Crystal Cove (Friday Harbor #4)(10)

Some women gave their children unconditional love. Marigold, however, had meted out affection to Justine like expensive arcade tokens, withholding it whenever Justine had disagreed with her. Since traditional education didn’t interest Marigold, she had done everything possible to discourage Justine from going to community college. She had mocked and criticized Justine’s job as a hotel desk clerk. The last straw, however, had been Justine’s decision to buy the inn.

“Why have you always been so impossible?” Marigold had demanded. “You’ve never wanted to do the one thing you’re good at. Are you really telling me that the biggest dream you can come up with for yourself is housework? Cleaning toilets and changing dirty sheets?”

“I’m sorry,” Justine had said. “I know how much easier it would be for both of us if I’d turned out the way I was supposed to. I don’t belong anywhere … not in a magical world and not in an ordinary one. But between the two, this makes me happier. I like taking care of people. I don’t mind cleaning up after them. And I want a place that’s all my own, so I’ll never have to move again.”

“There’s more to consider than what you want,” Marigold had shot back. “Our circle is the oldest lineaged coven on the West Coast. Once you’re initiated, we’ll have a total of thirteen. You know what that means.”

Yes, Justine had known. Thirteen witches in a coven would result in a power greater than the sum of its parts. And she had felt horribly selfish for not wanting to join, for putting her own needs above the others’. But she had known that no matter how hard she tried, she would never be like them. A lifetime was an awfully long time to be miserable.

“The problem is,” Justine had said, “I’m not interested in learning any more about the craft than I already know.”

That had earned her a scornful glance. “You’re satisfied with knowing a handful of bottle spells and crystal runes? With having barely enough magical ability to entertain children at a birthday party?”

“Don’t forget, I also do balloon animals,” Justine had said, hoping to coax a smile from her.

But Marigold’s face had remained stony. “I never would have had you if I’d thought there was a chance you wouldn’t be part of the coven. I’ve never even heard of a natural-born witch who turned away from the craft.”

The impasse had been hopeless. Marigold was convinced that her plans for Justine’s life were infinitely better than anything Justine could have come up with. Justine had tried to make her understand that it was every person’s right to make those decisions for herself, but eventually she had realized that if Marigold had been capable of understanding the point, she never would have been controlling in the first place.

And if Marigold couldn’t have the kind of daughter she wanted, she didn’t want a daughter at all.

As a consequence, Justine had developed an ambivalent relationship with magic, which was inherently an all-or-nothing proposition. Trying to remain a magical dilettante was like trying to stay a little bit pregnant.

She read the spell again. If she were reading correctly, the rite had to be performed beneath a waning moon at midnight. That made sense: The last phase before the new moon was the ideal time for banishing, releasing, reversing. To succeed in lifting a curse as powerful as a geas, it was best not to cut corners.

Standing, Justine went to the antique writing desk by the window to consult a lunar phase Web site on her laptop.

As luck would have it, tonight was the last night of the waning crescent. If she didn’t try to break the geas now, she would have to wait a full month before she could have another shot. Justine was certain that she couldn’t make it that long. Every cell in her body screamed for action. She felt off course, like a comet that was about to break free of its solar orbit and hurtle out into space.

She should call Rosemary and Sage for advice, except they might try to talk her out of it, or at least tell her to wait, and Justine didn’t want her mind to be changed for any reason. Even a good one. The geas had to be broken now.

For the rest of the evening, Justine studied the spell and pored feverishly through the Triodecad. If she was going to do this, it had to be done right. Many factors played into the art of magic. If any of the steps of a spell were conducted in a haphazard manner, if words were mispronounced or left out, if the crafter’s focus wavered, if her magic supplies were of poor quality, the spell might not work. Or it might work in reverse, or on the wrong person. A mistake as apparently minor as using a candle made with paraffin instead of beeswax could lead to disastrous consequences.

Justine concentrated so deeply on the Triodecad that the sound of her cell phone caused her to start. She reached for it with her heart racing unpleasantly, and read the caller ID.

“Hi, Priscilla,” she said. “How’s it going?”

“Everything’s fine. Got everyone settled into their rooms, and then they walked to Downrigger’s for dinner. Most of them are back. I’m calling to remind you to bring the vodka to Jason’s room in fifteen minutes.”

“Oh.” Justine looked down at her T-shirt and jeans, which she hadn’t changed since cleaning the rooms earlier in the day. She smelled like ammonia and floor wax. The knees of her jeans were filthy, and her ponytail had come loose. “I thought he’d probably want you to do it,” she said hopefully.