by Lisa Kleypas
As Justine tried to argue, he held the mug against her lips and forced her to drink again.
After bundling Justine more firmly in his lap, Jason turned his attention to Sage and Rosemary, who had both come to occupy the chairs near the sofa. Justine could only imagine what they were making of the situation.
Sage filled the petite upholstered Queen Anne chair like a nesting hummingbird. She was diminutive and pink-cheeked, her white hair framing her face in spun-sugar waves. She beamed at Jason with sky-blue eyes, clearly one blink away from infatuation.
Rosemary’s attitude was far more equivocal. She sat in the chair matching Sage’s and stared at Jason with a narrowed gaze. Whereas Sage was adorable and apple-cheeked, Rosemary was tall, angular, regally beautiful, a lioness in her later years.
In response to their questions, Jason explained that he had taken the boat out with the charter company captain in the morning, when the weather had been overcast but still relatively calm. After a couple of hours of assessment, they had returned to the marina to go over the paperwork. By the time the charter process was completed, the storm surge had started to move in and a weather advisory had been in effect. Priscilla had called Jason before he had left the marina, to tell him that Zoë was concerned about Justine’s safety.
Justine only half listened to the conversation, feeling as if she were on the brink of heatstroke. She was roasting beneath the blanket, held firmly against Jason’s bare chest. When she finished the tea, Jason took the empty mug and leaned forward to set it on the coffee table. The movement drew a stifled gasp from her. Now that she was thawing out, the heat and proximity of him was nearly overwhelming. The thin synthetic layer of his board shorts was all that separated them, making it impossible to ignore the hard masculine contours of his body.
She was acutely aware of her nakedness beneath the blanket, the intimacy of being pressed against him. She didn’t like feeling so vulnerable. Her tense weight settled deeper into his lap, and unnerving darts of pleasure went up her spine. No matter how she tried, she couldn’t keep from squirming. Beneath the quilt, his hand clamped on her hip, holding her immobile. Steaming, trembling, she turned her face against the hot skin of his shoulder.
“Zoë called us when she saw the storm gathering,” Rosemary was saying, “and when I told her that Justine hadn’t arrived yet, we were all very worried.”
Jason explained that he had taken the Bayliner out to look for Justine, and the storm’s escalation had made what should have been a short trip into a prolonged struggle to keep the boat on course. He had eventually seen the bright yellow flash of Justine’s kayak amid the swells, and had gone to pull her out of the water.
“We can never thank you enough,” Sage told him earnestly. “Justine is like a niece to us. We would be devastated if any harm came to her.”
“So would I,” Jason said.
Justine lifted her head to look at him in surprise.
He smiled slightly and touched her face, his thumb stroking over a film of perspiration that had gathered on her cheek. “I think she’s warm enough now,” he said to Rosemary. “I’ll carry her to the bathtub, if you’ll show me the way.”
“I can walk,” Justine said.
Jason shook his head, stroking back a lock of salt-stiffened hair from her face. “I don’t want you to move any more than necessary. There can be an afterdrop with hypothermia, when your core temperature keeps going down.”
“Really, I’m—” Justine began to argue, but he ignored her, lifting her against his chest as if she weighed nothing.
“It seems you’ll be staying with us for the night, Mr. Black,” Sage said. “According to the latest report, the storm isn’t likely to end until tomorrow.”
“I’m sorry to impose on you.”
“It’s not an imposition in the least. There’s a pot of soup on the stove, and two loaves of Dark Mother bread in the oven.”
“Dark Mother?” Jason repeated with polite interest.
“A reference to Hecate. We’re nearing the autumn equinox, or what we call Mabon, which is the modern word for the celebration of—”
“Sage,” Justine protested, her voice muffled against Jason’s shoulder. “He doesn’t want to hear about that.”
“I do, as a matter of fact,” Jason said to Sage. “Maybe later this afternoon?”
Sage smiled at him. “Yes, I’ll show you our harvest altar. I think it turned out especially nice this year…” Still chattering happily, Sage headed to the kitchen.
