“Do you need me to call in to work for you?” she asked softly when the room was as dim as it was going to get.

“Not yet,” I murmured. “I’m not scheduled to go in until this afternoon. What about you? I don’t mean to keep you.”

“It’s okay, I didn’t have anything today but end-of-season cleanup on a couple of places that were just vacated.” Jen worked for the Cassopolis family business, cleaning houses and rental properties. “What about Sinclair? I mean, if this is obeah, he ought to know what to do about it, right? It’s his fucking sister that hexed you.”

“Probably.” It was easier to think while lying prone. “No, don’t call him. Not yet. I need to figure this out on my own.”

“Oh, yeah? How’s that working out for you so far?”

“Ha ha. If I call Sinclair, he’ll confront dear Emmy,” I said. “And I don’t want her thinking I needed her brother’s help to beat this.”

“Even if you do?” Jen sounded skeptical. “No offense, Daise, but isn’t pride one of the Seven Deadlies you’re supposed to worry about?”

“Yeah,” I said. “But it’s not just pride. It’s about status, too. That’s a big deal in the eldritch community. I need to show Emmeline Palmer she can’t sail into Pemkowet and fuck with Hel’s liaison without consequences, which means I need to fix this before Sinclair hears about it.”

“How?”

“Good question.”

Now that I was past the panicking stage, my wits were working again. Slowly and painfully, but they were working. Option one: I could try to strong-arm Emmeline into unhexing me. Well, not me personally, not in this condition, but I could call on allies. The fact that Emmeline was wearing some kind of protective ward strong enough to make a two-hundred-year-old ghoul wary was an issue, but I was pretty sure that it wouldn’t dissuade oh, say, Lurine. No matter what mojo dear Emmy was packing, I doubted it was a match for an eldritch being with fond memories of the Bronze Age and the physical capability of crushing her to death one vertebra at the time. Or maybe Gus the ogre. He could always threaten to bash her over the head and eat her.

Of course, that also meant getting someone else to fight my battle. Which wasn’t entirely unappealing—delegating wisely is an important skill and dear Emmy ought to know that there was more to Pemkowet’s eldritch community than sparkly fairies and one brother-dating hell-spawn.

On the other hand, there was option two: I could get myself unhexed without the assistance of either of the Palmer Wonder Twins. It would require the Fabulous Casimir’s aid, but again, he was a legitimate ally.

Somewhere in a dark part of my mind, my father’s voice whispered to me that there was a third option, an option that was always an option. I could claim my birthright, and all the powers it included.

You have but to ask. . . .

I sighed, pushing the thought away. Okay, so it probably wasn’t a great idea to involve Lurine or Gus unless I was actually willing to let Emmeline come to grievous bodily harm, which I wasn’t. Or at least I was cognizant of the fact that to do so would be inappropriate in my role as Hel’s liaison.

So, decision made.

“Hey, Jen,” I said. “Let’s go see Casimir.”

“Are you sure?” She checked her phone. “It’s only been about half an hour since you took the meds.”

“I’m sure. If they’re going to work, then they’ll work. But I don’t want to waste time waiting if they’re not.”

She shrugged. “Let’s go.”

Luckily for me, the Sisters of Selene was only a block and a half away. I still had to hold on to Jen’s arm the whole way, wincing at the sunlight behind my dark glasses as she steered me around the lingering tourists and reemergent locals on the sidewalks.

“Hey, Miss Dais—” Casimir began greeting me as we entered the shop. “Holy Hecate! Girl, you look like seven miles of bad road.”

I wished he’d lower his voice. “I feel like it. Cas, I need a favor. I’ve been hexed. Can you undo it?”

Casimir came out from behind the counter to lock the front door and turn the OPEN sign to CLOSED. “I don’t know, sugar, but I’ll do my best. Tell me all about it.”

I filled him in on the details to the best of my ability. He let out a long, low whistle when I finished.

“Damn! Bitch has balls.” There was a hint of admiration in his voice. “Did she get her hands on something personal of yours? Hair, nail clippings?”

“No,” I said. “I don’t think so.”

“Are you sure?” he pressed. “Maybe a few strands of hair caught in your boyfriend’s hairbrush? Pillow? Towel?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “Maybe. I did borrow his toothbrush. But I don’t know how she’d know that.”

“Neither do I,” Casimir said. “But I told you before, I don’t know a lot about obeah.”

