Crystal Cove

by Lisa Kleypas

  “That’s fine,” he said gruffly. “Just tell me what I have to do.”

  Sage came to him and took his hand. “Just sit in the middle of the pentagram while we do our work. Try to relax and let your mind clear.”

  Jason went to the center of the chalked circle and sat, while the crafters gathered at the edges of the pentagram.

  “Once we begin,” Rosemary told him, “you have to be quiet. No interruptions. We’ll all need to maintain our focus.”

  “Got it. No talking, no texting.” He looked at the group around him. “Has everyone turned off their cell phones?”

  Rosemary looked stern, but the corner of her mouth twitched. “That’ll be enough from you. Unless you have any questions.”

  “Just one.”

  “Yes?”

  “What is that knife with the curved handle for?”

  “For cutting herbs.”

  He looked dubiously at the foot-long knife.

  “It’s midnight,” someone said.

  Rosemary looked at Jason. “Let’s begin.”

  Sage had already explained to Jason that the ritual would involve a series of chants, blessings, and invocations before the actual spell-lifting would occur. “If you could possibly go into a meditative state during the rite,” Sage had told him, “that would be very helpful to us. Focus on your breathing, let your thoughts go—”

  “I can meditate,” he had assured her.

  He sat up straight and focused his attention on the flow of his breath. He tried to focus on a single image. His mind touched on one memory after another until he found the dark-sliding surf of Coronado Beach at night, the endless soothing rush of water, the way he had relaxed and listened with Justine’s warm weight in his lap, her head on his shoulder. Waves turning over on themselves, salt-burled rhythm making its way from the blackest depths up to a moonstruck shore. A sense of calm pervaded him.

  He heard women’s voices calling to unseen spirits, summoning and beguiling. A cool, dark energy seeped into the air around him. He took it inside with every breath, feeling it cleanse the lingering thoughts and anger and fear until his mind was spread like the fingers of open hands and the place where a soul should have lived was left raw and exposed. The truth came to him between the space of one breath and another.

  He had no time left.

  He received the revelation with wonder and a brief, blind instinct to struggle. Not yet. Not now. But in the absence of a soul, his heart compensated with aching beats of acceptance … Let go, let go, let go.

  * * *

  Justine was not in a mood to take no for an answer. When no water taxis were available, she called a friend who owned a small trawler and desperately talked her into taking her to Cauldron Island. “I know it’s late, I’ll pay anything, do anything, if you’ll just get me there, you know it’s not far—” The friend had said yes, seeming to understand that Justine wasn’t going to give her a choice anyway.

  In ten minutes Justine had scrambled to the Friday Harbor docks and boarded the waiting trawler. Every minute that passed before launching was another agonizing tug at her nerves until the reverberations made her entire body sing in panic. Jason had gone behind her back again, and the coven, too. They had all locked her out of something that would affect her more than anyone else. The longevity spell was infinitely more dangerous to remove than to cast in the first place. A spell like that could work its way down inside you with backward barbs, until it would kill you to pull it out. Almost like love.

  The boat parted from the dock at idling speed until it had left the no-wake zone. The motor growled with rising ferocity as the bow ate through serrated water while the wind huffed and struck Justine’s face and tangled her loose hair. The weight of the Triodecad, contained in a canvas tote bag, thumped hard against her thigh.

  Her mind was in high gear. She had talked with Jason earlier that day, and Jason had said nothing. He’d let her think he was in San Francisco. He must have been at the lighthouse right then. He’d been relaxed and casual, not revealing a hint about what he was planning.

  She heard Marigold’s voice: “The witch’s bane has turned on you.”

  That was the unknown consequence. A blood sacrifice was required, that was the price of love for her kind. Someone had to pay, and Jason had decided it would be him.

  The blood is on your hands.

  How easy it would be to turn into Marigold. All she would have to do was let herself. And when all that bitterness had eaten up her insides, the only direction it would be able to go was outward.

