He talked with Justine a few minutes more, keeping his eyes closed so he could savor the sound of her voice. He wasn’t entirely certain what they were talking about, and it didn’t matter as long as he could hear her.

What could you say to the woman you loved, the last time you might ever talk to her? You’re everything to me. You’ve given me the best days of my life. One of the more ignominious features of love was that you could only express it with clichés … it made you sound like a fraud at a time when you were blazing with sincerity. But at the end of the conversation, he found himself saying, “I love you,” and she said it back.

And it was enough. Those three well-worn, everyday words got the job done.

Ending the call, he went to the next room, where Sage was dusting and cleaning, readying the lighthouse for guests. Ten, to be exact.

“I swore I’d never lie to her again,” Jason said. “Or go behind her back. And less than a week later, I’m doing both.”

“For the best of reasons,” Sage said.

Jason lifted the Jules Verne diving helmet so she could clean the shelf under it. “That’s been my MO lately,” he said. “Doing the wrong thing for the right reason. So far it hasn’t worked out too well.”

“Don’t you worry.” Sage patted his arm as he set the helmet back down. “We’ll fix everything. Once we let the coven know what had happened, they all dropped everything to come here right away.”

“It’s not often a man gets to spend an evening with a dozen pissed-off witches.”

“We prefer to be called crafters. Or coveners. And while some in the coven are less forgiving than others, everyone agrees that you should be praised for taking responsibility. Most men would have run away.”

“Most men wouldn’t have caused all this trouble in the first place.”

“We’ve all made mistakes,” Sage said gently.

In light of the circumstances, she and Rosemary had been far kinder than Jason had expected or deserved. When he had called them from San Diego, he had explained the situation with ruthless honesty, not trying to spare himself, offering no excuses. They had both been quiet, taking in every word he’d said, occasionally asking questions.

They had agreed that the situation was dire. Sage had confirmed that the stopping of the clocks marked the arrival of the witch’s bane; the same phenomenon had preceded her husband Neil’s death. Something would have to be done right away, or the consequences would be deadly for Justine.

The two women were intrigued and even incredulous that Priscilla’s grandmother and great-aunt had managed to cast a powerful spell from the Triodecad.

“Had anyone consulted us,” Rosemary had said pointedly, “we could have explained why a longevity spell was a bad idea. However, the fact that they were able to pull it off at all is impressive.”

“I should have consulted you,” Jason admitted, “but I was hell-bent on forcing things to turn out the way I wanted. Obviously I’m asking too late—but what went wrong?”

“Even if one is able to ward off the witch’s bane,” Rosemary had explained, “that won’t make it disappear, it only attaches to someone else. Which is what seems to have happened in this case. The longevity spell redirected the bane from you to Justine.”

“How do we put things back to the way they were before?”

A discomforting pause had ensued.

“I’m afraid we can’t,” Sage had said. “Things can’t ever go back to the way they originally were. There will be differences. I think we may be able to lift the longevity spell, but that is no easy thing to accomplish. Longevity is a unique category of magic. High magick. There are risks.”

“That doesn’t matter to me.”

“Significant risks.”

“I want to go ahead with it.”

“You could die,” Rosemary had said. “And since you have no soul, that would be the end of your existence.”

“But Justine would be okay? She would be safe?”

“She would be safe,” Sage said. “I don’t know about ‘okay.’”

They had decided to consult the coven. It had been unanimously agreed that they would participate as a group in the lifting of the longevity spell, and that above all it had to be done fast. They would meet at Cauldron Island and perform the ritual at Crystal Cove, at the old abandoned schoolhouse where they had conducted many successful rites and ceremonies in the past.

No one in the coven had objected to Jason’s request to keep Justine out of it. There was no way in hell that Jason was going to put Justine in the position of having to make an agonizing choice, or trying to sacrifice herself for him. Protecting her from that was the very least he could do.

His thoughts were dragged back to the present as someone knocked at the front door of the lighthouse. The first witch … covener … had arrived.

