by Lisa Kleypas
She read the banishing rite once … twice … thrice.
But it wasn’t enough. Her heart was still a tight knot. Nothing had changed.
Something more was needed.
A tear slipped down her cheek as she cradled the spellbook in her lap. She remembered watching Marigold in the middle of a particularly tricky act of spell-casting. “These are the bones of magic,” Marigold had once told her, sifting through handfuls of minerals and crystals in a bowl. “Everything taken from the earth … stones, fibers, roots … all are the tools of our art. Let their energy guide you. When a spell isn’t working, it means you’re not focusing clearly on your goal. Use the crystals as the spirits direct.”
Following instinct, Justine blew out the candle flame, poured the jar of stones and crystals into a heap on the floor, and combed through them with her fingers. She closed her eyes and picked one that seemed especially vibrant, its energy singing to her.
A hematite, its surface silvery and liquid-smooth. An easily magnetized stone, good for improving the blood’s circulation and for turning negative energy into love.
She pressed the hematite to the center of her chest, over her heart. She covered it tightly with her palm. “Help me, spirits,” she said humbly, swallowing against a lump in her throat. “I need to love someone. Even if it doesn’t last. Because one day of something wonderful is better than a forever of nothing special.”
Slowly a white glow collected outside the window. Moonlight. It broke into separate rays, thin silver splines that reached through the glass and trailed down the wall and along the floor. The light moved toward her like outstretched fingers, sliding through the circle.
Justine felt dizzy, unable to catch up to her own heartbeat. Her thoughts darted out of reach, hummingbird-fast. She closed her eyes against a sensation of falling slowly, a tumble into clouds and midnight and soft-carded dreams.
It could have been minutes or hours as she lay there. Eventually the moonlight awakened her, teasing her closed lids and playing with her lashes until she stirred. She discovered that she was lying on her side, on the floor, her head cradled on the spellbook. The pages were smooth beneath her cheek, wafting out a crisp scent of cloves. She was cold, but it was a pleasant sensation, like drawing in fresh air after having been trapped beneath a smothering blanket. She felt vulnerable. She felt … free.
Uncurling her fingers, she stared at the silvery hematite in her open palm.
A curse contained in stone.
Seven
Justine started the day by walking down to the Spring Street dock. The morning mist had diffused the sunrise into layers of pink and peach. The tide was slack, the water pinned by the reflected bristle of boat masts. A boat loaded with crab pots headed out of the harbor, followed by a pair of seagulls that split the air with squeaky-hinge cries.
Justine went out to the farthest boat slips with the hematite in her hand. She drew back her arm and threw the stone as far as possible. As it disappeared beneath the surface of the water, taking the geas with it, she took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
No excuses now. Nothing to stand in the way of whatever life dared to throw at her.
She felt as if she could jump up into the sunrise and be caught by a cloud. She felt fragile and raw. Newborn.
A fractious breeze came out of nowhere, carrying the promise of rain. Narrowing her eyes against the cool rush, she saw that the sky had darkened near the horizon. Waves slapped against the dock pilings like a dog lapping from its bowl.
By the time Justine walked into the kitchen at Artist’s Point, Zoë had arrived and started breakfast. The air was laced with the tang of coffee and the scents of browning butter and hot ovens.
“Good morning,” Justine said exuberantly. “What are we having?”
“Brioche French toast with berry compote.”
“Yum.” Justine’s attention was caught by the sight of the nearby blender, half filled with vivid green sludge.
“Mr. Black’s health shake,” Zoë said with a grimace.
Justine poured a small quantity into a glass and sampled it. The flavor was fresh and fruity, the texture light. “Did you remember to put in the hemp protein powder?”
“Yes, why?”
“Because a Green Monster smoothie is supposed to be a glutinous slop … and this is delicious.”
“I may have adjusted the ingredients a little,” Zoë said. She frowned as she saw Justine’s reaction. “I know. But it was so disgusting.”
