I poked at the objects. “She must have put it in my bag when I went to the restroom last night. But I don’t see any hair or anything of mine.”

“Maybe she brushed the tooth with the toothbrush you borrowed at Sinclair’s place,” Jen said.

Gah. “Maybe.”

Jojo heaved an impatient sigh. “You had the charm on your person, lackwit, or at least near it under your own roof. The sorceress had no need to bind it to you further. Your warlock made a careless assumption based on his own knowledge of the craft. He condemned his effort to failure when he allowed the charm within his own altar circle.”

“You know what they say,” Jen said. “‘Assume’ makes an ass out of ‘u’ and ‘me.’”

“That’s a clever turn of phrase,” the fairy said approvingly to her. To me, she said, “You should be grateful that I recognize the reek of iron and magic.”

“I am.” I’m not sure how sincere I sounded, but I meant it. “I owe you a favor, Jojo. A big one.”

Her eyes widened. “Truly? Then I beseech—”

“I’m not breaking things off with Sinclair,” I said. “That’s not on the table. But if there’s anything I can do in my capacity as Hel’s liaison, ask.”

“Oh.” Jojo looked disappointed; and I have to say that her crush on Sinclair was even more disconcerting with the little girl glamour over her.

I concentrated on seeing through it. In her true form, Jojo exuded a miniature green-skinned pubescent sexuality that was disconcerting enough, but it was better than the toddlers-and-tiaras vibe. “Look, I’ll put it in my ledger, okay?” By ledger, I meant the database I planned to create. “You can claim it anytime.”

That appeared to mollify her. “Very well.”

“So is this thing . . . defused now?” Jen asked, indicating the leather sack and its former contents. “It’s not going to reactivate again, is it?”

“The charm is broken,” Jojo assured her. “The sorceress would have to cast the spell anew.”

“Good to know.” I began returning items to my messenger bag, starting with dauda-dagr, then glanced up at the throaty sound of a motorcycle chugging down the street.

Oh, duh. Given the surge of panic I’d experienced when I woke up, the only surprise was that I hadn’t had a concerned ghoul on my doorstep within the hour.

Stefan Ludovic pulled into the alley astride a gleaming black motorcycle. Well, parts of it gleamed, while others were a matte black that seemed to swallow the light. I happened to know that it was a Vincent Black Shadow, one of only seventeen hundred in existence; I knew this not because I knew anything about motorcycles but because Cody told me so when we spotted it in the garage of a suspect who couldn’t possibly have legitimately afforded it.