THIRTY-TWO
“Get me away from here,” Ellen said, crossing her bloodied arms across her chest. “I want to go home and shower.”
“Of course,” Iris said. “We’ll get you home right now.” Oliver wrapped Ellen in his jacket, and Iris put her arms around her sister’s shoulders, leading her toward the gaping hole where the black-and-red door had stood.
“I will alert the families to Emily’s return,” Emmet said, “and see to it that she is found and taken someplace where the dark magic she has contracted can be controlled.” Strange, Emmet made it sound like Emily had a disease. Maybe that’s what this type of magic was—a malignancy that ate away at any decency.
“She tricked me into coming here tonight,” Ellen said. “She made me believe that Tucker was still alive. She made a copy of him.” Ellen stopped and looked at the door that was now laid on the floor. “Burn that damned thing.” She looked over at me, her lips twitching.
“I’m so sorry this happened to you. That they did this to you,” I said.
Ellen said nothing. She nodded her head and turned away, letting Iris lead her. Peter tried to stand but couldn’t make it up under his own steam. When I reached out, he wouldn’t take my hand. He wouldn’t meet my eyes either. Oliver came and helped him up. “Let’s get you to your parents’ place,” he said.
“No. No. Take me home to my house,” Peter said. I reached out again to take his hand, and he pulled it away. “Not now, Mercy. Leave me alone for now.”
“He’ll be okay,” Oliver said to me. “I’ll keep an eye on him.” Peter allowed himself to lean on my uncle’s arm. His eyes—emotionally bruised, hurting—grazed mine and then looked away. He hobbled out the doorway, relying on Oliver’s strength far more than I would have liked. He was still in pretty bad shape physically from the injury my mother had inflicted. I couldn’t even allow myself to consider the emotional damage I’d caused him. I knew there was only one way to truly set things right.
“Emmet, I want to thank you. I appreciate all you have done or at least tried to do for me. The ways you’ve tried to protect me and teach me how to use my magic . . .”
“Of course—”
“Wait, Emmet. I need you to hear me.” He fell instantly silent, hanging on my every word, ready for anything I might ask of him. Well, almost anything. “I need you to leave Savannah. I can’t have you near me any longer. You understand?”
“Perhaps better than you do yourself,” he said. His expression was more than stoic—it was emotionless, as if he could shut his feelings down as easily as a normal man takes a breath. He could burn with such passion that I had braced myself for anger, hurt, maybe even hate. I felt shaken by the utter indifference I registered there. He didn’t speak another word. The air just shimmered around him, and then he was gone.
“Look like it jus’ the two of us, then,” Jilo said, her cane thumping with each step she took toward me.
I broke. My legs buckled under me, and I fell to my hands and knees. My hair tumbled down around my face, hiding everything from my sight except the hot tears that dropped from my eyes onto the floor. In one night, I’d undone a lifetime’s worth of love. Even if Peter could forgive me, he would never forget the sight of Emmet and me together. I wasn’t sure Ellen would ever recover from this second horrible loss, and I feared that in her eyes, I would always be a reflection of my mother. No. That monster wasn’t my mother, even if she had given birth to me. “I’ve messed everything up.”
“You can’t take all the credit fo’ that. You had plenty of help. Here now. You come to Jilo.” The old woman of the crossroads used her stick to lower herself to my side, then drew me into her arms. “You go ahead. You cry it out now.” I held her tightly and buried my head in her shoulder. “Get it out, girl. You gonna need to pull it together right quick,” she said, “’cause something tell Jilo that bitch ain’t nowhere near done.”