6 Jasper
JASPER
The young woman’s eyes go wide as she takes me in.
She’s not even trying to hide her interest. I feel the heat of her gaze as it traces along my jaw with all the intimacy of a caress.
Well, if she’s gonna look at me like I’m something to eat, then I have every right to look right back.
And I do. I take in all of her—that which she reveals, and that she conceals.
She’s young. Too young for me, that’s for damn sure.
If her friendship with Phoebe is any indication, I’m guessing mid-twenties.
She has a dancer’s delicate frame, with long legs stretching for days under the hem of her short sundress.
Her reddish hair tumbles down her back. It looks windswept, held away from her freckled face by a pair of sunglasses.
She has a few silver piercings—septum, right nostril, left eyebrow.
All discrete. Glinting studs trail up the shells of both her ears.
I fight the undignified urge to glance down at her breasts.
I’d bet money her nipples are pierced too.
This girl likes pain. It’s both a pacifier and a stimulant.
That’s why she’s covered in tattoos. Bright colors are inked across her chest. I think I see a thigh tat too, and a few more dotting her calves and ankles.
I imagine if I peeled her out of that little jean jacket, the ink would continue down her arms to her wrists.
Stepping forward, she takes my hand in a firm shake. “Mr. Prescott, hello.”
The moment our hands touch, I break my own rules and offer her the faintest taste of a growing spell.
As a green witch, I can’t help myself. I just want to see her stand a little taller, bloom a little brighter.
And she does. Her back straightens and her pale green eyes glimmer slightly as she focuses more intently on me. Her eyes are pretty, like sea glass.
“I didn’t mean that about the asshole,” she’s quick to say, her cheeks blooming pink.
Next to her, Phoebe laughs. “No, it’s fine. He is an asshole.”
I cast a glare at my niece before turning back to her friend. “I didn’t hear a name.”
Her lips part as I reel her in a little closer, eager to catch a whiff of her scent along with her name. It’s subtle, notes of bergamot and sea salt. She just came in on the ferry.
Phoebe pushes her way between us, nudging me with her elbow. “I told you I was bringing a friend out to the island today, remember? Birds, this is Jasper, the cranky old uncle I warned you about. Emphasis on old,” she adds, shooting me a warning glare.
Old? Really? I’m only forty-two. Sure, I’m too old for some college student, but I’m not the damn crypt keeper. Phoebe’s just been spending too much time listening to Hortie’s bullshit. If the women in my family had their way, I’d be married with a brood of ten kids by now.
“Jas, this is my best friend from university,” Phoebe announces, flashing me a dazzling smile. “Historian extraordinaire, and your new summer shop girl, meet Birdie Rhodes.”
Birdie.
Sweet name. It fits her. Delicate, like flower petals caught in a spring breeze.
But shop girl? I glance between them, eyes narrowing.
Phoebe means to let her friend work here this summer?
Impossible. I have enough fragile things in my shop already.
A lifetime of experience has warned me what happens to fragile things.
They break. They fucking shatter. And now is not the moment for me to invite one more breakable thing into my life.
I turn to Phoebe. “Can I talk to you? In private.”
They both tense.
“Now,” I all but growl.
Always defiant, Phoebe takes her friend’s hand. “Whatever you have to say, you can say in front of Birdie too. It’s about her working here, after all.”
But Birdie is clearly more cautious. Glancing between us, she drops Phoebe’s hand. “It’s fine, Pheebs. I’ll just wait outside, okay?”
“This will only take a minute,” Phoebe assures her.
Birdie nods and quickly turns away.
I stand my ground, watching as she walks over to the front door. Customers mill around in front of the windows, clutching their expensive coffees, waiting for the shop to open. Birdie turns the lock with a loud click and steps outside. The door closes with a jingle of the old shop bell.
Phoebe instantly rounds on me. “Okay, what the hell was that, huh? Why did you have to go and embarrass her by kicking her out on the street?”
My own anger bristles, making my shoulders tight. “Hey, don’t put this on me. You ambushed me—”
“I told you we were coming! I texted you. I called and left two freaking voicemails!”
“You know I never check my phone.”
