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

where Alice Riley killed William Wise.” This murder led to Alice being hanged. The first time in the history of Georgia that a woman died at the gallows. I shuddered as a connection formed in my mind. “Alice was accused of practicing witchcraft.”
    Iris had spent years volunteering for the historical society. “In her day, any woman worth her salt was accused of it,” Iris said as she carried a tray with the teapot and three mugs to the table. Ellen slid the map over so Iris could find room for the tray. “Still, she was tried for murder not witchcraft. She was a killer, but by no means a witch.”
    “Wasn’t Alice pregnant at the time of the trial?” Ellen asked. I didn’t like the next station where this train of thought was bound to stop.
    “Yes, the court stayed her execution until she gave birth.” Iris turned to me. “Listen, we could easily jump to conclusions and draw connections between you, a pregnant witch, and the unfortunate Miss Riley. But let’s don’t for now.” She placed a cup of hot chamomile before me. “Drink that.”
    A look passed between my aunts. “The other foot. They found it near Columbia Square,” Iris said as she handed Ellen a steaming mug. “In the middle of the street right in front of the Kehoe Mansion.”
    “Kehoe.” Ellen took a sip of tea. “Savannah’s king of cast iron. What could that signify?”
    I shrugged. Nothing jumped to mind.
    Iris took the seat next to Ellen. “What was that horrible lie you used to tell about the Kehoe family?” She looked at me through narrowed eyes. “The one that almost got me kicked out of the historical society.”
    “You mean the first time she almost got you kicked out.”
    “Yes.” Iris snapped her fingers as my story came back to her. “You claimed Kehoe’s wife, Anne, had an affair with a worker from the foundry, and Kehoe killed him and burned him in the furnace.”
    “Then added the ashes to the cast iron he used to build the Kehoe Mansion,” Ellen finished for her. They both stared at me. Ellen shook her head. “How did you come up with those horrid stories of yours?”
    “It was just a fib.” I had actually forgotten the part about the ashes until Ellen reminded me.
    “A fib?” Iris looked at Ellen then turned back to me. “More of a calumny.” I surmised she had forgiven me due to the smile on her lips. “I could never decide whether I should feel mortified by these fables you were spinning or proud of them. Every day I stood helplessly by, watching as you twisted the essence of your heritage to the benefit of your own unscrupulous purposes.” She laughed, but from the way she squinted at me, she had remembered another tale to take me to task over. In the next instant her laughter dried up, and her eyes fell to the map. “What if we are looking at this whole situation wrong?” Iris wrapped her arms around herself as if she were fighting off a sudden chill. “What if instead of viewing the killer’s actions as a message, we look on it as a spell?”
    Ellen leaned in toward Iris. “You mean rather than looking for a logical connection between the places the killer has chosen, we try to uncover any magical correspondences?”
    The use of magical correspondences helped to focus a spell by drawing like to like or substituting an item with similar attributes for another. In the most vulgar of its forms, the power of magical correspondences showed up as tourist shop Voodoo dolls. At its most refined it served as the basis of spiritual alchemy. Real witches rarely relied on it, using it only when the magic they were attempting fell outside their innate abilities or called for a higher level of precision than they could muster without habiliments.
    “That makes it less likely we are looking for one of us then, right?” I asked. “A witch, I mean.”
    Iris was about to answer when her cell rang. Her hand pounced on it before it could ring a second time. The rise in color to her cheeks announced her caller