s choosing the lot, it’s the lot that’s choosing the person. Lionel,” he said, offering the bag to the Duval branch.

Lionel closed his eyes and reached into the old pillowcase that was being used to hold the lots. His shoulders fell as he drew one out. He handed it to MacGregor, who proclaimed, “White. The lot is white. The Duval family has been exempted.” He dropped the lot back into the cloth and shook it before extending it toward his own son. Micah reached into the bag and pulled out an identical white lot, holding it up for all to see. The hint of a smile crossed Michael’s face, and his shoulders relaxed. “White. The lot is white. The MacGregor family has been exempted,” the elder MacGregor called out loudly enough for everyone to hear.

I scanned the room for Maisie and spotted her in the corner next to the library doors. She was whiter than any of the lots in Ginny’s old pillowcase. I smiled at her, and tried to send out waves of reassurance, but she didn’t seem to notice. I could hear the lots click against each other as MacGregor shook the case vigorously before offering it to the Ryan’s envoy. Teague reached inside and drew out a lot.

“White. The lot is white. The Ryan family has been exempted.”

“Wait,” Teague nearly shouted. “I need to go again.”

“Sorry, son,” Michael said. “One draw per family head.” He held the case out to Teague, who dropped the lot back in, angry disappointment coming off him in waves.

As soon as the lot had been returned to the case, Abby pushed forward and shot her hand into the bag. “Anyone care to make a little wager before I pull this out?” she asked, laughing. When no one responded, she added, “Well then y’all are smarter than y’all look.” She whisked out the lot. MacGregor started to speak, but Abby cut him off. “Yeah, yeah, we all get the drill. It’s white, and the white trash Taylors are exempt.” She tossed it carelessly back into the bag and it clicked loudly against its companions. “Preliminaries are over; let’s get on with the main event.”

MacGregor shook the bag once more and offered it to Oliver. His manicured hand moved carefully in and retrieved the lot. “It’s red,” he said quietly. MacGregor took the lot from him and held it high. “Red. The lot is red. Not much of a surprise, but we had to follow through with the ‘preliminaries,’ to borrow Abby’s term.” He returned the lot to the case and handed it to Oliver. As he returned to the center of the crowd, he patted Oliver on the back. “It’s all yours, cousin.”

Holding up the pillowcase, Oliver addressed the crowd. “It’s strange, you know, you feel the little bugger force itself into your hand.” He looked around the room. “No offense to Michael, but we’re going to have a slight break with both tradition and the theatre of suspense. I know we usually go from eldest to youngest, but we all know what we’re thinking here, and I don’t want to prolong the misery for Maisie any longer than need be. Come on, sweetie,” he said addressing Maisie. “Let’s end this thing.”

“I can’t,” Maisie responded flatly. “I can’t do it.”

“Sure you can, honey,” Ellen reassured her.

“Mercy. Go help your sister.” Iris called to me. The cousins cleared a pathway for me as I moved across the room toward Maisie. “You two came into the world together, you two can draw together.”

“You’re not in this alone. I promise you, sis. We’ll face things together no matter what.” Something played on Maisie’s face, a look that said something like “Easy for you to say.”

“I don’t need you to hold my hand,” Maisie said, her voice scarcely loudly enough for me to hear. She pulled back her shoulders and raised her chin. She looked nearly regal as she walked over to Oliver. I followed on her heels, just like I’d been doing since I could walk.

I knew she was angry with me, but after this was over, we’d talk it out. Jackson loved her. Maybe he was a little confused, a little afraid of the commitment he’d made to her. But what he felt for me wasn’t real. It was just a way for him to maintain a bit of his bachelorhood, keep one little toe out of the water. That’s all it was, I told myself, not letting myself consider whether it was true or merely a crutch I was using to help us all over this rough patch. They would marry, and I would marry Peter. The four of us would grow old together and sit out on the porch of this very house laughing about what had happened today.

“But I do need you,” I told her. “I need you to hold my hand.” She held my gaze, and the irritation on her face melted away.

“Together?” she asked, her voice quavering.

“Together,” I responded and took her hand. Oliver held the case out to us. Still holding onto each other, we reached into the bag with our free hands. I squeezed her hand tightly as we pulled our respective lots from the bag. My heart soared as I saw the lot she had drawn. White. She was free.

I squealed and hugged her, starting to dance around. Oliver’s sharp, “Mercy!” cut into me, and I swiveled to look at him, a bit confused by his severity. That was when I saw it. The lot I was holding was red. I looked at Maisie and was astounded to see the look of shock in her eyes harden into an expression of absolute hatred. Her forehead was pinched, and her teeth were exposed in an open mouth grimace. She ripped her hand from my grasp.

“You put a magnet on the end of a nail, and the nail becomes a magnet too,” Connor announced into the stunned silence. “You girls shouldn’t have gone together, and you shouldn’t have been holding hands.”

“I’m not so sure,” Abby responded. “The power picks the one it wants. Maybe we should stop and think about this. It could be a sign.”

“Maybe it’s a sign we need to start all over,” Teague called out, pushing his way back to the front of the room.

