I sit across the aisle from Penelope when we get on the train. To give her space. She doesn’t say anything, just stares out the window. She’s got the end of her ponytail in one hand, and she’s twisting it.

Penelope’s look today is a giant purple T-shirt with the neck cut out—so it lies wide and open on her shoulders—and a flared denim skirt that just grazes the tops of her knees when she’s standing. She’s sitting now.

I don’t think Penelope thinks about her skin. Or her hair. I don’t think she twirls her ponytail around her fingers because she knows I’m watching. I don’t think she thinks about me looking at her at all—so I try not to.

I don’t think she thinks about me liking her …

So I try not to do that either.

I should have told her the truth. All of it. As soon as she offered to help me. Definitely before I got on the plane. I should have known that Penelope was smart enough to crack this—that she’d get to the bottom of my mess before I could come up with a good way to break it to her. Because there is no good way to break it. There’s no version of the truth that doesn’t make me seem worse than foolish. Worse than cursed. Worse than taken.

When we get to her stop, I follow her off the train. Then I follow her to her flat. She unlocks the door and holds it open for me.

“I’ll just get my backpack,” I say.

“Sit down, Shepard.”

I’m not sure why she wants me to sit, maybe so that she can chew me out some more. Anyway, I do it.

She stands in front of me and holds out her hand. “Let’s see it.”

I’m not sure what she means. My arms?

“The translation,” she says, snapping her fingers.

“Penelope—”

“I didn’t spend all afternoon in some sort of spider-woman’s nest, so that I could not see the information we came for.”

I reach into my pocket and pull out the folded-up translation. It’s two pages long. Penelope takes them from me and unfolds them. “Calligraphy,” she says. “Why not.”

She starts reading.

“Right,” she says, nodding. “This is a prenuptial agreement…”

She reads a bit more. “Oh, good job, Shepard, it’s an eternal contract. No divorce in your future. No adultery either, not if you value your eyelashes … That’s … picturesque…”

She keeps reading.

She raises an eyebrow and makes a noise like, “Pffft.”

She flips to the second page. “What’s this? Half the words are missing.”

I’m sitting with my knees wide and my elbows on my thighs, my head hanging low. “That’s the spell I got from Ken. The summoning spell. Debbie left out everything that made her nervous.”