Jason followed Rosemary through the lighthouse, into the master bedroom and connecting bathroom. The storm pummeled the stalwart limestone and wood-shingled lighthouse, rain hitting the multipaned windows like the sound of marbles being dropped onto the floor. The lighthouse, having withstood a thousand squalls and tempests, creaked as it settled in patiently for a long, wet night.
“I need to make a couple of calls,” Jason said to Rosemary.
“I’ve already phoned the inn to let them know that you brought Justine here safely. You probably won’t get a cell signal out here, but you’re welcome to use our landline in the kitchen.”
“Thank you.” Jason carried Justine into the bathroom. He lowered her feet to the floor, wrapped a towel around her, and lifted the toilet lid. “The kidneys go into overdrive when you’ve been exposed to extreme cold,” he said in a pragmatic tone.
Justine gave him an affronted glance. He was right, of course. But the way he was standing there seemed to indicate an intention to remain during the process. “I’d like some privacy, please.”
To her disgruntled surprise, Jason shook his head. “Someone should stay with you in case there’s a problem.”
“I will, of course,” Rosemary said from the doorway.
“Don’t leave her alone even for a minute.”
“I don’t intend to,” the older woman replied, her dark brows drawing together. “There’s another bathroom in the lighthouse tower bedroom—you may shower there.”
“Thank you,” Jason said, “but right now I have to go back to cover the boat and pump excess water from the bilge. It may take a while.”
“No,” Justine said in concern, not wanting Jason to go out alone in the storm. He had to be tired after all he’d done, rescuing her from the ocean, carrying her up all those stairs from the dock. “You should rest first.”
“I’ll be fine.” Jason paused at the door, keeping his gaze averted from her as he continued. “After your bath, go straight to bed.”
“You’re ordering me around again,” Justine said, although her tone was wry rather than accusatory.
Jason still didn’t look at her, but she saw the flicker of a smile at the corner of his mouth. “Get used to it,” he said. “Now that I’ve saved your life, I’m responsible for you.”
He left the bathroom, and Rosemary stared after the extraordinary stranger with a stunned expression.
* * *
After Justine had settled carefully into the warm comfort of the bath, Rosemary dropped an herb-filled sachet into the water. “This will help with muscle soreness,” she said. “And the tea Sage brewed for you was a special medicinal blend. You’ll be back to your usual self soon.”
“I thought she must have put something in it,” Justine said. “I felt much warmer right after I drank it.”
The other woman’s tone was gently astringent. “I suspect sharing a quilt with Mr. Black might have helped the warming process considerably.”
“Rosemary,” Justine protested with a discomfited laugh.
“How long have you been involved with him?”
“We’re not involved.” Justine stared at the surface of the water, which quivered from the infinitesimal trembling of her legs. “We’ve gone out once for dinner, that’s all.”
“What happened to the last boyfriend? What was his name…?”
“Duane.”
“I rather liked him.”
“So did I. But I messed it up. We were having an argument about somet
hing stupid—I don’t even remember what it was—and I got so angry, I—” Breaking off, Justine sloshed her hand through the water, sending ripples across the surface. “The headlight on his motorcycle exploded. I tried to come up with an excuse for it, but Duane knew I caused it. Now every time he sees me in town, he makes the sign of the cross and takes off at a dead run.”
Rosemary looked at her sharply. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I just did.” Justine felt a riff of unease as she heard the consternation in the other woman’s voice. “I don’t want to bother you with every twist and turn of my love life, and besides—”
“Not Duane,” Rosemary interrupted. “I meant about the bulb exploding.”
“Oh. Well … it’s not all that unusual, right? I’ve seen you and Sage and a couple of the other coveners do tricks like that.”
“After years of training. But never as a novice.” Rosemary’s expression made Justine sorry she had mentioned anything about the lightbulb. “It’s not a trick, Justine, it’s a dangerous ability. Especially if you haven’t acquired the techniques for focusing and grounding. And it should never happen as a result of temper.”