Following Sage into the main room, Jason saw Rosemary welcoming in a middle-aged woman, slender and tall, with artfully styled red hair and a fine-boned face. Her Stevie Nicks rock-glam vibe was enhanced by a crushed-velvet skirt, a skintight top overlaid with a delicate macramé vest, and studded wedge-heeled boots.

Rosemary and Sage both went to embrace her, and she laughed in apparent pleasure at seeing them.

As soon as he heard that distinctive throaty laugh, Jason knew who she was.

Looking over Sage’s shoulder, the woman caught sight of Jason. The amusement died from her expression. The atmosphere chilled. Her eyes were crystalline and smoked with heavy makeup, her gaze unblinking as she approached him.

“Jason Black,” he said, reaching out to shake hands, then curtailing the gesture as he saw she wasn’t going to respond. “I’d hoped to meet you under better circumstances than this. But it’s a pleasure to—”

“You can hardly do anything worse to a crafter than steal her grimoire,” Marigold said crisply.

“I gave it back,” Jason pointed out, careful to strip all defensiveness from his tone.

“You want credit for that?” Marigold asked acidly.

Jason kept his mouth shut. There was no way he or anyone could blame her for disliking a man who had put her daughter’s life in danger.

He studied her, seeing hints of Justine here and there: the slim and leggy build, the shape of the jaw, the skin as perfect as bone china. But Marigold’s face, for all its beauty, had a masklike quality, a façade that concealed the propulsive bitterness of someone whose worst fears about the world had been confirmed.

“As I understand it,” Marigold said, “you hired a pair of hillbilly crafters to perform a complex spell, and surprise, surprise … something went wrong.”

Rosemary answered before Jason could reply. “The spell was cast very competently. In fact, the strength of the spell is the problem.”

“Yes. The witch’s bane has been transferred to Justine. Does she know about what’s happening tonight?”

“No,” Jason said. “She’d only try to argue with me. It’s my fault. My responsibility. I’ll take care of it.” Jason paused before adding sincerely, “I appreciate you coming here to help, Marigold.”

“I didn’t say I would help.”

Rosemary and Sage wore identical expressions of bemusement.

“I have one condition,” Marigold continued. “I’ll only do it if you promise never to see or speak to Justine again. I want you to disappear from her life.”

“Or what?” Jason asked. “You’d let your own daughter be taken out by the witch’s bane?”

Marigold didn’t reply. But for a split second the truth was on her face, and it made Jason’s blood run cold. Yes. She was fully prepared to throw Justine into the volcano.

“Marigold,” Rosemary asked sharply, “is this bargain really necessary?”

“It is. He’s the one who endangered her in the first place. And Justine is equally responsible for breaking the geas. I want her to learn a lesson from this.”

“Teach her lessons on your own time,” Jason said irritably. “Right now the goal is to extend her life beyond the next three damn days.”

“So she can continue to screw it up?” Marigold stunned him by asking.

Jason gave her an incredulous glance. “It’s her right to do so, isn’t it?”

“If you were a parent, you would understand that sometimes the worst thing we can do is protect a child from the consequences of her actions. Justine may learn something from this comeuppance.”

There was a strange and disturbing note of satisfaction in Marigold’s voice. If Jason had had any questions about the estrangement between Justine and her mother, they would have been resolved in that moment. This was not a mother who would welcome back a prodigal child, unless that child came back crawling and decimated.

“Maybe,” Jason said. “But if my child were facing her comeuppance, I wouldn’t buy center-court seats and bring popcorn, and call it a great parenting technique.”

She shot him a hostile glance and spoke to Rosemary and Sage. “This entire problem could be solved easily if we tossed him off the cliff.”

“I would take a running leap if that was the only way to help Justine,” Jason said. “But in the hopes of preserving what little time I might have left, I’d like to give the spell-breaking thing a shot first.”

“Then give me your promise,” Marigold insisted. “Tell me you’ll leave Justine no matter what happens.”

“I can’t give a promise when I know I would break it.”

Without another word, Marigold turned on her heel and headed to the door.

Rosemary hurried after her. “Marigold! Think carefully about what you’re doing. Your daughter’s life is hanging in the balance. You must do this for her.”

