The Void (Witching Savannah Book 3) Read Online Free PDF Page A

chance to ring a third time. His eyes locked on to mine. “Yes. I understand. Cordon it off. Keep the tourists back. I’ll be right there.” He hung up and dropped his phone into his pocket.
    “Her torso—headless—has turned up at the fountain.” His face fell. He looked suddenly older, defeated. I realized he really had been holding out hope he’d somehow save this woman. I didn’t know whether to think of it as optimism or denial, but I liked him even more for it. “I gotta get back to work.” He focused on me. “You keep close to your family for now, okay? No more sauntering around on your own.”
    “Okay.”
    He looked at Oliver. “Walk me out?”
    “Yeah.” Oliver went to the sink and rinsed out the dirty pie tin. “I should get going too,” he said and turned to give Iris a kiss on the cheek.
    “Thanksgiving. Two p.m. Thursday, you two,” she called out after the men. “Don’t be late.”
    “I’ll do my best.” Adam opened the door to the garden.
    “Which means keep a plate in the oven, but don’t wait up.” Oliver pushed Adam out the door.
    Iris turned to me. “I should have let you smack him.”
    “Yes, ma’am, you should have.”

THREE
    “I just caught the menfolk smooching in the driveway.” Ellen came in and sat her purse on the table next to the map. “Adam informed me that we delicate ladies are no longer to be wandering the streets of the wicked city of Savannah by ourselves.”
    “The poor man’s ego has suffered enough.” Iris went to the cupboard and pulled down three mugs. “Let him believe he is protecting us, rather than the other way around. I’m not sure how he’d react if he knew we three fainting flowers have woven a cage of protective magic around him.”
    After the abuse Emily and Josef had dealt Adam, we made a pact to ensure he could never be snatched from us again. Oliver knew only enough about our spell to allow him both a case for plausible deniability and the ability to sleep at night.
    “How was your ‘meeting’?” Iris asked.
    “Well, let’s see, I sit down and say ‘Hi, I’m Ellen. I’m an alcoholic. And a witch.’ There’s a moment of dead silence, then someone inevitably says, ‘Keep coming back.’ ” In spite of her sarcasm, I could tell she was doing better. She glowed with health, and a bit of her old spark had returned to her lovely blue eyes. She brushed aside her blonde bangs and smiled at me.
    “You discuss magic?” Iris asked with muted horror in her voice.
    “ ‘You’re only as sick as your secrets,’ ” she quoted brightly, but then her tone fell flat. “At first I tried speaking in veiled terms, but it was too exhausting. Then I realized most everyone there was caught up in their own thoughts anyway. The ones who do listen are convinced I am crazier than . . . well, than I don’t know what.”
    “But it’s helping you?” Iris pressed.
    “Yeah.” Ellen nodded. “I think it is.”
    “Then you share whatever you want.” Iris fetched the teakettle from the stove and filled it at the sink. “I think it will do some of these folk around here good to know the types of difficulties we Taylors face daily. Might even change a few people’s opinions about us.” She lit the burner and set the kettle on the flame.
    “I think I’m beyond caring what anyone thinks about us. I am tired of being judged. I am tired of watching our neighbors grab their children and scurry away like frightened mice every time I say good morning.”
    “Now, Ellen, you know you are exaggerating. They don’t behave that poorly toward us.” Iris folded her arms and smiled. I agreed with Iris that our neighbors were never impolite, but there were many subtle bits of evidence that Ellen’s feelings were not unfounded. Her new flower shop was doing well, but most of her orders were destined for hospital delivery, not weddings. Was it actual talk of Ellen’s power to heal or merely intuition that led people to send her bouquets to the