“Well, what the heck do you want then, sky writing?” She waves her arms in the air dramatically. “Carrier pigeon? A freaking telegram?”
I glance over her shoulder to see Birdie watching us argue from the other side of the glass with a stricken look on her face. Turning on my heel, I move to the back of the shop.
Phoebe hurries after me. “Come on, Jas. I’ve never asked you for anything—”
I spin around. “Are you kidding me, Pheebs? You ask me for everything.” I quickly tick off the items on my fingers. “Money for college, time off for travel, a new car, a new phone—”
“Yeah, and as my loving uncle, you’re always all too happy to oblige,” she shouts over me.
“But this favor isn’t for me. It’s for her.
” She waves over her shoulder at her friend still standing awkwardly at the window.
“Birdie is my friend, and she just lost everything—her fellowship, her stipend. She needs this job, Jas.”
I marvel at my niece’s ferocity. Sometimes she’s so like my little sister, it physically hurts. My poor Gracie, take from us far too soon.
How did we get here? This was never supposed to be the way.
I wasn’t supposed to be running this shop.
It was always going to be Gracie’s legacy to pass to Phoebe.
So was the coven. But Phoebe’s magic never awakened.
She spent her childhood trapped on this island, dreaming of claiming her element.
She’s a Leo, a bold fire sign. But our Prescott blood is stronger than the stars we’re born under.
No matter the time of our birth, all Prescotts awaken with earth magic.
I was just the same. I’m a Scorpio, born to claim water.
But it’s the green magic of the Prescotts that flows rich as honey through my veins.
In witchcraft, we call it Aberrance. A witch who wields an element not of their birth sign is considered an Aberrant.
That’s me. The Scorpio who whispers spells to the plants and watches them grow.
It should be Phoebe too. The fiery Leo who wields earth.
But Phoebe Prescott wields nothing.
For years, the coven waited and watched.
We hoped. We yearned. But each year, she got a little older, and no hint of magic bloomed within her.
Some in the coven held on to hope. Others wrote her off as a magical misfit.
With no elemental powers, she can’t access simpler spells either.
No casting, no brewing. She’s practically a human.
My fearless Phoebe . . . all she wants now is to get away from us, away from this island and the birthright she can’t claim. It was foolish to ever think we could force her to stay. I’d resigned myself to a future of me and Gracie alone, the last Prescotts.
Then Gracie died, leaving me to juggle three different lives.
Business owner. Uncle-turned-father. Coven leader.
Each role requires someone of strength and purpose, someone organized and driven, someone with vision.
And that’s just not me. I’ve never been head coach material.
I’m certainly no quarterback. I’m the guy from shop class getting stoned under the bleachers during the big game.
But now everyone on this island looks to me, thinking I can solve their problems. Again and again, they force me to rise to the occasion.
Phoebe’s timing really couldn’t be any worse.
She wants me to do her a favor so she can leave me in the lurch?
Well, right now I’m too busy rising as coven leader.
Or trying to, anyway. Something is haunting my shop.
Haunting me. I feel it in my bones. Even now, I’m fighting the urge to cast another protection spell over the front door.
Sensing my hesitation, Phoebe steps in closer. “Why is this such a big deal? You said you needed the help. So, why not Birdie?”
I stifle my growl of frustration. “I didn’t want random help; I wanted your help. You belong here, Pheebs.”
She shakes her head. “Don’t. We talked about this.”
Sighing, I rub the back of my neck. Maybe there’s a way forward here.
She’s never brought a friend out to the island before.
That’s something, right? Maybe this Birdie will be a good influence and encourage Phoebe to come home.
I glance to where the young woman waits outside the front door. “What does she know?”
Phoebe’s dark eyes go wide. I’ve surprised her.
She was so sure I’d say no. She stumbles over herself in her rush to explain.
“Well—I mean, she’s brilliant, obviously.
She’s a PhD student. And she definitely has customer service experience.
She’s been a bartender, a waitress. I think she even worked retail—”
“No, I mean what does she know about us,” I say over her. “Is she even Wiccan?”
This makes her laugh. “Birdie? Oh, heck no. She’s totally clueless. And harmless. Jas, seriously, she didn’t even know the word for athamés.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “If you really want your friend to work here, that’s not very reassuring.”
