“So you’re saying this bitch hexed Daisy with a fucking toothbrush?” Jen asked in disbelief.

“I’m saying it’s possible, Miss Jenny-bird,” Casimir said to her. “If you can take a DNA sample from a cheek swab, you can build a spell around a toothbrush.”

All of this standing upright and talking was setting off fresh waves of agony in my pounding skull. “So can you undo it?”

“Well, we’ll see, won’t we?” He beckoned, or at least the two overlapping blurred figures of Casimir made a gesture that I interpreted as beckoning. “Come into my altar room, Miss Daisy. Ritual participants only,” he added apologetically to Jen. “But there are some back issues of Vogue and Occult Monthly under the counter.”

She nodded. “Thanks.”

Casimir led me through the door at the rear of the shop into his altar room. From what I could make out, it was a lot more clean and spare than I would have expected given his relative flamboyance.

“Step over the circle.” He guided me unobtrusively. “Good girl. Now, just make yourself comfortable on the kneeling pad while I get everything ready.”

Getting everything ready turned out to be a pretty complicated business involving numerous invocations, the donning of a tasseled and knotted scarlet cord around the waist, the lighting of candles and incense, the consecration of water with salt, the blessing of various instruments including an athamé knife and a sharpened quill feather, and the grinding of special ink in a mortar.

If I hadn’t been in excruciating pain, it would have been fascinating. I’d never actually seen the Fabulous Casimir—or anyone, fabulous or otherwise—perform a ritual like this before. Under the circumstances, I pretty much just knelt quietly in front of the altar with my eyes closed and let it all wash over me, clutching my messenger bag and concentrating on remaining upright.

“Okay, Daisy.” Casimir knelt opposite me. “I need you to hold still while I draw the seal.”

“No problem.”

He dipped the quill in the magic ink and began tracing a design onto my forehead. “This is a seal of protection. If it works, you’ll be protected for as long as the image lasts, about as long as a henna tattoo.”

Great, so I was going to look like a freak with a henna tattoo on my forehead.

The tip of the quill scratched against my skin. “You’ll still need to find the charm and dismantle it to be safe.”

“What charm?” I did my best to ask without moving my head.

“Whatever she used to fix the spell,” Casimir said patiently. “Hair, toothbrush, whatever. It could even be a photo of you.”

“Like a voodoo doll?”

“It’s the same general idea.” He dipped the quill again. “Sympathetic magic, basically. You know, in your line of work, you really should invest in a high-quality amulet,” he added. “Or ideally, a permanent tattoo.”