“I do,” Jason said, fishing out the chain from beneath his polo shirt.

Granny received it from him with a businesslike nod. “Bean, before we open the book, I think we’d best sweep the kitchen with the besom broom.”

“I’ll find it,” Bean said, and hustled down the narrow hallway.

“Jason,” Granny continued, “we’ll be reading for a while. Put your feet up, if you like. You could watch TV. The Razorbacks are playing the Aggies.”

“Would you mind if I took a walk?”

“Go right on.”

As Jason picked up his sunglasses from the table and turned to the door, Bean hurried up to him with an aerosol can and started spraying. He backed away reflexively while Bean directed the spray over his pants legs and even reached for the hems to mist his ankles. The smell of insect repellent filled the air in a noxious cloud. “No. Really. I don’t—”

“You need it,” Bean said with authority, going behind him, spraying busily without stopping.

“You don’t know about Arkansas skeeters,” Granny told him. “In ten minutes they’ll bleed you dry as a hog on butchering day.”

“My, my” came Bean’s voice from behind him. “This is what I call a superior posterior.”

Jason slid a narrow-eyed glance at Priscilla, who appeared to be repressing a grin. “Thanks,” he muttered, and fled as soon as Bean was finished.

“One more thing,” Granny called after him. “If you see Cletus upstairs, don’t pay him no mind.” The door closed.

Jason stopped in his tracks. “There’s no upstairs on a trailer home,” he said aloud.

Slowly he wandered around the rickety structure. He discovered that the dogwood trees at the front of the trailer had concealed a camping chair, a plastic cooler, and a tiki umbrella, all arranged on a corner of the flat roof. The chair was occupied by an elderly man wearing a fishing hat, shorts, and a tee that proclaimed NOT ONLY AM I PERFECT, I’M A SOUTHERNER, TOO. The man stared intently at a cell phone in one hand and held a beer in the other.

“Cletus?” Jason asked cautiously.

The man replied without taking his gaze from the phone. “That’s me. You the fella Priscilla brung for a visit?”

“Yes. Jason.”

“Come on up and have a cold one.” He pointed to a ladder braced against the trailer.

Jason climbed up to the roof, which was covered in a thick blanket of rubber that reeked of new tire smell.

He approached the old man, and they shook hands briefly. Cletus’s eyes were hard blue chips beneath two silvery caterpillar brows. His skin was as brown and textured as a dried tobacco leaf. Most people of Cletus’s advanced years wouldn’t have been able to make the climb. But he was tough, weathered, with ropy arms and a wiry build.

Reaching into the cooler, Cletus pulled out a dripping can of beer and handed it to him.

“Thanks.” Jason sat on a patch of roof beneath the tiki umbrella.

“Guess you’re here to get Granny and Bean to work a spell for you,” Cletus said.

“That’s the plan.” Jason opened the can of beer and drank deeply. “You’re Priscilla’s great-uncle?”

“By marriage. My twin brother, Clive, was married to Bean, a long time back. He died from a bee attack six weeks after their wedding.”

“He was allergic to bees?”

“Allergic to curses, more like. Clive knew the risk, marrying Bean. Everyone knows about the Fiveash women. Black widows, all of ’em. They can’t help it. You mate one and then you die.”

“Why did Clive marry Bean, if he knew about it?”

“Bean was a looker in those days, and Clive went crazy over her. Said he had to have her, curse or no curse. No one could talk sense into him, not even Bean. He was a goner the first time he laid eyes on her.”

“I know the feeling,” Jason said without humor.

Finishing the beer, Cletus crumpled the can and tossed it off the roof. “The curse follows all the Fiveash females. I hope you’re not sweet on Priscilla.”

“No, sir.”

“That’s good. Keep it that way. You don’t want to end up like Clive. Or Granny’s husband, Bo, neither.”

“How did he die?”