Justine grinned. “It’s supposed to be. Has Priscilla already taken a glass up to Jason?”
“Yes.” Zoë began to slice homemade brioche loaves, golden and cakelike with shiny puffed tops. “I’ve never seen anyone multitask the way Priscilla does. She just drank a triple-shot espresso and had conversations on two cell phones and texted on a third. Simultaneously.”
“According to Jason, they’re all on a working vacation,” Justine said dryly. “Makes you wonder what their normal day is like.”
“Alex and his lawyer are going to spend most of today with him.”
“That should be interesting,” Justine said. “I’d love to hear Alex’s take on him.”
“Did you get to meet him last night? What did you think?”
“My first impression was that he’s a smug, self-aware, manipulative narcissist with spectacular cheekbones.”
They both jumped a little as a new voice entered the conversation. “I disagree,” Priscilla said, walking into the kitchen, carrying a glass of the green health shake.
Justine gave her a contrite glance, but before she could apologize, Priscilla continued, “Once you get to know him, the cheekbones are only a little above average.”
Zoë came forward to take the full glass from her. “He didn’t like it?” she asked in concern.
Priscilla shook her head, her copper-colored hair swinging. “He says it tastes too good,” she said. “I swear, he’d complain if someone hung him with new rope.”
“I took liberties with the recipe,” Zoë confessed sheepishly. “I’m sorry. I’ll make another one.”
“I’ll do it,” Priscilla began, but she was forced to pause as her cell phone rang. “’Scuse me.” She retreated to the corner of the kitchen, muttering fiercely into the phone. “Toby.” A brief pause. “Don’t even try. You really expect I would give that sorry excuse to Jason? The software patch we sent out to fix the frame-rate problem made everything worse and now people are raisin’ hell ’cause they got weapons malfunctioning and dragons flying ass-backward. You’d better come up with some kinda brand-new patch to fix it, or … hold on.” Another cell phone went off, and she grabbed it out of a bag slung over her shoulder. “Yeah,” she said into the second phone. “I got the asshole on the other line, trying to convince me everything is all MoonPies and salted peanuts.”
Justine caught her eye, gestured to the blender, and said sotto voce, “I’ll take care of it.”
Priscilla nodded and kept talking with quiet ferocity.
Zoë brought a colander of freshly washed spinach leaves to the blender. “I can give it another try,” she said, heaving a sigh.
“No, leave it to me,” Justine said. “You need to make breakfast for everyone else. Where’s the recipe?”
“I printed it out,” Zoë said, nudging a piece of paper to her.
In less than five minutes, Justine had blended the ingredients into a smoothie that approximated the color of an oxidized avocado, and poured it into a glass. Seeing that Priscilla was still talking and making furious notes, she said, “I’ll take it up to him.”
The assistant sent her a grateful glance and snarled into the phone, “Oh, really? ’Cause about a million geeks have e-mailed about the PS3 version freezing up every ten or fifteen minutes. Here’s an idea—why don’t we get the dadgum game right before we start selling it?”
Justine left the kitchen quietly and carried the shake upstairs. On the way, she passed a couple of guys who were descending to the first flo
or. “Good morning,” she said. “The coffee cart is in the lobby.”
“Great,” one of them said, his eyes friendly behind wire-rimmed glasses. “I could use some caffeine.”
The other, who was stocky and middle-aged, gave Justine a blatant once-over and said, “I could use some room service.”
Both men chuckled.
Justine was in such a good mood that she only smiled and said, “Trust me, you’d rather have breakfast downstairs.”
Making her way to the Klimt room, she saw that the door was ajar. She knocked on the jamb.
“Priscilla,” came a curt voice. “I need the report from the emerging-markets group. And I want to know who we’re sending to the E3 Expo. Also, get me a hard copy of the exhibitor list and a plan of the show floor—”
“Save your breath,” Justine said. “It’s me. I have your breakfast shake.”