“So you’re saying this bitch hexed Daisy with a fucking toothbrush?” Jen asked in disbelief.

“I’m saying it’s possible, Miss Jenny-bird,” Casimir said to her. “If you can take a DNA sample from a cheek swab, you can build a spell around a toothbrush.”

All of this standing upright and talking was setting off fresh waves of agony in my pounding skull. “So can you undo it?”

“Well, we’ll see, won’t we?” He beckoned, or at least the two overlapping blurred figures of Casimir made a gesture that I interpreted as beckoning. “Come into my altar room, Miss Daisy. Ritual participants only,” he added apologetically to Jen. “But there are some back issues of Vogue and Occult Monthly under the counter.”

She nodded. “Thanks.”

Casimir led me through the door at the rear of the shop into his altar room. From what I could make out, it was a lot more clean and spare than I would have expected given his relative flamboyance.

“Step over the circle.” He guided me unobtrusively. “Good girl. Now, just make yourself comfortable on the kneeling pad while I get everything ready.”

Getting everything ready turned out to be a pretty complicated business involving numerous invocations, the donning of a tasseled and knotted scarlet cord around the waist, the lighting of candles and incense, the consecration of water with salt, the blessing of various instruments including an athamé knife and a sharpened quill feather, and the grinding of special ink in a mortar.

If I hadn’t been in excruciating pain, it would have been fascinating. I’d never actually seen the Fabulous Casimir—or anyone, fabulous or otherwise—perform a ritual like this before. Under the circumstances, I pretty much just knelt quietly in front of the altar with my eyes closed and let it all wash over me, clutching my messenger bag and concentrating on remaining upright.

“Okay, Daisy.” Casimir knelt opposite me. “I need you to hold still while I draw the seal.”

“No problem.”

He dipped the quill in the magic ink and began tracing a design onto my forehead. “This is a seal of protection. If it works, you’ll be protected for as long as the image lasts, about as long as a henna tattoo.”

Great, so I was going to look like a freak with a henna tattoo on my forehead.

The tip of the quill scratched against my skin. “You’ll still need to find the charm and dismantle it to be safe.”

“What charm?” I did my best to ask without moving my head.

“Whatever she used to fix the spell,” Casimir said patiently. “Hair, toothbrush, whatever. It could even be a photo of you.”

“Like a voodoo doll?”

“It’s the same general idea.” He dipped the quill again. “Sympathetic magic, basically. You know, in your line of work, you really should invest in a high-quality amulet,” he added. “Or ideally, a permanent tattoo.”

“On my forehead?” I said in alarm.

“Hold still,” he reprimanded me, which I thought was a bit unfair under the circumstances. Kind of like when the dental hygienist asks you a question, then sticks an instrument in your mouth. “No, it doesn’t have to be on your forehead, Miss Daisy. Protection spells work a lot better if you employ them before you’re the victim of a magical attack.”

I squinted at his blurred face. “Cooper said she had a ward. A powerful one. Is that like a protection spell?”

“Mm-hmm.” Having drawn what felt like a couple of circles and a series of straight lines, Casimir began drawing smaller, squigglier bits. “Who’s Cooper?”

“A ghoul,” I said. “He wouldn’t touch her.”

“Really.” Casimir’s hand went still. “That would be a powerful ward,” he mused, more to himself than me.

“I think it was a cowry shell.”

He resumed his squiggly drawing. “Cowry shells have a long, rich history of occult association.”

Too much talking. The pain in my head protested by rising to a fresh crescendo. I squeezed my eyes shut, taking refuge in the darkness. I couldn’t let myself rest there, though. “Cas?”

“Hmm?”

“Would a powerful ward protect dear Emmy from a physical ass-kicking?”

“Not in the slightest,” he assured me.

“Good.”

“All right, my dear.” There were bustling sounds as Casimir fussed with his implements. “I’m going to invoke the spell. Try to keep your eyes open.”

I cracked my eyelids and peered at his vague double image as he took up the black-handled athamé blade.

“Bound be all powers of adversity from the north, south, east, and west,” Casimir chanted, touching the blade lightly around me. “Bound be all ill-wishers and those who practice violence against the bearer of my seal! Bound and sealed by my hand and name shall be all who to seek to harm Daisy Johanssen.” He pressed the tip of the athamé against the center of the seal etched onto my brow. “By my will, so mote it be!”