34 Jasper #2
“That has always been a matter of custom, not formal rule,” she replies primly. “And for my part, I always thought we were taking the wrong road. I told Esther this many times. She wouldn’t listen. But if we’re not careful, our coven’s intransigence on the matter of outsiders may very well end us.”
I’m fucking reeling. And now she’s using big words like intransigence. “Mercy, what are you saying?”
“I’m saying wards keep us safe, but they also keep us stuck.
If Birdie is important to our survival as a coven, tell us why.
And let us vote her in. If she’s in, then she must be all the way in.
She must understand that the coven is here to protect her.
But she must also understand her role in protecting the coven.
The needs of the coven must always come first. It’s a rule I think you could do with remembering too. ”
I inch closer, lowering my voice. Even mentioning this topic feels like an odd kind of treason to the memory of the witches who came before us.
“Mercy, you’re talking about altering four hundred years of custom.
We’ve never taken in an outsider—magical or otherwise.
Partners may know about our magic, but they don’t get to know our business.
Now you’re saying you would let Birdie swoop in and join us? Over Paul? Over Hazel’s husband?”
Mercy folds her arms over her chest. “Paul knew the agreement when he married me. He’s of no use to the coven. Why should he join? But you’re acting as though this new human is somehow essential. You won’t let me hex and banish her. You’re behaving as if she’s a partner—”
“She’s not,” I’m quick to say. “Mercy, I hardly know her.”
“Then why fight so hard for her? What aren’t you telling us?”
I groan again, hands fisted tight. “I can’t say. Not yet. Can you accept that? I will tell you. I promise. Just, for now, will you trust me to handle this? Will you leave Birdie to me?”
After a moment, she nods. “As my high priest commands.” I move to step past her, and she grabs my arm, her nails squeezing tight to my flesh. “But I sincerely hope you know what you’re doing . . . and what you risk by keeping us all in the dark.”
Reaching out, I place a hand over hers. “Trust me. Please?”
Her dark eyes are warm, even as her expression is cold. “Trust is earned, Jasper. Handle this as a high priest should. Protect your coven.”
I nod solemnly. “I will. You have my word.”
With a last imperious look, Mercy steps back, letting me leave the tiny office.
It seems fate is making a puppet of me. Protecting my coven is now intricately woven with protecting Birdie. I picture once more that tired king, crushed beneath the charging feet of Death. But the card doesn’t have to mean a literal death. Death symbolizes change. Hope, even. A new beginning.
Perhaps my coven is the one facing a new beginning.
We could make Birdie a full member, then I could tell her everything.
I could keep her close. In turn, she could keep me safe .
. . if she agreed. It would be her choice, of course.
I am not the despot my mother was. I will give Birdie the choice to stay or go.
But first she needs to have all the facts.
Could it really be so simple? I’ve carried the weight of our secret for so long, I don’t even know how to put it down anymore.
Protect our secret. It’s one of the first sentences a witch learns.
But Mercy is right, secrets kill a coven.
They kill relationships too. I’ve watched as the witches in my life have chosen the coven again and again.
Over lovers, friends, jobs, opportunities.
We live here on this island, quiet and confined, holding on to our great secret with both hands.
Phoebe is the first in three generations to brave leaving the island.
She was the catalyst for change. Now Cora Greenwood is off to college too.
They’re daring to think their life could be different.
If they’re going out, why can’t new blood come in?
Is it my protective instincts standing in my way?
Or my shitty insecurities? Fear of attachment, fear of intimacy, and a heaping dose of trust issues.
We’ll call it both and I’ll call myself a coward.
I walk through the room stuffed with old vintage clothes and stop in the doorway, gazing into the book room.
Birdie stands before the messy shelves with her back to me.
She has legs for days in those faded skinny jeans, all her colorful tattoos on display under a simple black tank top.
Her auburn hair flows loose, tucked behind her ear as she turns the pages of an old book one-handed.
She’s got it stacked awkwardly atop a pile in her arms. A smile tips the corner of her mouth, as if she can’t help but be pleased that she’s reading.
Okay, this I can do. I can stand here and look at her. There’s nothing very serious about appreciating a woman’s beauty. No commitment. No connection.
Sensing me, she jolts. “Oh—Jasper. Hey.” She glances around, her gaze darting to the doorway that leads through to the music room. “Where did you come from?”
“Back office.” I thumb over my shoulder. “Came to see Mercy.”
She smiles, hefting the books in her arms with a shrug of her shoulders. “She said I could pick one to take home. I was just stuck trying to decide between a few.” Her gaze sweeps the shelves. “This is a really great collection. Some of these are archive-quality first editions.”
“Take them all.”
She glances over her shoulder, her pale green eyes wide. “What?”
I nod to the books in her arms. “You can put those on my tab.”
Her laugh is soft as she turns away. “You know I can’t do that.”
Fuck, why won’t she let me care for her? I offer her money, and she won’t take it. I bring up that gift basket, and the second she thinks it’s from me, she shuts down. I can’t even give her a few books? Maybe I’m not the only one fighting a crippling fear of attachment . . .
Stepping fully into the book room, I dare to get a little closer. I feel pulled to her and I know she feels it too in the way she shrinks away from me, fighting this with everything she has.
Fear of intimacy too? Looks like we’re a matched fucking pair.
“We’ll call the books payment for a favor,” I say, stepping in behind her.
Slowly, she turns again. “A favor?”
“Yeah. I need a ride home.” And you need a reason, I want to add. “Hortie had to borrow the truck. Will you take me home?” It’s a lie. And a gamble. But I saw Peep parked out front. Anything to get Birdie out of here before I break my promise and have to watch Mercy hex her tits off.
She shuffles the books in her arms, glancing around again. “Umm . . . well, I had hoped to ask Mercy a bit more about the books. Do you need a ride right now?”
For the love of the goddess, yes. “If you wouldn’t mind.”
“Yeah, okay. I told Hortie I was coming by for dinner anyway. Should we stop and get Pickles from the shop?”
“Hortie already picked him up.” Another lie. One she’ll happily rectify.
“I should take these to the register at least, right? Let Mercy add them to your tab—”
“Hey, Mercy,” I call over my shoulder.
“Yes?” she chimes from somewhere in the shop.
“I’m taking some books!”
“That’s fine, dear.”
I look back to Birdie. “Done.”
She can’t hide her smile as she shakes her head. “You don’t even have a tab here, do you?”
“No.”
Sighing, she steps forward, tipping the books into my arms. “Okay, then here.”
I shuffle the stack, tucking them under my arm.
Reaching for her bag on the floor, she slings the strap over her shoulder. “Ready to go?”
“Want your books back?”
“They’re yours. Mercy gave them to you, not me.”
“Yeah, and I’m giving them to you in exchange for the ride home, remember?”
“Nice try.” Turning on her heel, she leads the way through to the front of the shop.
I follow, stifling a growl. Oh, I’ll find a way to get her these books. I’ll sneak them into her apartment one by one, hiding them in cabinets and under pillows. She’s gonna take these damn books from me. Because she’s staying on this island.
Shit . . . I guess I’ve decided her fate and mine. The coven comes first, and Birdie has to stay. Which means Birdie has to be coven.
New beginnings, it is.
She opens the door, leading the way out to the sunlit street.