“Struck by lightning on the Toad Suck ferry landing, back when there was still ferries.” Cletus paused reflectively. “A week before it happened, Bo told me that wherever he went, clocks stopped ticking. His watch froze. Hell, even the kitchen egg-timer hourglass shattered when Bo got near it.” He pulled up the stay-tab on a new can of beer. “Strange thing was, Clive told me he had the same problem, right before his accident. Showed up on time to work every day of his life, but started punching in late, ’cause every clock in the house had stopped. A week later, Clive was gone.”

Jason stared at him alertly. “They each died a week after the clocks stopped?” His gaze lowered to his stainless-steel watch. Relieved to find that it was still functioning, he let out a controlled sigh.

Before he looked up, he heard Cletus say gently, “Boy, you’re in a mess o’ trouble, ain’t you?”

* * *

After keeping company with Clive for about an hour, Jason climbed down and went back into the trailer. The three women concentrated intently on the Triodecad.

“How’s it going?” Jason asked.

“This book is unbelievable,” Priscilla said. “There are spells for nearly everything you could imagine.”

“Did you find anything to counteract the witch’s bane?”

Priscilla shook her head. “Nothing specific. Which makes no sense, because through all the generations of natural-born witches, someone must have tried to fix this problem. Why didn’t any of them write something down?”

“Bean and me tried to save our husbands,” Granny said. “When it didn’t work, I figured our magic was too weak, since we never got educated in spell-casting. But I thought a book like this would have the answer.”

Jason focused on Priscilla. “What about pitching the bunker shot?”

“We found a longevity spell,” she said. “A powerful one, from the looks of it.”

He kept his expression neutral. “Any drawbacks to a longevity spell?”

“None that we could think of. Everyone wants to live longer, don’t they?” She frowned. “But you’re asking the wrong person. None of us have been trained at this level of magic. Basically you’re asking someone who only makes Hamburger Helper to whip up an entrée from Mastering the Art of French Cooking.”

Jason hadn’t forgotten Justine’s warning about the longevity spell … that someday he could end up begging for death. At this moment, however, longevity was the answer to everything. It would allow him to be with Justine, and it was his best chance at being spared from the witch’s bane.

“There’s another spell we want to add to it,” Priscilla said.

His brows lifted. “I thought the rule was only one spell per person.”

“The second one isn’t for you. It’s for Justine.”

Jason was silent, listening closely.

“We want to bind a geas to her,” Priscilla said quietly. “As close to the original as possible. It wouldn’t be quite as good, but we think with the three of us—”

“No.”

“She’d be better off. And so would you.”

“Not open for discussion.”

“You’d have what you wanted at the beginning,” Priscilla persisted, turning red. “You’d have more time to live and you’d be safe from Justine.”

“If the fate of the whole earth hung in the balance, I wouldn’t have a geas bound to Justine again.”

“You’re still young,” Bean said. “You could find someone else.”

He shook his head. “It’s Justine or nothing.”

Priscilla glared at him. “You’re acting as crazy as a sprayed roach. You haven’t known her long enough to make that choice.”

Jason met her gaze without blinking. “Of course I have. Someday your life will change in one second flat. Something you never could have expected will hit you like a two-by-four. And there won’t be enough time to figure out how or why it happened. You’ll just have to go with it.”

“No, I’ll remind myself that some things are over before they start,” Priscilla said.

Jason glanced at Granny’s and Bean’s sober faces. “Give me your best shot at the longevity spell, and I’ll double the price we agreed on. But leave Justine out of it.”

“I don’t think—” Granny said.

“Triple,” Jason told her.

Granny and Bean looked at each other.

“Let’s git’r done,” Granny said briskly. “Priscilla, you’re in charge of casting the circle. Bean, we’ll need the chalice and altar cloth.”

Bean went to the windowsill to retrieve a thick-walled mug printed with the Budweiser logo.

“That’s a chalice?” Jason asked blankly.

“Sure is. We’ve done some of our best magic with it.” Reaching into a drawer, Bean pulled out a dish towel and spread it on the counter.

After glancing at the cloth, which was printed with a silhouette of Elvis playing a guitar, Jason gave Priscilla a look askance.