  The trawler docked at Cauldron Island just long enough for Justine to leap onto the slick weathered boards. She climbed the endless stairs with punishing upward lunges until her thighs knotted and burned, but she ignored the pain and kept going. The lighthouse was silent, unoccupied, the yard cemetery-dark and still. Clouds piled over the waning moon like discarded laundry, slowly obscuring the gibbous curve.

  Still panting from the hard upward haul, Justine went to the outside shed and pulled out one of the pair of bicycles. She headed down the ragged trail to Crystal Cove, wheels jolting on stones that protruded like knuckles, then dipping into shallow scoops that sent the bike upward for stomach-lifting seconds.

  The schoolhouse windows flickered red and black, blinking slowly at her as the bike wheels rolled and spat sand. Justine was off the bike before it had even stopped, the metal frame clattering to the ground.

  She shoved hard against the door and barged in.

  The rite had just ended, the circle of coveners broken up, two or three of them huddled in the middle of the pentagram.

  “Justine,” she heard Rosemary say in an odd tone.

  “Someone turn on a light,” Justine said impatiently.

  The light from a portable lamp flared, a pool of unnatural white pushing the shadows on the floor right up against the seams of the walls.

  Jason was sitting in the center of the pentagram, arms loosely curled around his bent legs, forehead resting on his knees. He didn’t move or even look up as she approached. Sage, Rosemary, and Violet were crowded around him.

  “Get back!” Justine cried. She rushed to Jason, dropped the Triodecad, and fell to her knees beside him. “Jason? Jason, what is it?” He made no sound that let her know he’d heard her. She cast a wild glance at the coveners. Whatever they saw in her face was enough to make them retreat. She saw that Jason was sweating heavily, the hair at the nape of his neck wet. “What did you do to him?” she demanded.

  “The spell’s been lifted,” Rosemary said. “You’re safe now, Justine.”

  “You shouldn’t have done this without me,” she said fiercely. “You knew I’d want to be told.”

  “It was his decision.”

  Turning her attention back to Jason, Justine touched the back of his head, his neck, trying to coax him to look at her. “Let me see you,” she said. “Jason, please—”

  She broke off as his head bobbed up on the uncertain support of his neck. His complexion was gray, gleaming with sweat, his eyes not quite focused. Pain had tightened the skin over his bone structure, turning the cheekbones into blades. Every breath was a short, dry gasp.

  “What is it?” she asked urgently. “Where does it hurt, what’s the matter?”

  She saw that he wanted to say something, but his teeth were clenched too hard to allow for words. His right hand gripped the upper part of his left arm, fingers digging into the muscle. Instantly she understood.

  Heart attack.

  “His time is up, Justine,” she heard Sage say in a choked voice. “He was warned—”

  “No.” Justine grabbed wildly for the Triodecad, yanking it from the tote bag. “I’ll fix this. I’ll find the right spell. Just hang on, I’ll take care of it, I promise. I promise—” At least that was what she was trying to say, except the words were shuddery and cracked. She wasn’t aware that she was crying until she saw the heavy splats of water on the ancient pages, the ink blurring, her eyes swimming. Frantically she
fumbled with the book, paper crumpling and ripping beneath her frenzied hands.

  “Justine,” she heard Sage cry out in dismay. Some of the crafters began to move toward her.

  “Stay away from me.” She stared at them with wild eyes, her hand extended in midair like a weapon.

  She felt Jason touch her arm. Letting go of the Triodecad, she turned to him. His deep brown eyes stared into hers. Through the glaze of pain there was a quiet glow of understanding. He leaned closer to say something, and she steadied him with her arms.

  His whisper was hot and gentle against her ear. “Never would’ve been enough time anyway.”

  His head dropped to her shoulder, and his weight eased against her as he collapsed slowly into her arms. She breathed in the familiar and tantalizing scents of his skin and hair. His body was heavy and racked with shivers.

  “You’re going to be fine,” she said desperately, screwing her eyes shut, racking her brain for any kind of spell, anything.

  Jason’s fingers tangled in her hair, pulling her head down to his. “Worth it,” he whispered.

