The Line (Witching Savannah, #1)

by J.D. Horn

The Tillandsia Club was a dinosaur, a throwback to the days when Savannah society was still comprised of iron magnates and wannabe railroad barons. Its ranks have included senators, congressmen, governors, bankers, judges, and other such white collar thieves.

You know how disturbed people tend to get more excitable during a full moon?” “Sure, it’s why we have the term lunatic,”

“I’m trying to close the door. I have closed that door. That’s why I want to leave,” I protested. “No, honey. That’s not deciding, that’s running. Just like you did last night when you got scared. Choosing and then living with the consequences, that’s what deciding really is.”

The large Candler Oak stood sentinel before it, its Spanish moss–covered limbs nearly three hundred years old. It was an old friend of mine, having served me in many games of hide-and-go-seek over the years. I felt compelled to touch it, to run my hand against its bark and experience it as a witch. I tentatively traced its side with my index finger, and the tree shimmered its welcome, seeming to recognize my touch and invite it. I splayed my whole hand against it, letting my palm scrape against the immense trunk. Suddenly dozens of vivid impressions crossed my mind. I closed my eyes. The ancient oak was trying to communicate with me by sharing the feeling of its deep roots in the cool soil, the sensation of hot sun on its leaves, and the deep sense of place it knew, which could never be understood by those who moved across the face of the earth.

him? In my secret and guilty dreams, I had heard him say these words to me thousands of times. But in my dreams there were never any consequences.

forgiveness was not a one-time act. It was a decision to move on and focus on a person’s good features each time the hurt over what they’ve done crept back up on you.