A short silence ensued. “Are you coming in?”
“Are you decent?”
The door opened fully to reveal Jason dressed in jeans and a white T-shirt printed with the Inari logo, the I formed in the shape of a stylized dragon. “I’m clothed,” he said. “Decency is open for debate.”
His black hair was damp from a recent shower, his face clean-shaven. Forcing herself to look into those cool coffee-dark eyes, Justine felt her heart jam up against her ribs until every throb was a sharp little pain. Even though she kept her gaze on his, she was aware of every detail of him, the carnal mouth, the long, superbly conditioned body. The indefinable threat was still there, raising the fine hairs on her arms and neck … something physical, something shadowy.
Something erotic.
She extended the drink to him, careful not to let their fingers touch.
“Who made this one?” Jason asked.
“I did.” She smiled at his dubious expression.
Taking a sip of the shake, he nodded in approval. “Just the way I like it.”
“What a relief,” she said. “Because if I’d had to bring up a third one, I might have added a splash of hemlock.”
“You wouldn’t poison me,” he said, and took another swallow.
“You have that much faith in my integrity?”
“No. It would be too much trouble for you to drag me outside and bury me in the yard.”
Justine grinned reluctantly.
Jason stared at her in the unsettling way he had, taking in every detail. “I made you uncomfortable last night,” he said.
Her smile faded instantly. “No harm done.”
“So … we’re good now.”
“No, I still don’t like you.”
A glint of humor entered his eyes. “Justine, you have to admit—” He broke off, appearing to think better of what he’d been about to say.
“What?”
Jason set the health shake on the table beside his laptop. “You were the one who suggested playing truth or dare.”
“And you were the one who turned it into a cat-and-mouse game.”
He didn’t bother to contradict her. They both knew she was right. And he didn’t look the least bit remorseful. “I should have warned you that I don’t play well with others.”
“Yeah, I’m clear on that now,” Justine muttered, turning away. “Let Priscilla know if you want the rest of what’s in the blender. God knows no one else will touch it.”
“Wait,” he said as she began to leave.
She turned back to him reluctantly. “Yes?”
Jason approached slowly, his gaze holding hers. A visceral pulse awakened in all the vulnerable places of her body. All she could do was stand there helplessly, wondering how his mouth might feel against hers, if his kisses would be hard or soft, if his hands would be impatient or gentle. Taking a deep breath, she fastened her gaze on the logo of his T-shirt. She couldn’t help wondering what it would be like, with a man like this. She would be at his mercy as she had never been with Duane or any other man. He would demand total surrender—
“Would you go out to dinner with me tonight?”
Thrown off balance, Justine stared at him blankly. “Just the two of us?”
Jason gave a single nod, his expression unfathomable.
She shouldn’t. There was a complexity in him that was beyond her ability to untangle. Secrets contained like some volatile substance. If she were stupid enough to have anything to do with him, she would deserve whatever she got.
“No, thank you,” she said unsteadily. “But if you want company, I know some great women I could fix you up with.”
“I don’t want another woman. I want you.”
“You can’t always have your way.”
“Actually, I do most of the time,” he told her.
That drew a reluctant smile from her. “I can see that’s done wonders for your personality. What about your girlfriends? Do they have to pander to you and let you have your way?”
“My favorite ones do.”
Justine’s smile turned rueful. “About the question you asked me last night … the most I can tell you is that we were together almost a year. He’s a nice guy. I was lucky to be with him. But we broke up because … I don’t do well with nice guys.”
“Good,” he said promptly. “You can go out with me, then.”
She shook her head.
“Justine,” he chided, a wicked glint in those dark eyes. “What will it take to soften you up?”
“I’m sorry. Really. Any woman would be thrilled by the idea of going out to dinner with you. But you and I are not just from different worlds, we’re from different realities.”
“In these matters, I’ve learned not to factor in reality,” he said. “It’s very limiting.”
