“The unborn?” I said in a horrified, hushed whisper. “Ceri, you said it wasn’t that bad.”

“The fat of an unborn pig,” she reiterated, sounding angry. “Honestly, Rachel.”

My brow furrowed. Okay, it was a fetal pig, the same thing biology students dissect, but it sounded close to the slaughtering-goats-in-your-basement kind of magic. The transference curse looked harmless apart from the black it would put on my soul, and the disguise charm was white—illegal, but white. The inertia-dampening curse was the worst of the lot—and it was the one that would keep Jenks alive—a joke curse. Just this once.

I was so stupid.

Stomach roiling, my thoughts flicked to Trent and his illegal labs, which saved people so he could blackmail them into seeing things his way. He, at least, didn’t pretend to be anything other than what he was. Things had been a lot easier when I didn’t have to think. But what was I supposed to do? Walk away and let the world fall apart? Telling the I.S. would make matters worse, and giving the statue to the FIB was a joke.

Angry and sick inside, I sidestepped Ivy to get to the candles. I’d already been there to pick out my colored candles for the transference curse. Behind the carved castles and colorful “dragon eggs” were the real goods, arranged by color and size, branded at the bottom with either what the fat had been rendered from or where they had first been lit. The woman’s selection was surprisingly good, but why they were hidden behind such crap was beyond me.

“Taper or barrel?” I asked Ceri, crouching to reach one with PIG scratched on it. You can’t light a candle in a pig, so it was a good bet that’s where the fat had come from. I’d never been in a ley line charm shop other than the university’s, and that didn’t count since they only carried what the classes needed. Maybe there was a spell that used “dragon eggs,” but I thought they looked lame.

“Doesn’t matter,” Ceri answered, and with the smallest taper in hand, I turned and rose, almost running into Ivy. She winced and backed up.

“I’m fine,” I muttered, setting the candle in the basket. “Did you see any packaged dust?”

Ivy shook her head, the tips of her black hair shifting about the bottom of her ears. There was a rack of “pixy dust” by the register that was just glitter. Jenks would laugh his ass off. Maybe the real stuff was behind it, like the candles.

“You sound tired, Rachel,” Ceri said, question high in her voice as I moved to the rack.

“I’m fine.” Ceri said nothing, and I added, “It’s stress.” Just this once.

“I want you to talk to Kisten,” she said firmly, as if she was doing me a favor.

Oh God. Kisten. What would he say if he knew Ivy had bitten me? “I told you so,” or maybe “My turn”? “Ceri,” I protested, but it was too late, and as Ivy fingered a display of amber bottles that were good to store oil-based potions in, Kisten’s masculine voice came to me.