“And I’ll fly up there in two hours,” he assured me. “Are you sure there’s nothing I can do? Call someone? Anything?”

Shaking my head, I fingered a book on how to knot love charms from hair. These things were illegal. Small towns have very little in the way of policing witches, but then I saw that it was a fake, a novelty item. “We have it okay,” I said. “Will you feed Mr. Fish for me?”

“Sure. Ivy told me.”

“He only needs four grains,” I rushed. “Any more and you’ll kill him.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ve had fish before.”

“And stay out of my room,” I added.

He started making a fake radio hiss, whistling and popping. “Rachel? The connection is going bad,” he said, laughing. “I think I’m losing you.”

A smile, the first in days, touched me. “I love you too,” I said, and he stopped.

There was a suspicious hesitation. “Are you okay?” he asked.

Worry slid through me. He was starting to pay attention. “Why?” I said, realizing my hand had gone up to cover my neck. “Um, yeah,” I reiterated, thinking it had sounded guilty. “I’m just stressed. Nick…” I hesitated. I couldn’t tell him Nick had been playing kiss-and-tell. It was embarrassing to have been that stupid. “I told Nick to kiss off, and it bothered me,” I said. Not really a lie. Not really.

He was silent, then, “Okay. Can I talk to Ivy?”

Relieved, I exhaled into the mike. “Sure.”

I handed the phone to Ivy—who had come up behind me to listen, presumably—but she closed the top and handed it back. “He can handle it a few days more,” she said, then turned to the counter. “Do you have everything? It’s getting late.”

Tension edged her voice. She was trying to hide her mood, but not doing very well. Concerned, I took the basket from her. “Everything but the dust. Maybe she has some behind the counter. God, I’m tired,” I finished without thinking. Ivy didn’t say anything, and I put the basket on the counter, eyeing the aphrodisiac bottle Ivy set by her catnip.

“What?” Ivy said, seeing me look at it.

“Nothing. Why don’t you put your stuff in with mine?”

She shook her head. “I’m going to get something else too, but thanks.”

The woman behind the counter set her coffee on her stained hot plate, her fingers reaching to take my things out of the basket. “Will that be all then, ladies?” she asked, hiding her wariness of Ivy behind her professionalism.

“You don’t happen to have clock dust?” I asked, feeling it was a lost cause.

Immediately she lost her tinge of her nervousness. “From stopped clocks? Sure enough I do. How much do you need?”

“Thank the Turn,” I said, leaning against the counter as my muscles started to feel the weight of standing too long. “I didn’t want to have to go to Art Van and dust their floor samples. I just need a, uh, pinch.”