Crystal Cove (Friday Harbor #4)(37)

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.”

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.”

“No heaven or hell,” Justine said slowly, “no Valhalla, Summerland, or underworld … just ‘poof’ and you’re gone for good?”

“Exactly.”

“I’ve always wondered if they don’t sense it deep down,” Sage mused aloud. “People without souls rarely seem to reach old age, and they tend to live so very intensely. As if they’re aware of how limited their time is.”

“It reminds me of that little poem you’ve always liked, Sage. The one about the candle.”

“Edna St. Vincent Millay.” Sage smiled as she recited, “‘My candle burns at both ends; / It will not last the night; / But ah, my foes, and oh my friends— / It gives a lovely light!’”

“That describes the soulless perfectly,” Rosemary told Justine. “They are driven to experience everything they can before the ultimate demise. Voracious appetites. But no matter how much success they achieve, it’s never enough … and they never understand why.”