34 Jasper
JASPER
Attending your own funeral is a total mindfuck.
This morning, I stood outside, ringed by all the members of my coven, and watched as they dug a hole and filled it with an empty box, marking the spot with a headstone bearing my name.
Here lies Jasper fucking Prescott. As far as this island is concerned, last night I died.
From now until we manage to kill Ludmilla, I have to stay dead.
It’s freeing in a way. No more phone calls.
No more meetings. No annoying customers asking me to gift wrap things.
But it’s lonely being dead. Boring too. My coven is gone.
They scattered after the funeral, back to their busy lives.
Hortie went to the market. Even Dáinn left me.
The asshole faded away almost as soon as the funeral ended, rasping something in my ear about being late for tea.
Now I stand at the sink in the kitchen, working my way through this mountain of dirty dishes. At least the coven took most of the funeral food away. That’s where I drew my limit. Fake burying me was one thing. But forcing me to eat my own funeral leftovers? Not fucking happening.
The house is so quiet. I’ve never really minded before.
In fact, I’ve always preferred it. But there’s something about being fake dead that is putting my life into rather harsh perspective.
I mean, this is it? I’m dead and the house sits just as quiet as when I lived.
And my coven all just . . . moved on. Back to work. Back to school. Back to shopping.
It’s not the same as if I really died, I know that. But this is them pretending to the world that I’m dead. This is what their lives will look like when I’m gone: wholly unchanged.
If that’s not depressing, I don’t know what is—
My phone buzzes in my pocket.
Shit, what do I do? If it’s someone from outside the coven, I can’t answer it. The dead don’t answer their phones. Dropping a soapy pan back into the sink, I quickly dry my hands on the front of my jeans and tug my phone from my pocket, checking the notification screen.
A picture of Phoebe looks up at me.
Fuck.
I answer. “Hey Phoe—”
“Oh, thank the goddess, you’re alive,” she sobs into the phone. Her relief quickly morphs into anger. “What the fuck, Jasper Prescott! Why is my phone literally flooding with messages saying that you died?!”
“Phoebe, listen—”
“No, you listen,” she cries. “You are the only family I have left. It’s you and me. The last of the Prescotts. I don’t know what’s going on over there, but I deserve more than finding out from a bunch of nosy islanders that my only family left in the world is dead!”
I sigh. “Can I talk now?”
“Well, you fucking better!”
“It’s coven business—”
“I know it’s coven business,” she shouts over me. “Which is why you should have called me! Like it or not, I’m still in the coven. And I’m coming home—”
“No!” My heart leaps into my throat.
“Are you kidding? My uncle is dead. How would it look if I stayed away? You have affairs to put in order. And now I’m the last Prescott. I have two businesses to freaking run!”
“Phoebe, no,” I plead. “Hortie will handle things here.”
“But—”
“Trust me, you’re safer off island, off Ludmilla’s radar—”
“Who the heck is Ludmilla?”
“Listen,” I say over her. “Until I get the coven through this mess, you have to promise me you’ll stay far away.”
“But this isn’t fair,” she says through her tears. “I can help.”
My sweet Phoebe, the witch with no magic. How can she possibly help us now?
Squaring my shoulders, I grip tighter to the phone. “Phoebe Prescott, as your high priest, I am ordering you to stay away. Do not come back to Burr Island.”
She whines, feeling the effect of the binding magic lacing my words. “Jasper, please—”
“When it’s safe for you to return, I’ll call for you.” As I speak, my phone buzzes again. I pull the phone from my ear to see a new text from Mercy. Reading it through once, my heart drops out of my ass.
Mercy: Come to the Carousel. Now. CB.
CB. Coven business. Didn’t I just use that code with Phoebe? For my coven, texting anyone “CB” is the same as pressing the silent alarm. It’s the signal to drop everything and get to them.
“I have to go,” I growl into the phone.
Phoebe shrieks. “Jasper Prescott, don’t you dare hang up on me—”
But I have to. Mercy has coven business. I’m already rushing out the door, snagging my truck keys off the peg as I go. Ending the call with Phoebe, I shoot Mercy a text.
Jasper: On my way. Need Frankie?
Frankie Poole is the baddest bitch in our coven. I would never go into battle without her. If someone is starting something at the Carousel, Frankie will help me finish it.
But Mercy responds in seconds.
Mercy: No. Just you.
This eases my mind somewhat. Whatever she thinks is happening, it’s enough to have only me there to handle it.
I’m taking a huge risk leaving the house.
With this evil eye pendant around my neck, no one can see me but the coven.
I can only imagine what it looks like to see my truck driving around without me behind the wheel.
