“I see it,” I said, glancing toward Elliot. The picture showed him with Yui, dressed in summer clothes, smiling at the camera. He had one arm around her waist. Both of them were shining with that perfect, fragile happiness strong men have died trying to achieve; a happiness that was gone now. I think it must be worse to find it and lose it again than never to find it at all. Elliot walked over to stand in front of the picture, eyes filling with quiet tears. If it were up to me, I’d have let him do his mourning in peace. Unfortunately, the Luidaeg’s instructions were precise, and we were on a time limit. “Elliot . . .”

“Check the desk,” he said, not taking his eyes away from the photograph.

I do know how to take a hint. I walked over to the desk and opened the left- hand drawers. Quentin followed, doing the same on the right. Peering inside, I let out a long, low whistle. “Wow.”

Yui wasn’t exaggerating when she said she could stock an occult supply store with the contents of her office. The drawers were packed with jars, bottles, and packets of herbs, wedged alongside bundles of feathers, dried flowers, and stranger things—all the necessities of life. I started to rummage. “Quentin, find the juniper berries.”

“What will they look like?”

“Dark purple pebbles. Sort of leathery.”

“Got it.”

The mandrake was in the second drawer I checked. I slid it into my pocket, shuddering as I felt the power leaking through its white silk covering. It had been gathered properly, wrested from the ground beneath a full moon; that was the only explanation for the way it was radiating strength. The preparation meant that it would work better, and more reliably . . . but I still didn’t like it. Mandrakes are used for the creation of doubles and Doppelgangers. They’re tools for people darker and creepier than I’ve ever wanted to be, but the Luidaeg had made it clear that there were no substitutions allowed.

I was just glad Yui’s mandrake was an infant, barely six inches long; I could never have handled a three foot long adult. It would have been too much for me and might have seized control of the casting. Letting a mandrake root take control of a blood magic ritual is a quick and easy way to die. Quick and easy; not painless.

“I’ve got the juniper berries,” Quentin said, holding up a glass jar.

“And I’ve got the mandrake. Elliot?”

“What?” he asked, finally looking away from the picture.