“The whole thing is pointless. I don’t do vacation flings or spontaneous hookups, and I don’t have any Cinderella fantasies about some rich guy sweeping me off my feet. So thanks for asking, but I think it’s better for both of us if I turn you down.”
“All I want is to spend a little time with you,” he said gently. “No games. We can talk about anything you want. Or not talk at all. Just you and me in a quiet place with a bottle of wine and maybe some candlelight.” Reading the uncertainty in her gaze, he added huskily, “Don’t say no. Because this has never happened to me before.”
“What hasn’t happened?”
Jason smiled into her puzzled face, a sincere and unexpectedly charming smile. “I can’t put it into words yet. But it may be as close as I’ll ever get to having a soul.”
Eight
Immediately after Justine had agreed to go out with Jason, she had known it was a mistake. Now that she’d committed to it, however, there was no backing out. “It may be as close as I’ll ever get to having a soul.” How was she supposed to refuse him after that?
After clearing the breakfast dishes and bringing them to the kitchen, she carried a bucket of cleaning supplies upstairs. Annette and Nita, local women who came to help clean the inn, were already busy stripping the beds.
“Nita, how are you feeling?” Justine asked, entering the Degas room and setting the bucket on the floor.
The petite young woman, whose Coast Salish heritage was evident in her gleaming black hair and smooth cinnamon skin, smiled and patted her still-flat stomach. “Pretty good. I’d be better if I didn’t have to take horse-pill vitamins.”
“Make sure not to overdo it today, Nita,” Justine said. “Take a break whenever you need to.”
“Annette and I already have it worked out. She’s going to do the heavy lifting, and I’ll handle all the dusting.”
Annette grinned and told Justine, “Nita was determined to come to work today, no matter what. She wanted to get a look at Jason Black.”
“Did you?” Justine asked.
Nita nodded, her expression turning dreamy. “Sweet, sweet man-candy.”
“He’s pretty good-looking,” Justine admitted with a rueful grin.
“He’s hot,” Annette said fervently. “The Inari people were leaving the bed-and-breakfast just as we wer
e heading in, and Mr. Black held the door open for us, and the second he looked at me, I felt my ovaries explode while that Seal song ‘Kiss from a Rose’ started playing in the back of my head.”
“Jason Black is mine,” Nita said, spraying ammonia solution onto the bedroom mirror. “We’re like one of those movies where fate wants us to meet and we keep missing each other, and then when we find each other, I’m accidentally engaged to John Corbett. But John Corbett lets us off the hook because he never stands in the way of true love.” She ran a squeegee over the glass in expert strokes.
“Nita,” Annette said, “you’re happily married and pregnant.”
“For Jason Black, I would kill my husband with this squeegee.” Nita paused reflectively. “I might even kill him for John Corbett.”
Justine was laughing. “Death by squeegee … how does that work, Nita?”
“Well, basically you—”
“No, never mind. I don’t need to know. I have to sweep and mop downstairs.” And she fled while Annette and Nita argued over who was going to end up with Jason.
After working for the rest of the morning and the first part of the afternoon, Justine went into the office and closed the door for privacy. Picking up her cell phone, she autodialed the Cauldron Island lighthouse where Rosemary and Sage lived.
She called frequently to ask how they were and to find out if they needed anything. In good weather, she would paddle her sea kayak across the nautical mile between the north of San Juan Island and Cauldron Island to visit them weekly.
The elderly women, who had lived together for almost forty years, refused to consider moving to a less isolated place. Cauldron Island was approximately two square miles in size, with only a handful of full-time residents. The only way to reach the island was by private boat, or to land a small aircraft on a mown grass landing strip.
Coven meetings were held at the lighthouse about a half dozen times a year. Marigold attended the meetings, of course, and according to Rosemary and Sage, she was doing well. She had started an Internet store that sold magical supplies, including herbs, stones, candles, divination tools, and even some bath and cosmetic products.
