Free The Source (Witching Savannah, Book 2) by J.D. Horn

too,” Oliver said, not perturbed in the slightest. “He came by to see us. Adam figured he might as well pay us a visit sooner than later, since the stranger who died mysteriously is from the family you are marrying into.” Silently, we cut through the south end of the square and continued west on Congress, swinging south on Habersham.
    “I didn’t know they were related,” I blurted out when the silence got too heavy for me.
    “Mmm” was Oliver’s only response.
    “I didn’t . . . not at the time. He showed up from nowhere, and he needed help.”
    “And you tried to help him, but you aren’t in control of your power yet, so you overdid it.”
    “Yes,” I admitted.
    “But rather than taking your time to learn how to control your power, you’re blowing off Emmet, whose sole purpose at this point is to train you, so that you can hang out with Mother Jilo.” I pulled my hand out of his, ready for a fight.
    “There’s that redheaded temper again,” he said with a smile. “What? You’re surprised that I have been keeping tabs on you?”
    “No, I am not surprised. I am downright pissed.”
    His laughter made me even angrier. “I know what you’re up to. You and that old scarecrow.”
    I just glared at him.
    He turned and started walking away. “You aren’t going to find Maisie. Not on your own, and not with Jilo’s help either.”
    “Well I can’t just forget her,” I snapped. “I can’t turn my back and walk away like all of you have done.”
    “I haven’t walked away,” Oliver turned back, his face flushed red, his fists clenched by his sides. “I have been doing everything in my power to find her.”
    I crumpled. Maybe my hormones had gotten the best of me. Maybe I just felt relieved to know that Maisie hadn’t been completely deserted. Oliver reached out and pulled me into his arms as I started sobbing.
    “I could never walk away from Maisie. Any more than I could walk away from you. Neither can your aunts.”
    “But Iris said—”
    “You forget what Iris said,” he interrupted me. “And you forget what Ellen said too. There’s a difference between what we say around the house, where we suspect the families are listening, and what we say when we are pretty sure they aren’t.” He paused. “We will find her. We will,” he said, tilting up my chin so that my eyes met his.
    I was thrilled by this proof that my aunts were willing to put Maisie’s welfare before their allegiance to the families. There had to be a reason why they’d separated my mother from us. One that even my mother herself didn’t understand.
    “But you do need to prepare yourself,” Oliver said, perhaps mistaking my relieved reaction for overconfidence, “because we really do not know what shape she’ll be in when we do.”
    “But how will we find her?”
    “We’ll start with the one thing that should have been obvious to that old root doctor, Jilo. Dirt.”
    “Dirt?” I knew that Jilo often used soil in her mojo bags, using the energy to draw like to like. Soil from a bank for money, soil from a graveyard for death.
    “That’s right. The dirt from where Maisie was standing when she disappeared. Why do you think I dug it up? Why do you think I put a sundial out there?” I shook my head. “Have you ever really looked at it?”
    “No, not really,” I replied. Honestly, I’d avoided the spot altogether.
    “Take a good look when we get home. You’ll notice something interesting.”
    “Tell me,” I begged him.
    He smirked and raised his eyebrows. “The shadow never moves. It isn’t a sundial. It’s a time lock that’s keeping that little patch of earth nice and fresh and as close to how it was the moment Maisie disappeared as possible. Now tell me, do you feel a little more like celebrating?”
    I went up on my toes and kissed his forehead. Maybe, just maybe, everything would end up all right after all.

EIGHT
    We needed a large space, one where we could work magic without attracting the