  She could feel the life pouring out of him as if from a sieve, even as she tried to contain it with her hands, her palms pressing on his chest, back, arms, head. “Don’t, don’t, don’t—”

  “Kiss me.”

  “No.” But she did, finding his mouth with hers, soft and warm, while her tears slipped onto his face, his closed eyes. His lips pulled in a grimace of pain, and her arms locked around him. She would hold him so tight that death couldn’t take him. She would keep him with her, harbor him inside herself.

  One last breath, a quiet exhalation. The fingers in her hair unclenched, and his hand slid away, dropping to her lap. Time stopped, seconds caught and collided like raindrops in the cup of a leaf.

  Easing him to the floor, Justine stared down at his expressionless face, the way his lashes lay against his cheeks, the gray tinge of his mouth. The force of a terrible energy built inside her, racing through bones, cartilage, nerves, blood. A wild pulse threatened to burst her veins. He would not disappear. She would hold him in the space between life and nothingness, she would keep him somewhere.

  Her face streamed with sweat and tears. She put her hands to his chest. His body jolted as a shock of energy blazed through him. She heard the horrified exclamations of the coveners around them.

  “Justine, no—”

  Again and again, while she kept her hands on him and let the fatal voltage sear through them both. She heard Rosemary begging her to stop, it was no use, she would hurt herself. But no one dared come near … she and Jason were surrounded with blue-white energy, hot as the heart of a dying star. They had formed a circuit, fused and burning out bright and fast. Let him take her with him. Let her soul carry them both, so he could never leave her and she would never have to mourn.

  She crawled over him, gripping his head in her hands, her mouth coming to his. The brilliance flared, followed by startling black.

  No pulse, no sensation, no vibration of energy. Only the cry of her soul in the silent oblivion.

  Where are you?

  A force more powerful than gravity pulled her out of the darkness, drew her into a steep ascent, a billowing forward roll, love tumbling into love.

  Here.

  He was with her, impossibly, irrevocably.

  And time began again.

  Slowly she returned to herself, her eyes opening. She was aware of the coveners nearby, of the walls of the Crystal Cove schoolhouse, the flickering light of candles and glass lamps. But her attention was riveted on Jason, his still features, her hands pale brackets at the sides of his face. She said his name carefully.

  His lashes lifted in the amber veil of lamplight, the dark irises soft and drowsing.

  “I couldn’t let you go,” she said, stroking his cheek, the edge of his jaw.

  He held her gaze, his eyes filled with wonder as he perceived what she already knew. “Something’s different,” he said hoarsely.

  She nodded and lowered her forehead to his. “Somehow,” she whispered, “we’re sharing a soul. But I think half of it was yours all along.”

  * * *

  Something soft brushed her forehead. Justine ignored the feathery touch, trying to remain comfortably asleep. Another tender stroke, this one on her cheek. With an irritable sound, she turned to snuggle deeper into the fat, downy depths of her pillow.

  “Justine.” A velvety murmur … Jason’s voice … his lips playing near her ear. “It’s almost noon. Wake up so I can talk to you.”

  “Don’ want to talk,” she mumbled. Her exhausted brain sorted through memories of the previous night. What bizarre dreams she’d had … seeing Marigold, fearing for Jason’s life, racing to Crystal Cove …

  Her eyes flew open, and she looked at the masculine face right above hers. Jason was propped up on one elbow, a faint smile on his lips. He was freshly showered and dressed, his face smooth-shaven. “I’ve been waiting for you to wake up,” he said, his fingertips slowly following the shape of her collarbone to the curve of her shoulder. “I couldn’t stand it any longer.”

  A cursory glance at their surroundings revealed that they were in the Cauldron Island lighthouse tower bedroom. She was naked beneath the sheets, her body relaxed and more than a little fatigued. “I feel like I’ve run a marathon,” she said dazedly.

  “Not surprising, after last night.”

