44 Jasper
JASPER
While I put the candles away, Birdie disappears into the kitchen.
“That was enchanting,” the wraith whispers as I close the potion cabinet.
As if he agrees, Pickles mews at my feet.
I can’t help but smile. Initiating Birdie feels like the first thing I’ve gotten right in ages.
“Get her bags,” Dáinn hisses excitedly in my ear.
Shit. Right.
Grabbing both her duffel bags off the back step, I shut and lock the door and make my way into the kitchen. Birdie stands by the sink, leaning one hip against the counter. She clutches a glass of water with both hands that I assume she just poured from the tap.
“There’s filtered water in the fridge,” I say, setting her bags on the island. “We’re on well water here. Tends to taste a little eggy.”
She smiles into her glass, taking another sip.
“What?”
“It’s nothing,” she replies. But then she sets her glass aside. “I guess I just thought a powerful witch who can grow vines and light candles with a wave would have a more magical solution to filter the eggy taste from his water.”
I cross my arms, leaning against the opposite counter. “You sound like Phoebe. Magic isn’t some insta-fix for all of life’s problems. I think you’ll find we all use it rather sparingly. As mortals, we’re not a font of endless power.”
At this she perks up. “You can run out of magic?”
I nod.
“What, like a battery? Can it recharge? Or is it like a well where once it dries up it’s gone?”
“Bit of both. Depends on the circumstance. On the daily, witches need to rest and recharge, same as humans. We rest our bodies and our magic.”
She looks like she’s about to ask something else but then bites it back. “I’m afraid I’m gonna have a lot of questions.”
“I figured.”
“You don’t have to answer them all,” she’s quick to add.
“Depends on the question,” I reply honestly. “I’m reserved by nature. It doesn’t help that being a witch means I’ve perfected the art of lies and misdirection.”
“I think that’s what worries me.”
“What?”
Sighing, she crosses her arms. “I know there’s probably a lot of stuff you can’t tell me. And I’m just a human. You might have just made me coven, but you barely know me. I haven’t earned the right to know all of your truth, I know that.”
I step forward. “Birdie—”
She holds up a hand, warding me back. “Can you just—I need to say this. You can’t tell me everything. Fine. But when it comes to me . . . my safety, my life . . . can you promise me that you’ll tell me the truth about that?”
“I swear it,” I say with a solemn nod. “And now that you’re coven, I can tell you everything. Light in the darkness, remember?”
She lets out a breath, dropping her arm to her side. “Okay . . . then I gotta know because I’m freaking out over here. How did I stop him?”
If Dáinn had a pulse, I’m sure I just heard it quicken.
“I don’t know,” I admit, hating her instantly crestfallen look. Now I really do step forward, crossing the kitchen to her side. I cup her face with both hands, tipping it up. “Birdie, look at me.”
Her eyelashes flutter as she glances up, those sea glass eyes holding my gaze behind the frames of her glasses. Slowly, she wraps her hands around my wrists, her thumbs pressing in at my pulse points.
“We’re going to find out, okay? Together. I’ll add it to the top of my to-do list . . . right after killing the witch trying to kill me. And feeding Pickles.”
She purses her lips, trying not to smile, even as her eyes still look sad and worried. “And until then you need me to stay?”
I nod, brushing my thumb against her soft cheek. “I want you to stay. You will always have a home here now. On this island and in this house. That’s coven too.”
Sighing, she folds herself in against my chest, letting me wrap her in a hug. Her arms go around me until she’s gripping my back. She takes a deep breath against the front of my shirt and lets it out, her body relaxing against mine.
I’m doing much the same. She’s almost a foot shorter than me.
The top of her head doesn’t clear my shoulders.
I have to bend slightly, lowering my face to breathe in the top of her head.
That soft scent of bergamot is mixed with lavender and honey, something fresh and earthy too, like toast with butter.
Likely her only dinner. Hortie will be thrilled to have someone else to spoil for a while.
As I hold her to me, luxuriating in the feel of being hugged, Dáinn appears in a swirl of shadows at her back, offering me a bony thumbs-up. Stifling the growl rising in my chest, I throw daggers at him with my eyes until he swirls back into the void.
Birdie hums, pulling away slightly. “You okay?”
“Fine,” I reply. “Just tired.”
“Me too. I’m exhausted, honestly. This has been a crazy day.”
“Come on.” I slowly let my hands drift away from her. Then I walk over to the island and grab all three of her bags. “I’ll show you up to your room.”
