40 Jasper #2
“At this point, it’s all but essential,” I reply.
“You can’t help us in the way we need you to without joining.
Coven business is not discussed with outsiders.
Ever. But you’re already inside by nature of our .
. . arrangement.” It’s an odd choice of word, because Hortie still doesn’t know it was Birdie who stopped the wraith from devouring me.
“If we make it official, the island will be open to you in ways it isn’t now.
Mercy will give you the journal as readily as she would give it to me. Coven is coven.”
“But—I’m not a witch. I have no magical abilities. Like, none. Zippo. Zilch.”
“Oh, that hardly matters,” says Hortie with a wave of her hand.
The furry traitor mews his assent.
“No, I’m serious,” Birdie goes on. “Everything I know about witchcraft, I learned from watching Charmed. And that can’t be accurate, can it?
I read a single tarot card for Jasper, and he literally almost died.
I mean, maybe I could help with potions.
I can follow a recipe but—there’s just no way, right?
No witch in their right mind would want me to join their coven. ”
I feel like the Grinch watching his own heart grow two sizes. Why is this human so damn endearing? I glance to Hortie and see that the old bat has tears in her eyes. She’s looking at Birdie like she’s a long-lost daughter. And Pickles is purring so loud they can probably hear it on the mainland.
Across the table, Birdie folds her arms over her chest, a classic shielding technique to signal her emotional discomfort. “Can I ask a question?”
She’s looking directly at me, so I assume the question is mine to answer. “Of course.”
“If we didn’t have . . . the arrangement we have . . . would you still offer me a place in your coven?”
Her question strikes with the precision of a heat-seeking missile.
She still thinks I don’t want her. She thinks I only covet her ability to stop the wraith.
Even a day ago, that might have been true, but not now.
I search her face, seeing the poor wounded bird she keeps hidden deep inside.
Sweet Birdie thinks no one wants her. It’s a learned behavior, taught early and reinforced often over a lifetime of pain, dismissal, and neglect.
I called it in the Carousel, didn’t I? We’re a matched fucking pair.
Sitting forward, I rest my elbows on the table. “You’re asking me to engage in a hypothetical, and I’m not sure that’s helpful for anyone. The reality is you’re here now.”
“But—”
It’s my turn to hold up a hand. She quiets, crossing her arms once more.
“Phoebe wanted you here. She took great care in considering who she thought best to take her place for the summer. She loves you and trusts you. As my niece, and a valued member of my coven, I trust her intuition. She believes you’ll make a good fit here.
Now that I’ve met you, I agree with her. ”
“I agree too, of course,” Hortie rushes to add. “I know we haven’t known each other long, dear, but I think you’re just delightful. And I’ve never seen Jasper be so enamored with anything. Not since I got him his first miter saw for Yuletide—”
“Enough.” I place my hand over hers. “We’re not here to coerce Birdie into anything. It must be her wish.” I add a pointed glare for the cat.
Cutting off his purr, Pickles hops from her lap to the adjacent chair, still gazing up at her with adoring yellow eyes.
“Right.” Hortie sits back, hands folded primly in her lap. “Free will, dear. The choice is yours, and yours alone.”
I can tell Birdie is still reeling. Or, as she calls it, “processing.” She just had to be a Capricorn. I swear, I’ll never forgive Phoebe for this as long as I live. Birdie glances between us, her mind spinning like a top. “I don’t . . . this is all a lot.”
I nod. “I know.”
“You realize this conversation started with you asking me to help you get a journal, right? We’ve gone from that to me helping you dig up the bodies of your ancestors, which I’m pretty sure is breaking at least a couple state and federal laws.
Not to mention, I’d be doing it under the nose of my boss, who controls the fate of my summer assistantship .
. . and who is apparently being controlled by a dark witch who has technically already killed my other boss. I just—it’s a lot.”
“I know,” I say again. At her sharp glare, I mime zipping my lips.
Pushing back from the table, she stands. “No. This is crazy. I mean—you’re all witches, right?”
“We are, dear, yes,” says Hortie.
“So—well, there has to be another way to get what you want from Homewood.” She paces before the kitchen island. “Surely, there’s a way to do this with magic, right? A summoning spell or—or some kind of locator potion . . .”
I fight my amusement. “Locator potion?”
She rounds on me. “Jasper Prescott, don’t you dare tease me right now. I am freaking out over here!”
Tsking, Hortie slaps my arm. “He knows that, dear. And he’s sorry. The locator potion is a good idea. Unfortunately—”
“Unfortunately, no one else from the coven can go near Homewood,” I say over her. “Not so long as Ludmilla still has Eyes on the island. We’re currently stuck trying to find a way to get rid of them.”
Birdie huffs, crossing her arms. “Oh, so you can’t risk the wrath of the ravens, but I can?”
“Yes.” I offer her what I hope is a reassuring smile. “You’re our dark horse, Birdie.”
“More like Trojan Horse,” Hortie jokes.