“I won’t do it again,” Justine said. “I wasn’t even trying to do it in the first place.”
Rosemary picked up a hand towel from the edge of the sink and refolded it needlessly. “Was that the only time it’s happened?”
“Yes,” Justine said at once.
Rosemary’s brows lifted.
“No,” Justine admitted. She tried to sound casual. “I may have tripped a circuit breaker once.”
“What?”
“I dropped a can of floor wax on my foot,” Justine said defensively. “I was hopping around the room and swearing, and the next thing I knew, the circuit blew and I had to go trip the breaker switch in the basement.”
“You’re sure that you caused it? It wasn’t a coincidence?”
Justine shook her head. “I felt a weird kind of energy running under my skin.”
“Depolarization.” The hand towel was shaken out and refolded again. “All living cells generate natural electric charges. But a few individuals are able to build a charge imbalance until a current releases. Like an electric eel.”
“Can any crafter do it?”
“No. Only natural-born witches, and very few of those.”
Deciding to make light of it, Justine waggled her fingers in the air. “So how much power do you think I’ve got in these things?”
“Equal to the amount of your average defibrillator,” Rosemary said with quiet asperity.
Blinking, Justine lowered her hands.
“There is no choice, Justine: You must have instruction. A covener—Violet or Ebony would be best—will help you learn how to manage this. Otherwise you’ll be a danger to yourself and others.”
Justine groaned, knowing that the more she had to do with any of the coveners, the more they would pressure her to join. “I’ll manage it on my own. It’s not going to happen again.”
“Because you’ve decided so?” Rosemary asked caustically.
“Yes.”
That earned her a stern glance. “You can’t control your power, Justine. You’re like a six-year-old at the wheel of a car. Sage will discuss it with you later. I’m sure she’ll persuade you to see reason.”
Justine lifted her gaze heavenward, and began to nudge the floating bath sachet with her toes. She played idly with the chain around her neck, following it down to the small copper key that dangled between her breasts. Lifting the key, she tapped it absently against her lips. A storm gust hit the bathroom window with startling force, the wind shrieking as it rampaged from the roiling sea.
Hearing the hiss of a quick indrawn breath, Justine glanced at Rosemary.
The older woman’s gaze left the window and went to the copper key in Justine’s hand, and flicked back to the window again. “You’ve broken the geas,” she said dazedly. “Haven’t you? The spirits are in turmoil.”
“I—” Justine began, but the words died away as she saw the expression on Rosemary’s face, one she had never seen before.
Fear.
“Oh, Justine,” Rosemary said eventually. “What have you done?”
* * *
Before Justine had admitted to anything, she had insisted on an explanation about what Rosemary and Sage knew about the geas, and why they had never mentioned it to her. That had led to an impasse. “We’ll deal with it later,” Rosemary had finally said, “when you’re not exhausted.”
And when Sage is here to keep it from turning into a brawl, Justine thought darkly.
Rosemary helped her from the bath and gave her a white flannel nightshirt to wear. “You’ll nap on our bed for the afternoon,” she told Justine. “Tonight you can stay in the tower bedroom.” She paused diplomatically. “Will Mr. Black be sleeping with you, or will he take the sofa down here?”
“The sofa, I think.” Justine sighed in comfort as she settled onto the old four-poster bed with its deep cushiony mattress. Rosemary propped some pillows behind her and covered her with a quilt made up of random patches of silk, velvet, brocade, with a backing of sugar-sack fabric.
The storm had thickened, the afternoon sky the color of wet newspaper. A crack of lightning caused Justine to jump. As far as Justine was concerned, Jason couldn’t return a moment too soon. She wanted him safely back inside.
Sitting beside Justine, Rosemary began to braid her damp, freshly washed hair.
The feel of the older woman’s hands in her hair reminded Justine of all the times Rosemary had done the same thing for her when she was a little girl. In the endless whirlwind of being raised by Marigold, Justine had savored their visits to the lighthouse, where life had been calm and quiet and Sage had played old-fashioned songs on the piano, and Rosemary had taken her to the top of the tower to help clean the crystal Fresnel lens. Justine had thrived on their unconditional affection.