She grabs my arm, giving it a squeeze. “Come on, just stick her at the register and keep her watering the plants all summer. Besides, it’ll be good for you to hang out with someone outside the coven for a change.
You can’t tell me Hortie’s constant jabs about your love life aren’t getting a little stale. ”
I shrug out of her hold. “We both know you egg her on every step of the way.”
She’s wholly unrepentant as she laughs again. “Yeah, because it’s hilarious. But Birdie will be totally cool. Did I mention she’s a Capricorn? And did you see her tattoos?” She waggles her brows at me. “Pretty hot, right?”
Stifling my groan, I head over to the register.
“Come on, you love Capricorns,” she calls after me. “You’re always saying how reliable they are, how trustworthy.”
I wake up the machine, rattling open the cash drawer.
Phoebe steps around to the front of the counter, hands on her hips. She’s nearly six feet tall, and never one to be pushed around. “Will you give me one good reason why you won’t just hire her?”
Unbanding some cash, I refill each bill slot. “I don’t hire outsiders.”
“Okay, wow.” She draws out the o sound. “So, you know supernaturals have been peacefully assimilating with humans for centuries, right? And we’ve kept the secrets of our coven safe all that time.
No one on the island even knows about magic, outside of us.
And no other supes can get on island without an invitation from the coven. We’re safe, Jas.”
“Plenty of people suspect,” I counter. “And it only takes one slip for the cat to finally get out of the bag.”
Phoebe dismisses my worry with a snort. “Please, the humans think we’re all just a bunch of quirky, lovable weirdos. No one who catches Frankie Poole dancing naked in the woods on Samhain is gonna go crying ‘witch.’ Not when she also dances naked to celebrate Arbor Day . . . and the Ides of March.”
I sigh again. She just doesn’t get it. Without a connection to her element, she’s adrift, cut off from the magic of this island and the community of her fellow witches.
I may be a middling shopkeeper and a failing coven leader, but I’m a strong witch.
Burr Island is in my bones. I am bound to it, and it to me.
And I know something’s wrong. My shop is being monitored without my consent.
For the first time in centuries, magical forces are moving against the island.
A storm stirs on the horizon, restless and waiting.
It’s time for me to rise. I cannot be the high priest who sees this ancient coven fall.
Reaching out, Phoebe takes my hand. “Hey . . . just trust me, okay? I swear, I have a good feeling about this. Aren’t you always telling me to trust my intuition? It’s pretty much the only magic I have and you’re stifling it.”
Zing, right to the jugular. The women in my family have never fought fair. She hits me with the sad Gracie pout, and we both know it’s over.
Fucking hell.
I cast another glance to where Birdie still waits outside.
Following my gaze, Phoebe glances over her shoulder. “Will you just talk to her?”
Before I can respond, Birdie pushes through the door, sending the shop bell dinging and Pickles hissing. “I’m sorry, but I can’t just stand out there and let Phoebe fight my battles for me. Mr. Prescott, please, will you let me plead my own case?”
“It’s Jasper,” I hear myself say.
She blinks. “Fine. Jasper then. Can I please speak with you about the summer job?”
Phoebe beams at her friend. “Perfect timing, Birds.” Plucking her purse off the counter, she slings the long strap over her shoulder. “I’ll leave the stubborn ass to you. Just keep kicking until he says yes. I have a feeling we’re nearly there.”
Birdie’s eyes go wide. “Wait—you’re leaving?”
“Yeah, ’cause dealing with this man has me stressed.
Even his face is annoying today.” She holds up a hand to block my face from her view.
“Besides, I need a java jolt. I’ll be back in a few minutes, okay?
” With that, she steps around her friend and walks out the door. The bell dings as it shuts behind her.
Birdie just stands there, trying to grow her courage as a long moment of silence simmers between us. Finally, she breaks. “Jasper, please. Just give me two minutes of your time.”
As she steps closer, I catch another whiff of that scent—bergamot and sea salt. Sweetness. Innocence. Tender human fragility. She’ll expect me to rise too. And I can’t shoulder one more set of burdens not mine.
Steeling myself, I glare at her. “No.”