54 Jasper
JASPER
Birdie sits at the kitchen counter, poring over the journals of Robert Dent. She’s fresh from a shower, glasses on her face, her auburn hair still damp and braided down her back. When she turns her head away, I can see the mark I put on her throat.
Mine, my stupid hindbrain growls.
Fuck me, this is a disaster. How the hell did I get here?
Lips pursed, brows furrowed, she mutters softly to herself.
Her laptop is open on the counter next to her, and she frequently pauses to take notes.
I’m not sure she’s even reading the entries.
She’s still just inspecting each item with utmost care, studying the binding, the style of the paper, the quality of the leather.
She’ll turn a page, first this way, then that. It’s fascinating to watch.
I lean against the counter, both hands holding my mug of peppermint tea, staying quietly out of her way.
I don’t know the first thing about authenticating historical documents.
I make furniture and bath products. Hortie bakes.
Mercy’s specialty is vintage clothing restoration.
Ruby is as close as this coven has to a proper archivist, but all her training was simply passed down from the line of Memory Keepers that came before her.
It would be good to have someone like Birdie take a look at things and make sure we’re doing our best to preserve the coven’s history.
“Incoming,” the wraith hisses.
Birdie shrieks, nearly toppling off her kitchen stool as a large, black equipment box appears in a swirl of shadows, slamming down on the other end of the island.
I spy Dáinn’s skeletal hands before they disappear back into the void.
In moments, he steps through, once more his handsome rendered self.
“Dáinn,” she cries, both hands pressed to her chest. “You almost gave me a freaking heart attack.” Rising from the stool, she steps around the end. “What is this?”
“It’s the corpse-finding machine,” he says proudly.
Birdie doesn’t return his smile. “Ohmygod, you stole it? Did anyone see?”
“Of course not,” he replies, clearly offended she would even ask. “I’m exceptionally stealthy.”
“Well, they’re bound to notice that the entire box is missing,” she cries. “Howe will call the police and report it as theft. Ludmilla is sure to find out. She’ll know something’s wrong!”
His proud smile falls. “Fine. I panicked, okay?”
“You panicked?”
“Yes, I panicked! The box was just sitting there and I don’t know the first thing about disabling a ground penetrating sonar!”
“Radar,” she corrects.
“What’s the difference?”
“Dáinn, they’re two completely different wave emitting technologies—”
“Fuck’s sake,” I shout over their bickering. “Birdie, just break it now, and he can put it right back. No one has to know so long as we’re quick.”
Her eyes are wide behind her glasses as she glances between us.
“What?” I say.
Her freckled cheeks bloom pink as she quickly crosses her arms. “Well—okay, fine, so I don’t actually know how to break one either.”
“Ha!” shouts the wraith.
My own frustration rises. “You said you’ve used one before.”
Her blush deepens. “Yeah, as an undergrad I spent two weeks pushing one around a dirt field in a New Mexico desert. But I didn’t calibrate it, I didn’t charge it. The beginning and the end of my experience is walking back and forth in a straight line—”
“I’ll handle this,” the wraith hisses. He unlatches the clips at the front of the box and flips open the lid, exposing what I assume is the base of the machine. Black foam padding nestles a battery right next to it. Dáinn lifts his fist high, clearly ready to slam it down atop the base unit.
“Wait!” Birdie cries, throwing out her hands.
He jolts, fist in the air. “What?”
“Well—you can’t just smash it like you’re the Hulk. That will be just as noticeable as the whole box disappearing.”
He drops his hand to his side. “Well, then what’s your idea?”
“I don’t know, but we have to do something more subtle than smash it.”
Must I do fucking everything?
“Move,” I growl, pushing the wraith out of the way. “Birdie, go to the spice shelf by the stove and bring me the cinnamon. Dáinn, get me some matches. There should be some on the table by the candles.”
If they think my requests are strange, they say nothing. Dáinn returns to my side first, holding out a matchbook. Then Birdie appears at my other side with the sifter of cinnamon. “What are you going to do?” she asks, handing me the spice.
I ignore her, thinking fast through my options.
I’ve never felt particularly good at spellcasting.
It takes creativity and intuition. I may be creative in my woodworking, but I’ve always held myself back when it comes to my magic.
Cause enough explosions, and you learn not to trust your own powers.
But I take one look at Birdie, and I remember how easy it felt to come up with our handfasting ritual.
Don’t think. Don’t panic. Just do.
I take a breath and let intuition be my guide. “I need a stone to center the spell.”
“What kind of stone?” she asks, glancing around the kitchen.