But humans are easy to trick. All they want is for the world to make sense.
If anyone does see my empty truck zip past, I’m sure they’ll just blink and shrug their shoulders, dismissing it as a trick of their eyes.
I do my best to obey all the laws of traffic, pulling up in the back alley behind our two shops. Hopping from the cab, I shoot Mercy another text.
Jasper: Out back
My magic floods me as I think of defensive spells for blocking and binding. It burns in my veins, aching to escape. I clench my fists tight, heart racing.
In moments, there’s a beep at the back door of the Carousel.
Then the click of a deadbolt. Then Mercy is there, her expression serious as she stands back, briskly waving me inside.
She’s still wearing the black dress and pearls she wore to my fake funeral.
I step in, crowding the back office. “What’s wrong? ”
Her gaze darts to the open door leading out to the shop. “I’ve warded the door. She can’t hear us.”
“Who?”
“Birdie.”
My pulse skips. “What?”
“She’s here,” Mercy whispers. “In the book room.”
My adrenaline cools, even as my frustration rises. I let my magic fizzle out of my chest like a popped balloon. “Why the hell are you hiding back here from a human? What happened? Mercy, you texted me ‘CB’—”
“She knows about you!”
I blink, leaning away. “What does she know?”
“She knows you’re still alive.”
Oh shit.
“She came in here not fifteen minutes ago, bold as brass, talking about that silly welcome basket,” Mercy goes on. “She said she saw you this morning. Spoke to you.”
I groan, rubbing the back of my neck. “Yeah, well, she did. She spent the night at the house. Left early this morning.”
Mercy shakes her head, her expression cold as the grave. “This is bad, Jasper. No one outside the coven is supposed to know you’re still alive. I haven’t even told my Paul. You told us no one else can know.”
“I know.”
“You said all our lives depend on it—”
“They do,” I rush to agree.
“Well, then we have to fix this! Birdie is a liability the coven can’t afford.”
“Mercy—”
“She could talk,” she says over me. “Maybe she did talk. To Howe. She works for him too now, right? Maybe our secret is already out, whispered right into the Raven’s ear by the very man helping to take us all down.”
Fuck, Mercy’s right. I lean my hip against the side of the desk. I’m such a fool. I let Birdie walk right out that door this morning, too busy thinking about how good her ass looked in her jeans. I never told her she couldn’t tell anyone I’m still alive.
“We have to know what she told Howe,” Mercy presses. “We have to know how deep this hole is, Jasper. And then we have to fill it.”
I turn sharply to her. “Fill it? What the fuck does that mean?”
“A simple memory spell will show us whether she spoke to Howe about you today. If she didn’t, a tongue-tying potion ought to keep her silent. Then we should banish her from the island—”
“No,” I growl, the taste of my magic flashing on my tongue.
She leans away, dark eyes wide in surprise. “No?” After a moment, her lips purse as she crosses her arms. “I really hope you’re not letting some silly infatuation with a human keep you from doing your duty to your coven—”
“I know my duty. I don’t need you reminding me. I’ll handle this.”
“We will handle it,” she corrects. “This is coven business now.”
“Mercy—”
“More than just your life is at risk. If she’s a liability, she must be dealt with swiftly.”
I stifle another groan, feeling the pressure of being caught between a rock and a very hard place. “Look, I can’t send her off island.”
“Why?”
“Because we need her. I need her. She’s—helping me with something.”
Mercy arches her penciled brows. “Coven related?”
“Yes. It will benefit the coven to keep her here on the island.”
“Why—”
“Because I said so!”
Mercy’s gaze is imperious. “Is that so?”
I stifle a frustrated groan. “Look, there are things you don’t know about her, okay?”
Her frown deepens. “More secrets, high priest? You become more like your mother with each phasing of the moon.”
I wince at her barb, knowing she’s right. My mother was the tyrant, not me. She kept secrets and picked favorites. She soured all our relationships with covens off island. When I ascended, I swore I’d do things differently. But here I am, making the same mistakes, tripping into the same quagmires.
Mercy steps in closer, her hand brushing my arm. “Secrets kill a coven, Jasper. If there’s something about Birdie we need to know, you should tell us.”
I stiffen but don’t pull away.
“If you say Birdie can’t leave the island, tell us why. Then let us vote.”
“Vote?”
“There can be no halfway with a coven. Either Birdie is in, or she’s out. It should be left to us to vote her fate.”
I lean away, eyes wide. “You would have me make her a full member of the coven? But we’ve never accepted a human before. We’ve never accepted anyone who wasn’t descended from the Sacred Five.”