“Why are you so angry?” I whispered to Maisie. “I thought you didn’t want this.”

She pulled away from me, stepping back a few steps. Then she whipped her hair around and faced me like she was about to pounce, her hands bent into claws. I felt like I was looking at a total stranger. Not someone I had known even before birth. “Because it’s mine!” she hissed back at me. “I’ve spent my whole life preparing for this!”

I shook my head, totally confused. The only reason she wanted to be the anchor was because she thought I might get to be. None of this computed with the sister I thought I knew. “You’ve always had everything. But that isn’t enough for you. Now you want my man. You want my place.” The words came out in quiet but barbed hisses.

“No, Maisie,” I said. “You’re wrong. I just want you to be happy.” I tried to approach her, but she stepped back again.

“Don’t touch me!” she warned, her voice like a slap. I stopped dead in my tracks.

“We’ve never questioned the draw before,” MacGregor ventured tentatively. “I know on the surface this looks a little odd, but…”

“Listen,” Oliver interrupted impatiently. “There’s an easy way to settle this. We’ll have them both go again, separately this time.”

“I second that.” Connor started to step forward, sucking in his stomach and puffing out his chest in one quick move.

“But you ain’t part of this decision.” Abby spun on him. Connor’s admiration for the woman evaporated from his face.

“Then I second it,” Iris stated, moving out from behind her husband’s shadow. “Come on, girls, let’s have a redo.”

I reached over and dropped the red tile back into the bag. I was totally stunned. By the tile. By my sister. I just wanted this day to end.

“No,” I responded. “This is silly. We all know that I’m not the right one to replace Ginny. My presence here is only a formality.” I gave Maisie a sidelong look, trying to find some warmth in her face. “I’m sorry I upset you. I didn’t think you wanted this. Maybe the power thought the same thing. But it’s over. It’s yours.” I turned and started for the door, but Oliver stopped me.

“You all are up to something,” Teague said, shaking a thick finger at my uncle. “You all know the power is through with you Savannah Taylors, and you are doing your best to hide it.”

“Step down, Teague,” his father called out. Resentment flooded Teague’s face, but he obeyed.

Oliver shook his head and then looked at me. “No, Mercy. It has to be official. We can’t have anyone question the choice. It would weaken the line.”

“Okay, Uncle Oliver,” Maisie began in a tone I had never heard come from her before. Her sweet voice had been replaced by ice. Venom seemed to drip from every syllable. “You want to make sure there isn’t a question about who should be the anchor? Fine, let me settle it for you.”

The house filled with an inescapable beating sound, like when you’re holding your breath underwater and you need to rise for air. The pulsing in my head became as loud as thunder in an August storm, and the pressure was unbearable. I felt as if my head were being crushed.

Even the golem had been affected. He lay on the floor, bucking up and down as if he were having a seizure. Everyone except for Maisie put their hands to their ears, but even with covered ears the pulsing continued, growing louder and louder. I realized it wasn’t from an external source—it was coming from within each of us. Ellen screamed and fell to the floor, and I saw blood trickle from her ear. I wanted to run to her side, but I couldn’t move, frozen in place by a gravity that centered on Maisie.

“Maisie!” I shouted, barely able to hear my own voice. “You’re hurting us! Stop!” She looked at me with eyes I did not know, filled with a coldness I could never have imagined. She knew she was hurting us, and she was taking pleasure in our pain—no, not just that, she was gaining strength from it.

The smell of ozone filled the air, and static electricity sizzled all around us. Wisps of blue electric fire jumped from person to person. There was a moment of total silence as Maisie rose up into the air. She levitated toward the ceiling, the short silence broken as stones began to fall from nowhere, pounding on the roof and crashing through the windows like cement raindrops.

Overhead, the pipes burst, sending spurts of water everywhere, and the very foundation of our century-and-a-half-old home, the seat of my family, began to rumble and shake. The room twisted on its foundation and its tortured beams were ripped screaming from their plaster skin.

Maisie clasped her palms together and a roar of fire shot from her to Oliver. The pillowcase in his hand burst into flames, and he dropped it, yelping as his fingers blistered. Maisie held the final tile, the white one she had drawn, up into the air, and it crumbled into a fine dust.

And then it was over. The stones stopped. The house was still and whole. There was no water falling from overhead, and Maisie stood quietly before us. I saw Oliver peer at his hand, which was completely fine, no burns. It was if nothing had ever happened. I realized that in our reality nothing had happened. Maisie had simply opened a window into what could happen, so that we could all peer in, and then she’d shut it off like flipping a switch. The only true victim of the episode was the case of lots, which remained a pile of ashes near Oliver’s feet.

“Does anyone have any questions?” Maisie asked, her eyes glowing in triumph, her body still hovering a few inches from the ground. She was electric. A numinous fire. She was not my sister. She was a fearful angel. I turned and forced my way to the front door. I turned the knob, but the door wouldn’t budge. It seemed to be jammed in its frame or frozen by a difference in pressure on the other side. I shook it hard a few times, but it stayed wedged in place. Then a wild strength welled up in me, and I flung the door open wide. As the warm night air reached in to touch my face, I ran.