“It doesn’t matter what the altar cloth looks like,” she told him in an undertone, while the two elderly women busied themselves with preparations. “Let them do it their way. They know what works best for them.” After a brief pause, she added, “And don’t throw a fit if they mention Dionne Warwick a couple of times during the spell-casting. It makes Bean happy, and the spirits won’t mind it a bit.”

Twenty-one

By the third morning after Jason had left the inn, Justine was struggling to stay angry. Anger had given her the energy to get ready for the new influx of guests: maintenance such as fixing a broken toilet, resetting a television remote control, resupplying each room with soaps and toiletries. Anger had also propelled her through the tedium of bookkeeping and bill paying, ordering new supplies, and sending e-mail confirmations to guests who had reserved rooms.

The problem was that Justine wasn’t certain what would happen if she let go of the anger. She didn’t want to soften toward Jason. And she didn’t want to view his actions in context: Love was not a mitigating circumstance. She had to focus exclusively on what he had done, and ignore his reasons for doing it. Which was why she had confided as little as possible about the situation to Zoë, who was a big believer in context. And love.

In the middle of laundering linens and toweling, Justine received a call from Priscilla, who until then hadn’t returned any of her wrathful messages.

Justine had waited for that call, had kept herself awake at night rehearsing long eviscerating rants that would leave Priscilla in an apologetic heap. But as she answered, Justine was furious to discover that all she could manage was a choked hello. All the vehement words had tangled up with each other like fine chains.

“Jason has no idea I’m talking to you,” Priscilla said. “He’d kill me if he knew.”

“Where is my spellbook?” Justine asked tightly.

“Jason’s got it. He’s taking real good care of it. He’ll bring it to you by the end of the week.”

“Where is he now?”

“There’s a conference in San Diego. One of those big gaming shindigs. He has to do a charity fund-raiser and—”

“Are you with him?”

“No. He stayed in Little Rock the night before last and left yesterday for California.”

“Little Rock?” Justine repeated, bewildered. “Arkansas?”

Priscilla’s voice was subdued. “My granny and great-aunt are crafters. They helped figure out the spell to use for Jason.”

“Using my Triodecad,” Justine said tautly. “That’s just great. What spell did you use?”

“Longevity.”

Justine’s anger dropped like a climber abseiling a rock face. Down into a thick fog of gloom. She closed her eyes and leaned against the clothes dryer, needing its heat. She had to take a few deep breaths before she could speak. “You used high magick?”

Priscilla’s tone was cautious. “Granny said she thought it took. So there’s nothing to worry about. You’ll have your book back and then—”

“There are two things to worry about,” Justine said sharply. “One is if you cast the spell wrong. The other is if you cast it right.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Let me put it this way: Just because you can do something doesn’t mean you should. There’s no way of knowing exactly what you’ve set in motion. We’ll only find out when it’s too late. And if you’ve done it right … Jason’s going to suffer for it later. Supernatural longevity is a curse, Priscilla. You wouldn’t wish it on your worst enemy. There’s no guarantee against illness or dementia or any of the terrible things that can happen to a human body. The only guarantee is that you’ll live, and live, and live, until you would do anything to end your misery.” Her throat clenched. “I’ve already told this to Jason, the stubborn idiot!”

“He did this because he loves you,” Priscilla burst out.

“Give me a break. He was going to do it anyway, for his own selfish reasons.”

“He loves you,” Priscilla repeated.

“Why do you think that?” Justine asked sarcastically. “Because he said so?”

“Because it’s the truth. Everyone knows you’ll be the death of him. The longevity spell won’t hold out against the witch’s bane. But Jason doesn’t give a damn—all he wants is to buy more time with you.” Priscilla let out a frustrated breath. “My daddy died young, same as yours. People warned him never to marry my mama. They told him to run like hell so that curse could never touch him. I always wondered why he didn’t listen. I couldn’t figure out how a man could be so in love that he’d rather die than live without it. Well, now I’m seeing it firsthand. There’s no way to save Jason. He’s found something he wants even more than a soul, and that’s you. If you won’t have him, he’ll wait.”

“He’ll spend the rest of his life waiting,” Justine snapped.

“I told him that.”