Crystal Cove (Friday Harbor #4)(36)

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 br**sts. 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.