Crystal Cove (Friday Harbor #4)(68)

“A book like this,” Granny said, “has more power than what’s written on the pages.”

The older women let out little breaths of appreciation as Priscilla unwrapped the Triodecad. The leather cover gleamed with a black-plum finish. A copper keyhole was centered in an unusual clock face design. Even if Jason hadn’t known the supernatural value of the book, he would have instantly recognized it as something ancient and priceless.

“Why a clock face?” he asked.

“It’s not a time clock,” Granny replied. “It’s the phases of the moon. The earth is here at the center.” She traced invisible lines from the keyhole to each of the points of the outer circle. “First quarter moon at the top … waxing gibbous next … full moon right there…” Her finger moved to the edge of the cover. “The sun would shine from this direction.”

A perturbed frown crossed Priscilla’s forehead. “It’s a full moon tonight, Granny. Is that the right time to cast a spell?”

“Depends on the spell. We’ll need to read some, you and me and Bean, to figger what’s best.” Granny turned to Jason and said, not without sympathy, “Prissy told me what we’re dealing with. Between the lack of a soul and the witch’s bane, you got more problems than a math book. And we can only cast one spell at a time, or they start canceling each other out.” She paused. “Who’s got the key?”

“I do,” Jason said, fishing out the chain from beneath his polo shirt.

Granny received it from him with a businesslike nod. “Bean, before we open the book, I think we’d best sweep the kitchen with the besom broom.”

“I’ll find it,” Bean said, and hustled down the narrow hallway.

“Jason,” Granny continued, “we’ll be reading for a while. Put your feet up, if you like. You could watch TV. The Razorbacks are playing the Aggies.”

“Would you mind if I took a walk?”

“Go right on.”

As Jason picked up his sunglasses from the table and turned to the door, Bean hurried up to him with an aerosol can and started spraying. He backed away reflexively while Bean directed the spray over his pants legs and even reached for the hems to mist his ankles. The smell of insect repellent filled the air in a noxious cloud. “No. Really. I don’t—”

“You need it,” Bean said with authority, going behind him, spraying busily without stopping.

“You don’t know about Arkansas skeeters,” Granny told him. “In ten minutes they’ll bleed you dry as a hog on butchering day.”

“My, my” came Bean’s voice from behind him. “This is what I call a superior posterior.”

Jason slid a narrow-eyed glance at Priscilla, who appeared to be repressing a grin. “Thanks,” he muttered, and fled as soon as Bean was finished.

“One more thing,” Granny called after him. “If you see Cletus upstairs, don’t pay him no mind.” The door closed.

Jason stopped in his tracks. “There’s no upstairs on a trailer home,” he said aloud.

Slowly he wandered around the rickety structure. He discovered that the dogwood trees at the front of the trailer had concealed a camping chair, a plastic cooler, and a tiki umbrella, all arranged on a corner of the flat roof. The chair was occupied by an elderly man wearing a fishing hat, shorts, and a tee that proclaimed NOT ONLY AM I PERFECT, I’M A SOUTHERNER, TOO. The man stared intently at a cell phone in one hand and held a beer in the other.

“Cletus?” Jason asked cautiously.

The man replied without taking his gaze from the phone. “That’s me. You the fella Priscilla brung for a visit?”

“Yes. Jason.”

“Come on up and have a cold one.” He pointed to a ladder braced against the trailer.

Jason climbed up to the roof, which was covered in a thick blanket of rubber that reeked of new tire smell.

He approached the old man, and they shook hands briefly. Cletus’s eyes were hard blue chips beneath two silvery caterpillar brows. His skin was as brown and textured as a dried tobacco leaf. Most people of Cletus’s advanced years wouldn’t have been able to make the climb. But he was tough, weathered, with ropy arms and a wiry build.

Reaching into the cooler, Cletus pulled out a dripping can of beer and handed it to him.

“Thanks.” Jason sat on a patch of roof beneath the tiki umbrella.

“Guess you’re here to get Granny and Bean to work a spell for you,” Cletus said.

“That’s the plan.” Jason opened the can of beer and drank deeply. “You’re Priscilla’s great-uncle?”

“By marriage. My twin brother, Clive, was married to Bean, a long time back. He died from a bee attack six weeks after their wedding.”

“He was allergic to bees?”

“Allergic to curses, more like. Clive knew the risk, marrying Bean. Everyone knows about the Fiveash women. Black widows, all of ’em. They can’t help it. You mate one and then you die.”

“Why did Clive marry Bean, if he knew about it?”

“Bean was a looker in those days, and Clive went crazy over her. Said he had to have her, curse or no curse. No one could talk sense into him, not even Bean. He was a goner the first time he laid eyes on her.”

“I know the feeling,” Jason said without humor.