She follows behind me. Moving silently through the house, we turn off lights and make our way upstairs.
She doesn’t notice me wordlessly resetting the wards as I go.
We get to the top of the landing, and I push open the door to Phoebe’s room.
Stepping in, I deposit her bags on the bed.
I turn to find her standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame with her arms crossed.
“If you need anything, I’m across the hall.”
“Yeah, okay.” She’s doing that thing again where she bites back what she wants to say.
“Birdie, what?”
She glances around Phoebe’s cluttered room. “I mean . . . will this work? Me over here and you over there?”
“What do you mean?”
I know exactly what she fucking means, but she has to say it.
“If he comes again . . . like, if he comes in the night. What if I can’t get to you in time?”
“Birdie—”
“This isn’t a sex thing,” she blurts. Then her cheeks bloom pink as she stifles a groan, looking anywhere but at my face.
I cross my arms, fighting my amusement. “Oh, it’s not a sex thing? You wanna sleep in my bed, Birdie, you ask me nicely.”
“Hey, I don’t want to do anything,” she snaps. “You’re the high priest who needs a human shield. You want me to save your life again? Then you ask me nicely.” Crossing her arms too, she stares me down.
She’s so fierce and beautiful. Gods, I want to drag her down to this floor and fuck her. I bet she’ll ask me nicely then. For my hands, my cock—
“Don’t you dare,” she hisses, eyes narrowed behind her glasses.
“Jasper, this is not going to turn into some kind of summer fuck-a-thon. I joined your coven to save your life, but you are still my boss and I’m your employee, remember?
There are rules. Your rules. There has to be a way we can professionally . . . you know . . . keep you alive.”
Now I think I really am smiling. “But I’m dead. Didn’t you hear?”
Huffing, she turns on her heel and leaves.
I can’t contain my laugh as I follow her out of Phoebe’s room and into mine.
The feisty little brat just lets herself walk right in without an invitation.
Even Pickles knows to ask me first. Turning on the light, she walks right through the room and into my ensuite bathroom, closing the door with a snap.
I stand in the doorway of the bedroom, shaking my head.
Dáinn appears at my back in a swirl of shadows. “This is going wonderfully well.”
“Get lost,” I hiss.
“She really responds well when goaded. If you could see her aura—”
“I said get lost.”
“Fine,” he snarls. “But if you fuck her tonight, just know I will be watching.”
Goddess, save me from this pestilent wraith. If he doesn’t kill me soon, I’ll wish for death.
After a minute or two, Birdie comes out of the bathroom. I’ve already turned off the overhead light, opting for the softer glow of the bedside lamp. She looks from me to the bed. “I like to sleep on the left side, away from the door.”
“Fine.” She doesn’t need to know I prefer the right.
Stepping over to my bed, she pulls back the sheet with the quilt. It’s faded and thin, perfect for a hot summer night in an old house. I move over to the corner of the room and turn on the oscillating fan. It hums to life, creaking as it slowly starts to turn.
There isn’t much more in this room. A six-drawer dresser with a mirror. Rocking chair in the corner. My great-grandmother’s hope chest rests at the foot of the old four-poster bed, the cedar restored to a shine by me a few years ago.
I stand there by the fan, watching as Birdie wiggles out of her jeans, dropping them to the floor. She climbs into my bed wearing nothing but her Ramones T-shirt and a pair of bright pink panties. She makes a show of pulling up the covers and rolling on her side to face the bathroom.
Fucking hell.
Stepping over to the bed, I strip out of my T-shirt, doing my best not to trace the line of her body lying under my sheets. At the first clink of my belt, she glances over her shoulder. “What are you doing?”
I drop my jeans to the floor, which leaves me standing in the middle of my room in nothing but my fitted boxer briefs. “What does it look like I’m doing?”
“You are not getting naked and getting in this bed.”
“Funny. It’s my bed. I think I’ll do what I want.”
She huffs, rolling to her back. “Jasper—”
“It’s the middle of June! It’s summer on the second floor of a two-hundred-and-fifty-year-old house. You’re lucky I’m not sleeping bare-ass naked with no sheets. Now, scoot over and shut up. Your high priest commands it.”
She rolls back to her side, clutching to her pillow like it’s a life preserver as I click off the lamp, casting the room into darkness.
I climb onto the bed, sinking into the familiar feel of the mattress as the antique frame creaks.
I lie on my back, staring up at the ceiling, and let the air from the fan cool my overheated body.
I can’t remember the last time I let another person sleep in my bed with me. Maybe never. Not in this room at least.