Marigold’s mask broke long enough to reveal a glimpse of anguished rage. “What has she done for me?” she cried, and slammed the door as she left the house.

Jason and Sage stood alone in the silence. “I’ve got one of those, too,” Jason said after a moment. “Only it’s my father.”

Sage was bewildered. “Marigold didn’t used to be like this.”

“She’s probably always been exactly like this. She’s just gotten worse at covering it up.” Jason shoved his hands in his pockets and went to the window, staring at the blood-colored sunset. “Can we still lift the spell without her, or should I start practicing my long jump?”

“We can still lift the spell. But … I’m sure Marigold will return to help. She won’t turn her back on her own daughter.”

He gave her an incisive glance. “Her back’s been turned for four years, Sage.”

Rosemary entered the lighthouse, looking aggrieved. “The water taxi was still waiting at the dock. Marigold had no intention of staying. She just came here for a bit of grandstanding. I told her if she wouldn’t help the coven in a time of need, particularly when her own daughter’s well-being is involved—there isn’t much point in her belonging.”

Sage’s eyes widened. “How did she answer?”

“She didn’t.”

“She would never voluntarily leave the coven,” Sage said.

“No. Which is why we’re not going to ask her to leave voluntarily. After I talk to the coveners, I’m going to make certain she’s thrown out on her ass.” Catching Sage’s expression, Rosemary said, “I’ve defended Marigold for years. I’ve always tried to focus on the good in her and overlook the rest. But this can’t be overlooked, Sage. This makes it impossible to pretend, to Justine or ourselves, that Marigold cares about anyone but herself.”

Distressed, Sage went to straighten a stack of magazines on the table. “I think she might show up tonight and surprise us.”

Rosemary glanced at her partner with a mixture of love and exasperation. She turned her attention to Jason. “She won’t show up,” she said flatly.

“Personally I’m glad,” Jason said. “My sixth sense tells me she would have added an extra step to my ritual. Like evisceration.”

* * *

As the last smear of daylight faded from the dark lacquered sky, the coven arrived in groups of two and three. They were all dressed comfortably in jeans or long skirts, accessorized with colorful scarves and copper jewelry. They were a pleasant, chatty group, clearly relishing the opportunity to see one another. As they grazed among the food that Sage had set out, roasted red pepper dip with pita chips, artichoke and mushroom crostini, pumpkin dumplings on skewers, they could have been attending a monthly book club meeting.

“Jason,” Rosemary murmured to him at eleven P.M., “we’ll need to begin preparing the schoolhouse for the ritual. It’s about two thirds of a mile from here. If you wouldn’t mind driving the coveners there in groups of three, they can begin setting up.”

“Sure. What’s the significance of groups of three?”

Her tone was dry. “It’s the number of passenger seats in the golf cart.”

“Golf cart?”

“No one has cars on the island. The residents use bicycles or light electric vehicles. We keep ours in the green shed outside. Would you mind backing it out and pulling it up to the front door? We’ll have the first group of coveners and supplies waiting.”

“No problem,” Jason said.

Her gaze was speculative and kind. “This isn’t the usual weeknight activity for a man in your position, is it?”

He smiled slightly. “Chauffeuring witches in a golf cart to an abandoned schoolhouse at midnight? Not really. But it’s a nice change in the routine.”

One of the crafters, an elderly woman with white hair and bright blue eyes, approached Rosemary and gently tapped her on the shoulder. “It’s getting late,” she said. “Shouldn’t Marigold have arrived by now?”

“Marigold isn’t coming,” Rosemary said, her mouth tightening. “It seems she had other plans.”

* * *

After a couple of maddening attempts at trying to fix the time and date settings on her phone, Justine gave up and downloaded a Scrabble app. Maybe playing a few rounds against the computer would give her some insight into why Jason was such a fan of the game. Curling up in the corner of her sofa, she adjusted the setting of the game to “easy” and started to play.

A half hour later, she had reached a few conclusions: She would be a much more successful player if the Scrabble dictionary would allow the use of certain four-letter words, that quat was the name of an African evergreen shrub, and that there was something seriously addictive about the sound of the electronic tiles being clicked.