Crystal Cove (Friday Harbor #4)(85)

“That’s different. Those things are all part of raising a child.”

“Ungrateful,” Marigold spat.

“No. I’m grateful that you took care of me and raised me. I have to believe you did the best you could. But the thing is, you made a decision for me that wasn’t yours to make. Binding a lifelong curse to your daughter doesn’t fall under the category of dental visits or polio vaccinations. And you know that, or you would have mentioned something about it to me.”

“I kept it secret because I knew if you found out, you would ruin everything. I knew you would do something stupid. And you have.” The bleached white of Marigold’s face contrasted sharply with the red fury of her hair, the ruddy slashes of her brows over hard eyes. She burned like an angel of vengeance as she continued. “I’ve just come from Cauldron Island. They’re performing a midnight rite because of you and your selfishness. And if they don’t succeed, you’re going to die. The witch’s bane has turned on you.”

Justine discovered that her heart wasn’t entirely safe, after all. One human being could always find a way to hurt another.

“You fell in love with a man who betrayed you,” Marigold ranted, “and the witch’s bane is going to kill you unless they do something. It’s your fault. You deserve this.”

Justine tried to gather her wits. Her own voice seemed to come from far away. “What are they doing? What kind of rite?”

“They’re trying to lift a spell from the man you’re involved with. He’s there at this moment. I met him. He might die for you. And if that happens … the blood is on your hands.”

* * *

When the last group of coveners had been delivered to the old schoolhouse, Jason accompanied them inside.

The crafters had been busy. The place looked like a set for a horror movie, with black cloth draped everywhere and a wealth of flickering candles. Incense burned in a pedestal bowl, thickening the air with aromatic smoke. A huge pentagram had been chalked onto the floor, with handfuls of crystals placed at various places around the central star. Chalices and wands had been set all around the pentagram.

The hair rose on the back of Jason’s neck.

Violet, a crafter in her mid-thirties, came forward to take his arm and give it a comforting squeeze. “Sorry. I know it looks creepy. But we want to do the very best we can for you, so we didn’t hold back.”

“Tim Burton would be impressed,” he said, and she smiled.

As he glanced at the faces of the women around him, Jason was reassured. They were trying to help him, and in doing so, they would help Justine. “There’s something I need to know,” he said, and was surprised when they all fell silent and looked at him. A couple of coveners paused in their sweeping, while another who was arranging crystals looked up from her task. “I need to know that the results of what I did won’t cause problems for Justine in the future. In other words, whatever you have to do to make sure that Justine will be safe … go for it. No matter what the consequences to me. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“We understand.” Violet regarded him with patent concern. “Rosemary explained the risks, yes? This spell is hard to remove. Like separating sand mixed with sugar. And once the witch’s bane is focused on you again, you might have very little time left. No one knows what condition you’ll be in when the spell is lifted, or what will happen.”

“That’s fine,” he said gruffly. “Just tell me what I have to do.”

Sage came to him and took his hand. “Just sit in the middle of the pentagram while we do our work. Try to relax and let your mind clear.”

Jason went to the center of the chalked circle and sat, while the crafters gathered at the edges of the pentagram.

“Once we begin,” Rosemary told him, “you have to be quiet. No interruptions. We’ll all need to maintain our focus.”

“Got it. No talking, no texting.” He looked at the group around him. “Has everyone turned off their cell phones?”

Rosemary looked stern, but the corner of her mouth twitched. “That’ll be enough from you. Unless you have any questions.”

“Just one.”

“Yes?”

“What is that knife with the curved handle for?”

“For cutting herbs.”

He looked dubiously at the foot-long knife.

“It’s midnight,” someone said.

Rosemary looked at Jason. “Let’s begin.”

Sage had already explained to Jason that the ritual would involve a series of chants, blessings, and invocations before the actual spell-lifting would occur. “If you could possibly go into a meditative state during the rite,” Sage had told him, “that would be very helpful to us. Focus on your breathing, let your thoughts go—”

“I can meditate,” he had assured her.

He sat up straight and focused his attention on the flow of his breath. He tried to focus on a single image. His mind touched on one memory after another until he found the dark-sliding surf of Coronado Beach at night, the endless soothing rush of water, the way he had relaxed and listened with Justine’s warm weight in his lap, her head on his shoulder. Waves turning over on themselves, salt-burled rhythm making its way from the blackest depths up to a moonstruck shore. A sense of calm pervaded him.