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“Peter’s at the bar. Told me to tell you that you shouldn’t worry, he would hold off on talking to his mom.” That was a relief. I still had time to warn Claire. “Cryptic message delivered, my duties have been carried out.” Oliver looked up and read my expression. “Oh, and Thanksgiving’s been canceled, Gingersnap.” He gave me a sad smile. “At least in the Taylor house.”

“Oh.” I felt somehow cheated and guilty for feeling cheated at the same time. Halloween or Samhain wasn’t a big day for us like it was for our Wiccan friends. For us it was a time to indulge in an overabundance of sugar and dress up the way popular culture told us witches should dress. Iris always went all hippie earth goddess, and Ellen did the pointed hat and green makeup. Fun, but not a big deal by any means. Thanksgiving was going to be my first big family holiday as Peter’s wife. I’d been looking forward to combining our families. Maisie was back and on the mend. We needed to celebrate her return to health. A touch of guilt rose in me. This was to be my first Thanksgiving without having to suffer from Ginny’s vocal, no, vociferous disapproval of my every action. And dang it, we’d faced so many horrible things over the last several months, I just wanted one nice day. A day to have everyone I loved together. To enjoy them before I lost anyone else. “Why?” Even though I essentially knew the answer, I had to ask.

“Something about learning our mother is trapped in hell killed Iris’s spirit of gratitude. On top of that Sam called. He’s decided to spend the day with his family in Augusta. Iris is upstairs in her room and won’t come out for love or money.”

“Grandma isn’t in ‘hell,’ she’s in Gehenna, and we will get her out of there.”

“Well, if anyone can manage that, I’m sure it will be you.” I noticed he had a large bandage taped on his hand.

“You hurt yourself?”

He examined his hand. “Yeah, a tiny cut. Nothing to worry about.”

“Doesn’t look tiny. You should let Ellen look at it.”

“I will when she gets back. She rushed off this morning. One of her meetings, I guess.”

One of her meetings, I hoped. I pulled out a chair and joined him at the table. He started laughing, but the laughter didn’t really sound happy.

“What’s so funny?”

He shrugged. “I dunno. I guess after all the times I’ve been called a ‘bastard,’ it’s kind of amusing to learn that is indeed exactly what I am.” Tears moistened his eyes, then rolled down his cheeks. He made no attempt to hide them or wipe them away. “I guess I no longer need to feel guilty about letting the family name die out with me.”

I could take it no longer. I made my way around the table and bent over to hug him. He reached up and patted my arm. “Thanks, Gingersnap.”

My eyes fell to the map. “There are more Xs.” I released Oliver and traced the new marks with my finger.

“Yep. That’s the other thing. Adam’s going to be working today. We now have everything but the head.” He tapped the map with his pen. “This morning a jogger in Forsyth stumbled over—literally—a leg across from Old Candler.” He pointed a bit south of Madison Square. “Its partner was left on the sidewalk by the Scottish Rite Temple.” He tapped his pen again. “An arm out by Saint John’s.” He reached out and angled the map a bit. “Last night, a security guard found the missing foot in a cardboard box on the steps of City Hall.”

It all struck me as too much. I felt the blood drain from my face and almost swooned. Swoon, the word struck me as I felt my knees start to give way, and it was only the absurdity of the word that gave me the strength to keep it together and not crumple. Oliver sensed what was happening and jumped up to brace me. In one quick and graceful move, he slid his chair under me and guided my bottom to it. “See?” he said. “Dismembered body. There are worse things in the world than finding out your father was not quite the man you believed him to be.”

I put my elbows on the table and held my head in my hands, fighting the sense of vertigo and its best friend, nausea. I took slow, steady breaths.

Oliver gently grasped my shoulders. “You gonna be okay, there?”

I nodded. I swallowed. “Yes. I’m fine now.”

“Come on, Nancy Drew, pull it together. Take my mind off our family mess. Help me figure this out. Adam needs us. He isn’t a man who asks for help often. This time he’s asked.”

I sighed in capitulation. “Aunt Iris thinks someone is attempting to work a spell.” I pulled the map closer. “But I don’t see any significance to where the parts have been left. There’s no visible pattern. I cannot think of any historical connection to these particular sites and sacrifices.”

“Okay, then.” Oliver seemed strangely enthused by my less-than-insightful participation. “Let’s start with the basics of what we do know.”

“You start. I need some tea,” I said and stood.

“You sit, let me get it,” he offered, but I shook my head.

“No, I’m good now.” I stood and made my way to the cupboard. I opened the door and reached for a mug that had somehow made it from Clary’s Café to our own personal collection. It slipped through my fingers and broke into three heavy shards on the counter. I jumped back.

“You sure you’re all right?” Oliver said looking up from the map.

“Yeah. Yeah. Just clumsy.” I grabbed a towel from the counter and wrapped the sharp-edged pieces in it, carrying them to the garbage can Iris kept in the pantry. I stepped on the pedal to open the lid, and my heart broke. There, thrown out with other items to be forgotten, was the twisted silver of a photo frame. Shards of bloodied glass rested upon a photo, the photo of Uncle Oliver and Granddad on their fishing trip. I reached in carefully and extricated the picture from the detritus. I placed it on a shelf, determined to have it restored for Oliver. Once the pain had faded, once his pride had healed, he’d want it back. I shook the broken mug into the can and let the lid fall closed.

I returned to Oliver. “Unless the killer intends to go all jigsaw on the head too, I think it’s safe to assume the body has been divided into ten pieces,” he said and recorded this point on a legal pad I hadn’t even noticed before. He drew a heavy asterisk next to it. “So far nine of them have turned up. What else do we have?”

“Well, if we are running with the obvious, magic was used to keep the parts fresh, right? I mean, I’m assuming the parts just found are in the same condition as the others.”

“That’s what Adam said.”


Tags: J.D. Horn Witching Savannah Fantasy