Crystal Cove (Friday Harbor #4)(65)

He hesitated for a long moment. “Priscilla.”

Priscilla? Justine’s fingers went to her mouth, mashing her lips against her teeth. When she could manage to speak, she said unsteadily, “Fiveash. I knew her last name meant something. She’s a crafter. She’s … My God. Is she natural-born?”

“Yes. Inexperienced … but she has the creds.”

This wasn’t heartache. This was a body-and-soul ache. A toxic mixture of shame, anger, hurt, mainlining into her veins. “You used Priscilla to come here and prey on me. You were planning to take the Triodecad from the beginning. Before you even knew me!”

At least Jason didn’t insult her by trying to deny it. “After I met you, the reasons changed. Before, I was going to do it out of self-interest. Now it’s because I want to be with you. Because I—”

“I don’t give a damn if your reasons changed, or what your motivation is,” she said hotly. “Your actions are the same. And whatever you try with my grimoire is going to backfire.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

“I’m not just talking about you, you self-absorbed ass! It could backfire on Priscilla, or me, or someone else down the line who had nothing to do with this. Listen to me: The burden of proof falls on the crafter to make certain the spell won’t harm anyone. You don’t know who will be affected.”

“I know there are risks if I go ahead with this. But if I don’t, Justine … I have no chance. No sand left in the hourglass. And to be with you—for as long as possible—is all that means anything to me now.”

“You can’t use magic to screw around with matters of life or death. The spirits will find a way to turn it against you.”

“Then you make the choice,” Jason said coolly. “You love me. We know the consequences of that. You want me to sit back and wait for the anvil to drop?”

“I don’t love you,” Justine tried to say, except that she was forced to stop between words and take a painful extra breath, and to her disgust, she was fighting not to cry.

Love, she reflected bitterly, wasn’t something you bargained with or negotiated terms with … it lived by its own rules. Love appeared when you didn’t want it and refused to go. It was like an invasive species that entered your garden without warning, and proceeded to grow wildly out of control, resistant to every method employed to kill it.

Basically, love was pigweed.

“All I want,” Jason said, “is to take care of this and come back to you. I’ll do whatever you ask from then on. I’ll give you anything you’ve ever wanted.”

“Don’t you dare try to buy me!”

“I’ll rub your feet when you’re tired. I’ll hold you when you’re lonely. I’ll love you like no woman has ever been loved on this earth.” He paused. “You just have to give me a pass on this one little thing.”

Her brows rushed down. “You don’t get a pass for stealing my grimoire.”

“Borrowing.”

“You’ll do the same thing again when you decide you need some handy spell to fix something.”

“I won’t.”

“And I’m supposed to believe that? How stupid do you think I am?”

A long pause. “You’re not stupid,” he said quietly. “You care about me, and I took advantage of that. And I’m sorry.”

“You’re not sorry for anything you’ve done. You’re only sorry that I’m angry.”

“I’m not sure what kind of sorry it is. I only know I feel a lot of it.”

“If that’s true, then don’t let Priscilla try to cast a spell from the Triodecad. Send it back to me.”

“And then what?”

“I’ll find a way to keep you safe. I’ll stop … caring about you. I’ll cut my heart out if necessary.”

Silence, and then a slow exhale. “You can’t do that,” he said. “You’ve already given your heart to me.”

The call ended.

“Jason? Jason—” Frantically Justine went to the recent calls list and autodialed the number. She was sent directly to voice mail. “Oh, you bastard.” As she glared at the supplies and equipment piled around her, she trembled with the urge to do something drastic, destroy something.

A woman in this mood, she thought vehemently, should not be left alone with power tools.

Twenty

“Another message from Justine,” Priscilla said grimly, sliding her phone back into her bag. “She’s madder than an Amish electrician.”

“She’ll get over it.”

“I wouldn’t, if I was her.” Priscilla looked down at the bulk of the Triodecad, smoothing her hand over the linen that covered it. The book and the cloth were saturated with the pleasantly dry, sweet scent of white sage. Although Jason had suggested that she put the heavy volume in one of the backseats, she had insisted on holding it on her lap.

“You seem nervous,” Jason said, driving the rented Nissan away from Little Rock National Airport. The afternoon light was strong and yolk colored, causing him to squint through the lenses of his polarized sunglasses. “Is it because you don’t want me to meet your family, or because you’re not sure the spell-casting will work?”