“That’s no excuse.” His face was grim beneath his bouffant wig. “But it may mean she’s not as powerful as we thought. I’ll tell you, the law of threefold return’s going to bite her in the ass, and I wouldn’t mind helping it along. Shall I start working on a counterspell, darling? Something nice and vengeful?”

“What?” I blinked. “No! Jesus, Cas! You’re the one who’s always warning me not to be tempted by the dark side—which, by the way, just makes me think about it when I wasn’t. Anyway, I need to handle this myself.”

Pursing his lips, he considered me. “I suppose you do. All right, hold on a moment.” He went over to unlock a glass display case and rummage inside it, coming up with a small silver medallion etched with a Star of David inside concentric circles and various squiggly markings, along with a loop so it could be worn as a pendant. “Here. This is your basic Seal of Solomon. It’s the same seal I used in the working earlier. It should give you a measure of protection from hostile spells.”

“I’m a little short on cash,” I admitted. I was always short on cash.

Casimir reached for my hand and plunked the medallion into it. “Don’t worry, it’s not the most expensive amulet I carry, honey. And they’re more effective when they’re given as a gift. Take it with my blessing and wear it in good health.”

“Okay, okay!” I undid the clasp on my necklace and threaded the Seal of Solomon onto the chain. When I was done, it nestled beside the Oak King’s talisman, clinking companionably against it in my cleavage. “Thanks. I’ll, um, record the favor in my ledger.”

He eyed me. “You keep a ledger?”

“I do.” I stated it with a tone of authority, or at least I tried to. “In the interest of maintaining Hel’s order, of course.”

“Good for you.” It must have worked, because there was a note of respect in the Fabulous Casimir’s voice.

I really needed to get started on that database. Too bad I knew nothing about creating databases. For now, I’d just have to settle for making mental notes, because I had more pressing matters to attend to.

After leaving Casimir’s shop, I went back to my apartment to take a quick shower and change my clothes. Since there was no point in trying to compete with Emmeline Palmer on the basis of style, I went practical instead, with a working wardrobe of jeans and a black scoop-neck T-shirt. Pants weren’t as comfortable as skirts since they confined my poor tail, but I’d found that people tended to take me more seriously in them.