“Something with fire energy. Citrine or carnelian, maybe a sunstone.”
Next to me, Dáinn clears his throat. “I believe if you check, you’ll find our human has a piece of red jasper in her pocket. Will that work?”
Birdie looks to the wraith, eyes wide. “How did you—”
“I told you,” he says over her. “Watching you is my new favorite hobby.” He adds a wink that has her rolling her eyes.
I glance to her. “Do you have it?”
Sighing, she reaches into the pocket of her jeans and pulls out a small piece of red jasper, placing it in the palm of my hand.
I hold up the stone. “Did you steal this from my shop?”
“I was going to pay for it,” she snaps. “Hard to get a paycheck when my boss is fake dead. Are we doing this or not?”
I close my fist around the stone. “Right, both of you stand back.”
Dáinn wraps an arm around Birdie’s shoulders and pulls her back three steps.
“What are you doing?” she asks again.
I glance to the wraith. “If this starts to look like it might turn sideways, get her out of here.”
He gives me a solemn nod, fingers flexing on her shoulders. One spark of trouble, and he’ll jerk her into the void so hard and fast, they’ll likely pop out in Katmandu.
Birdie tenses, eyes wide. “Jasper, what are you gonna do?”
Dáinn just pulls her in close, and I turn my attention back to my work.
Clicking the cap off the cinnamon, I shake some into my hand.
I quickly take pinches of it and sprinkle it over the top of the device, forming the elemental symbol for fire: the upright triangle.
Then I set the piece of red jasper in the middle of the triangle. “Matches?”
Dáinn points to where they rest on the counter, not allowing Birdie to get any closer.
Twisting a match from the pack, I flip the cover over and pinch the head against the strike pad.
With a quick jerk, I light the tip and hold it over the piece of red jasper and start to chant, making the spell up as I go.
“Flame of fire, flame of light, cursed be those who have no Sight. That which they seek can ne’er be found. Keep it locked within the ground.”
Bending over, I quickly blow out the match before the flame burns my fingertips.
I let the smell of the sulphury smoke waft in the air as the charred remains of the match curl inward.
I toss the used match aside, along with the rest of the matchbook.
Snatching the piece of red jasper off the top of the machine, I dust the cinnamon away and close the lid of the box with a snap.
Saying a silent prayer of thanks, I look to the wraith. “Dáinn, get this back. Now.”
Nodding, he lets Birdie go and steps in, quickly latching the lid before he lifts the box from the counter, disappearing into the darkness of the void.
Birdie stands there, her sea glass eyes wide behind her glasses. “What did you just do?”
“I cursed the machine. The next time someone turns it on, it’ll catch fire. Mechanical malfunction.” I hold up the piece of red jasper. “Want this back?”
She plucks it from my fingers. “Are you going to make fun of me for having it?”
“Why would I?” I tease. “I think it’s adorable that you want to carry a piece of me in your pocket.”
“I’m not—” Her defense dies on her lips. Looking for an out, she crosses her arms in her tank top. “Was it adorable when I let you fuck me earlier?”
Grinning, I lean in. “You begged for it.”
“It was a one-time lapse in judgment.”
“It wasn’t.” Reaching out, I grab her and reel her in closer. “And it will happen again . . . and again . . . and again.”
Her smile is warm as she tips her head back, clearly expecting a kiss. “You do realize I just admitted to theft?”
I lean in, brushing a thumb over her lips. “I don’t care. Steal the whole damn store. Burn it down.”
“Right, because nothing matters anymore. Nothing except kissing me, right?”
I just had to go telling the truth. Now she knows what’s in my head. I could try and resist, but then I’m just punishing us both. I lean in to take what I want just as the wraith reappears.
“Done,” he chimes. “The box is back where I left it. No one noted its absence.”
I drop my hand away from Birdie with a muttered curse.
“Good.” She steps away from me.
He glances between us, his whiskey eyes widening. “Am I interrupting something?”
“No,” we say at the same time.
He sighs. “You were going to fuck again.”
“No, we weren’t.” Birdie slips around the counter and reclaims her seat, pulling her laptop in closer, along with one of the Dent journals. “I’m going back to work now. It’d be great if I could have no more distractions while I dive into these.”
The wraith looks to me, arms crossed with a glare.
“What?”
“She means you. You’re distracting her, so go away.”
I bristle. “And you’re not?”
The asshole fades into the void, disappearing from sight but not from the room.
“Fine,” I say, feeling dismissed from my own damn house. “Find me when it’s time to leave.”