  She sat up, keeping the sheets pulled up over her breasts. Efficiently Jason propped up pillows behind her. Just as she realized that her mouth was incredibly dry, he gave her a glass of water.

  “Thanks,” she said, drinking thirstily. “What exactly happened last night?”

  He looked at her closely. “You don’t remember?”

  “I do, but I’m not sure what was real and what I might have imagined.”

  “Do you want the long version or the short?”

  “Short.” She gave him back the glass, and he set it on the bedside table.

  “For me the evening kicked off with a midnight spell-lifting ritual, followed by a near-death experience and a bare-handed cardiac resuscitation performed by you, after which you apparently lit up the schoolhouse like a Las Vegas casino. The coveners said they’d never seen anything like it—I’m sorry I missed the show.”

  “I think you were the show,” Justine said. “Where is everyone now?”

  “Rosemary and Sage are taking a nap. Some of the coveners left late last night. A few of the others stayed and talked until breakfast, and left a little while ago. I never knew witches kept such insanely late hours.”

  “Something they have in common with insomniacs.”

  Jason smiled, reaching out to smooth the wild mass of her hair. He was so handsome that it almost hurt to look at him. Everything that had been appealing and dynamic about him before seemed to have amplified, if that were even possible.

  “What did the coven say?” she asked.

  “About which part?”

  “About any of it.”

  “The one thing they all agreed on was that somehow I’ve been given an impossible gift. By you.” He looked into her eyes, making no effort to conceal a mixture of adoration and awe. “Sage thinks that somehow you infused part of your soul into me, in the same way that one flame can start a new one. But no one’s ever heard of it being done before. And no one can figure out how you did it.”

  “I don’t know,” she said, abashed. “I just … wanted you. I had to keep you with me.”

  “You’ve got me,” he said. “In fact, you’ll have me even when you want to get rid of me.”

  She smiled and shook her head. “Never.” The word was crushed between their lips as he leaned over to give her a hard kiss.

  Drawing back, he stared at her tenderly, his expression more difficult to interpret. “The coven also discussed something else,” he said. “They think that the witch’s bane may no longer apply in our situation … because a sacrifice was made.” At her questioning glance, he said, “Can yo
u try to do your snapping thing? Set something on fire?”

  Bemused, she focused her energy and snapped her fingers. The expected spark wasn’t there. She blinked in surprise and tried again.

  Nothing.

  Twin notches of concern appeared between Jason’s brows. “I can’t remember the supernatural words they used,” he said. “But basically you may have exceeded your capacity. Blown a circuit.” He paused, his gaze searching hers. “Would you be unhappy if you had no more power?”

  “No, I … I just never imagined … no. Especially not if it saved you.” She tried to make herself comprehend it fully. If she no longer had the powers of a hereditary witch, she could probably still work a few simple spells, mix a potion now and then. For all the good it’s done me in the past, she thought wryly. A giddy feeling swept through her as she said aloud, “I don’t need magic to be happy.” It was the truth.

  Jason cupped her flushed cheek in his hand, his gaze caressing. “What do you need to be happy?” he asked. “Give me the longest list you can come up with. I won’t rest until you have everything on it.”

  “It’s a short list,” she said.

  “God, I hope I’m on it.”

  She shook her head as if the comment were absurd. “You’re all of it.”

  Jason pulled her close for a long moment, kissing her lips, cheeks, throat, pressing endearments against her skin. “Justine,” he asked eventually, pulling back just enough to look at her. “How did you find out what was going on last night? I’m glad you did, but … I didn’t want to put you through any of that. I was trying to protect you.”

  She made herself frown, which wasn’t easy when happiness was dancing in every nerve. “We’re going to talk about that later,” she said. “You promised not to do anything behind my back again—”

  “I’m sorry. There were extenuating circumstances.”

  “You’re still in trouble.”

  “I know. Tell me how you found out.”

  Justine described Marigold’s abrupt and confrontational visit as pragmatically as she could, while Jason listened with quiet sympathy. “She doesn’t love me,” Justine finished, trying to sound matter-of-fact.