Crystal Cove (Friday Harbor #4)(70)

After glancing at the cloth, which was printed with a silhouette of Elvis playing a guitar, Jason gave Priscilla a look askance.

“It doesn’t matter what the altar cloth looks like,” she told him in an undertone, while the two elderly women busied themselves with preparations. “Let them do it their way. They know what works best for them.” After a brief pause, she added, “And don’t throw a fit if they mention Dionne Warwick a couple of times during the spell-casting. It makes Bean happy, and the spirits won’t mind it a bit.”

Twenty-one

By the third morning after Jason had left the inn, Justine was struggling to stay angry. Anger had given her the energy to get ready for the new influx of guests: maintenance such as fixing a broken toilet, resetting a television remote control, resupplying each room with soaps and toiletries. Anger had also propelled her through the tedium of bookkeeping and bill paying, ordering new supplies, and sending e-mail confirmations to guests who had reserved rooms.

The problem was that Justine wasn’t certain what would happen if she let go of the anger. She didn’t want to soften toward Jason. And she didn’t want to view his actions in context: Love was not a mitigating circumstance. She had to focus exclusively on what he had done, and ignore his reasons for doing it. Which was why she had confided as little as possible about the situation to Zoë, who was a big believer in context. And love.

In the middle of laundering linens and toweling, Justine received a call from Priscilla, who until then hadn’t returned any of her wrathful messages.

Justine had waited for that call, had kept herself awake at night rehearsing long eviscerating rants that would leave Priscilla in an apologetic heap. But as she answered, Justine was furious to discover that all she could manage was a choked hello. All the vehement words had tangled up with each other like fine chains.

“Jason has no idea I’m talking to you,” Priscilla said. “He’d kill me if he knew.”

“Where is my spellbook?” Justine asked tightly.

“Jason’s got it. He’s taking real good care of it. He’ll bring it to you by the end of the week.”

“Where is he now?”

“There’s a conference in San Diego. One of those big gaming shindigs. He has to do a charity fund-raiser and—”

“Are you with him?”

“No. He stayed in Little Rock the night before last and left yesterday for California.”

“Little Rock?” Justine repeated, bewildered. “Arkansas?”

Priscilla’s voice was subdued. “My granny and great-aunt are crafters. They helped figure out the spell to use for Jason.”

“Using my Triodecad,” Justine said tautly. “That’s just great. What spell did you use?”

“Longevity.”

Justine’s anger dropped like a climber abseiling a rock face. Down into a thick fog of gloom. She closed her eyes and leaned against the clothes dryer, needing its heat. She had to take a few deep breaths before she could speak. “You used high magick?”

Priscilla’s tone was cautious. “Granny said she thought it took. So there’s nothing to worry about. You’ll have your book back and then—”

“There are two things to worry about,” Justine said sharply. “One is if you cast the spell wrong. The other is if you cast it right.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Let me put it this way: Just because you can do something doesn’t mean you should. There’s no way of knowing exactly what you’ve set in motion. We’ll only find out when it’s too late. And if you’ve done it right … Jason’s going to suffer for it later. Supernatural longevity is a curse, Priscilla. You wouldn’t wish it on your worst enemy. There’s no guarantee against illness or dementia or any of the terrible things that can happen to a human body. The only guarantee is that you’ll live, and live, and live, until you would do anything to end your misery.” Her throat clenched. “I’ve already told this to Jason, the stubborn idiot!”

“He did this because he loves you,” Priscilla burst out.

“Give me a break. He was going to do it anyway, for his own selfish reasons.”

“He loves you,” Priscilla repeated.

“Why do you think that?” Justine asked sarcastically. “Because he said so?”

“Because it’s the truth. Everyone knows you’ll be the death of him. The longevity spell won’t hold out against the witch’s bane. But Jason doesn’t give a damn—all he wants is to buy more time with you.” Priscilla let out a frustrated breath. “My daddy died young, same as yours. People warned him never to marry my mama. They told him to run like hell so that curse could never touch him. I always wondered why he didn’t listen. I couldn’t figure out how a man could be so in love that he’d rather die than live without it. Well, now I’m seeing it firsthand. There’s no way to save Jason. He’s found something he wants even more than a soul, and that’s you. If you won’t have him, he’ll wait.”

“He’ll spend the rest of his life waiting,” Justine snapped.

“I told him that.”

“And what did he say?”

“‘Then waiting is how I’ll love her.’”