Crystal Cove (Friday Harbor #4)(4)

Justine gave her a morose glance. “You’re insufferable, Zoë,” she muttered.

A grin curled her cousin’s lips. “It’ll be that way for you someday,” she said. “You just haven’t met the right man yet.”

“I may have already,” Justine said. “I may have already met and lost him without ever knowing.”

Zoë’s smile faded. “I’ve never seen you like this. I never realized it mattered so much. You’ve never seemed to care whether you fell in love or not.”

“I’ve tried to make myself believe it wasn’t important. Sometimes I almost managed to convince myself.” Justine dropped her forehead to her folded arms. “Zo,” she asked in a muffled voice, “if you could add ten years to your life, but the catch was that you could never love someone the way you do Alex, would you do it?”

Zoë’s reply was unhesitating. “No.”

“Why not?”

“It’s like trying to describe a color you’ve never seen before. Words can’t make you understand what real love is like. But until you’ve felt it … you haven’t really lived.”

Justine was silent for a long moment. She swallowed against the tightness in her throat.

“I’m sure you’ll find true love someday,” she heard Zoë say.

I’m just as sure that I won’t, Justine thought. Unless I do something.

An idea came to her … a stupid, dangerous idea. She tried to unthink it.

But even so, she could feel the spellbook, stowed safely under her bed, calling to her.

I’ll help you, it was saying. I’ll show you how.

Two

As she cleared breakfast plates and flatware from the tables, Justine paused to chat with some of the guests. There was an older couple from Victoria, a honeymooning pair from Wyoming, and a family of four from Arizona.

The family included two boys who were busy wolfing down Zoë’s pumpkin pancakes. The boys were a couple of years apart in age, both small cyclones waiting to be set loose.

“How’s breakfast?” Justine asked the children.

“Good,” the older boy said.

The younger boy answered around a mouthful of pancake. “The syrup tastes weird.”

He had filled his plate with syrup until the pancakes were practically floating. A gluey tuft of hair stuck up in front, and another at the side of his head.

Justine smiled. “That’s probably because it’s real. Most pancake syrup you buy at the stores doesn’t have maple in it at all. It’s all corn syrup and flavoring.”

“I like that better,” the boy said with his mouth full.

“Hudson,” the mother scolded, “mind your manners.” She glanced up at Justine apologetically. “He’s made a mess.”

“No problem at all,” Justine said, and gestured to her empty plate. “May I take that for you?”

“Yes, thanks.” The woman returned her attention to the boys while Justine removed her plate and glass. The boy’s father, who was talking on his cell phone, paused his conversation long enough to say to Justine, “Take mine, too. And bring me some tea. Earl Grey, with nonfat milk. Do it fast—we have to leave soon.”

“Of course,” Justine said pleasantly. “Should I bring it in a to-go cup?”

He responded with a brief nod and a grunt, and resumed his phone conversation.

As Justine headed to the kitchen with the dishes, someone appeared at the doorway of the dining room.

“’Scuse me.” The speaker was a young woman in a slim black skirt suit and sensible medium-height pumps, her penny-colored hair cut in a perfect shoulder-length bob. Her features were fine, her eyes luminous blue. She wore no jewelry except for a fine gold chain around her neck. Her appearance would have led Justine to expect a cut-glass British accent. Instead, she spoke in a West Virginia drawl as thick as diesel-spec engine oil. “I’m here for check-in, but there’s no one in the office.”

“Sorry,” Justine said, “we’re a little shorthanded at the moment. My breakfast help couldn’t make it this morning. Are you with the group that’s coming in today?”

A careful nod. “Inari Enterprises. I’m Priscilla Fiveash.”

Justine recognized the name. She was the executive assistant who would handle the advance check-in for Jason Black and his entourage. “I’ll be free in about ten minutes. Would you like a cup of coffee while you wait?”

“No, thank you.” The young woman didn’t seem unfriendly so much as guarded, her emotions tightly laced and double-knotted. “Is there a place where I could make some calls in private?”

“Sure, you can use the office. It’s unlocked.”

“Thank you.”

The father of the two boys asked irritably from the table, “My tea?”

“Right away,” Justine assured him. But before leaving the room, she paused to say to the woman, “Fiveash … that’s an unusual name. English, Irish?”

“I’m told it came from England. A village they can’t find anymore, with five ash trees in the center.”

It sounded like a Tradition name. Ash trees were nearly as powerful as oak trees. And the number five was especially significant to those in the craft, whose symbol was the five-pointed star enclosed in a circle. Although Justine was tempted to ask more, she only smiled and headed toward the kitchen.