Crystal Cove (Friday Harbor #4)(39)

“The lighthouse isn’t active now, is it?”

“No, after it was decommissioned in the early seventies, the Coast Guard sold it to me for practically nothing. And in return for maintaining the house, I’ve been awarded a life pension from a private historic preservation foundation. Later you’ll have to go up to the top of the tower—the original Fresnel lens is still there. It’s made of French crystal. Very beautiful, like an Art Deco sculpture.”

The rooms were painted in delicate shades of robin’s-egg blue and sea green, and filled with cozy upholstered furniture and polished woodwork. The main room opened into a large kitchen, and a smaller room that served as a multipurpose area. “This is called the keeping room,” Sage said. “Most of the time we use it for craft projects, but when we have guests, such as tonight, we put an extra leaf in the table and make it into a dining room.”

Jason went to the corner of the room, where an antique bronze diving helmet had been set on a built-in shelf. The helmet had a glass front door, a dumbbell lock with a chain and pin, and a leather gasket. “This is like something out of a Jules Verne novel. How old is it?”

“It was made in nineteen-eighteen, or thereabouts.” Sage gave a wondering laugh. “Neil said the same thing when he bought it—it reminded him of Jules Verne. Have you read any of his novels?”

“Most of them.” Jason smiled. “Jules Verne managed to predict a lot of inventions that eventually came true. Submarines, videoconferencing, spaceships … I’ve never been able to decide if it was genius or magic.”

She seemed to like that. “Perhaps a little of both.”

Sage showed him to the guest room at the lower level of the tower. It was a fairy-tale room, octagonal with bay windows and upholstered benches set in nearly every wall. The only furnishings were a spacious iron-framed bed placed in the center of the room and a tiny painted wooden table next to it. Although the room would be cold at night, the bed was layered with ivory quilts and pillows piled three deep. A simple button-down shirt and a pair of trousers had been laid out. “I’m afraid we have no socks that will fit you,” Sage said regretfully. “Until your shoes dry out, you’ll have to go barefoot.”

“I went barefoot all the time in my grandmother’s home in Japan,” Jason said.

“You’re part Japanese?… Ah, that explains those cheekbones and lovely dark eyes.”

He laughed quietly. “You’re a flirt, Sage.”

“At my age, I can flirt all I please and it causes no trouble.”

“I think you could cause plenty of trouble if you wanted to.”

Sage chuckled. “Now who’s the flirt?” She gestured to a small bathroom with an old-fashioned shower. “The guest toiletries are in the basket under the sink. There’s more than enough time for a nap—you may rest up here, and no one will bother you.”

“Thanks, but I don’t usually take naps.”

“You should try. You must be tired after your heroics today.”

“I wasn’t heroic,” Jason said, uncomfortable with the praise. “I just did what was necessary.”

She smiled at him. “Isn’t that the definition of a hero?”

Thirteen

Jason went downstairs three hours later. He had showered and shaved, and had taken Sage’s advice about trying to rest. Although he had always found it nearly impossible to nap, he had fallen asleep within a couple of minutes after lying down. It was something about the tower room, he decided. Sleeping in a place so high and isolated, surrounded by storm and ocean, had allowed him to relax as deeply as if he’d spent hours in meditation.

The clothes Sage had set out for him were soft and comfortable, with none of the mustiness or discoloration he would have expected. A crisp scent of cedar permeated the fabric. He owned handmade shirts from London and Hong Kong that didn’t fit him this smoothly. These could have been made specifically according to his measurements. Which didn’t strike him as coincidence.

So far, Jason thought wryly, he was enjoying the company of witches far more than he would have expected.

He reached the bottom floor and found the main room empty. Appetizing smells hung in the air. The sound of voices and clanking utensils resonated from the kitchen. Pausing at the threshold of the keeping room, he saw that the table was covered in white linen and set with flatware and sparkling glassware.

Justine was lighting candles, her back turned to him. A thin blue sweater and a long flowered skirt followed the slender lines of her body before flaring gently. She was barefoot, sexy, her hair loose and rippling. Still unaware of his presence, she clicked a long-necked butane lighter repeatedly but couldn’t get a flame started. The shoulder of the sweater sagged away from an ivory shoulder, and she hitched it up impatiently. Setting aside the lighter, she snapped her fingers in front of each candlewick. A succession of brilliant flames appeared.

More witchery. Although Jason didn’t react outwardly, he was startled by the sight of Justine creating sparks with her fingertips. Jesus Tap-dancing Christ. What else was she capable of? Staring at her, he slid his hands in his pockets and leaned casually against the side of the doorjamb.

At the sound of the floor creaking beneath his feet, Justine started and whirled to face him.

She turned white and then flushed, her velvet-brown eyes wide. “Oh. I…” One hand made a fluttering gesture to the table behind her. “Trick candles.”