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.”