Impulsively she snuggled close to Rosemary.
A gentle hand came to her cheek.
Sage came into the room, humming “Pennies from Heaven.” She carried a stack of tissue-wrapped clothing, which she laid carefully on the bed.
“What is all that?” Rosemary asked, resuming her work on Justine’s hair.
“Mr. Black will need something to wear. I opened the cedar trunk and found some of Neil’s old clothes. They’ll suit him nicely.”
Justine bit back a grin as she saw how much Sage was enjoying the situation, having a man in the house.
“Heavens to Hades,” Rosemary said with annoyance, “those garments are from the sixties.”
“They’re still in perfect condition,” Sage said placidly, unwrapping the tissue. “And vintage style is so fashionable these days.” She held up a cream-colored linen shirt with a plain point collar. “Perfect. And these—” She shook out a pair of slim-cut casual trousers, tan with a subtle windowpane check.
“They won’t even reach Mr. Black’s ankles,” Rosemary said sourly. “Neil was hardly bigger than you, Sage.”
Sage laid out the garments and ran an assessing glance over them. “I’ll have to make some alterations, of course.” She said a few words beneath her breath and waved a small, pudgy hand. “How tall would you say Mr. Black is, Justine?”
“About six feet,” Justine said.
Sage tugged at the hem of one of the trouser legs. With each little pull, the fabric extended until she had added a good six inches to the inseam. The magic was accomplished with an ease that Justine admired. “A wonderful-looking man, isn’t he?” Sage asked of no one in particular. “And so well endowed.”
“Sage,” Justine protested.
“I was not referring to the fruit of his loom, dear. I meant endowed with looks and intelligence. Although…” Sage proceeded to lengthen the crotch of the pants. She held them up and asked Justine, “What do you think? Have I allowed enough room in the rise?”
“I think you’re a little too interested in what he’s packing.�
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Rosemary gave a little snort. “Sage is trying to find out in her usual circuitous way whether you’ve slept with him, Justine.”
“No,” Justine replied with a sputtering laugh. “I haven’t, and I don’t intend to.”
“That’s probably for the best,” Sage said.
“I agree,” Rosemary added promptly.
Sage smiled at her partner. “You noticed, then.” She began to work on the linen shirt, adding inches to the sleeves.
“Of course.” Rosemary finished Justine’s braid and fastened an elastic band around it.
Justine’s puzzled gaze swept across them both. “Noticed what? What are you talking about?”
Sage replied with equanimity. “Mr. Black has no soul, dear.”
Twelve
“What does that mean?” Justine demanded, her eyes widening. “Jason told me the same thing a couple of nights ago.”
“He’s aware of it, then?” Sage asked, folding the trousers neatly. “How fascinating. Usually they have no idea.” She slid a significant glance to Rosemary.
“Someone explain it to me,” Justine said urgently. “Are you saying he’s a clinical sociopath or something?”
“Oh, not at all.” Sage chuckled and leaned over to pat Justine’s knee through the quilts. “I’ve met some perfectly lovely people with no souls. It’s nothing to criticize, and it certainly can’t be helped; it just is.”
“How did you know about it? What tipped you off?”
“Hereditary witches usually have the knack of sensing when someone is soulless. Didn’t you feel it when you first met Mr. Black?”
After considering the question, Justine replied slowly. “For a second I sort of wanted to step back from him. I wasn’t sure why.”
“Exactly. You’ll experience that from time to time when you meet someone new. But of course you must never say anything about it. Most of the soulless aren’t aware of what they lack, and they would never want to know.”
Justine was unaccountably upset. “I don’t get this. Any of it.”
“Even without a soul,” Rosemary explained, “you would still have emotions, thoughts, and memories. You would still be you. But you wouldn’t have … transcendence. There would be nothing left after the body dies.”