Last, I buckled on my dagger belt. People took me a lot more seriously with dauda-dagr on my hip, too. Well, at least people who had some inkling that it was an ancient and magical weapon that put fear into the immortal undead. Otherwise, they just thought it was some weird survivalist goth chick fetish.

I gave Sinclair a call. If possible, I wanted to talk to him alone and in person before confronting Emmy.

“Hey, Daisy.” He answered on the third ring, sounding curious. “What’s up? I thought you were lying low.”

“Things have changed,” I said. “Where are you? Can we talk?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Now his tone was a bit cautious. “I’m doing some work on the house. I was going to meet Emmy for lunch in an hour.”

“Perfect. I’ll be there in five.” I ended the call before he could reply. And okay, maybe that was abrupt, but I was angry. Not my usual reactionary loss of temper, but a slow, controlled burn. I’d cut Sinclair slack, I’d forgiven him for being considerably less than forthcoming, I’d offered to stay out of the way while he worked things out with his sister. And I’d woken up hexed for my trouble.

I drove over to his rental, parking beside the tour bus. He greeted me at the door. He’d been stripping some seriously ugly wallpaper in the living room, and there were shreds of it clinging to his skin and stuck in his dreads. Under different circumstances, I would have found it adorable.

“You okay?” he asked me, taking stock of my attire.

“Not exactly.” I walked past him into the living room, turning to face him when he followed. “You see, I woke up this morning with a splitting headache.” I fished in the pocket of my jeans and brought out the leather sack, holding it out to him. “Then I found this in my messenger bag.”

Something in Sinclair’s expression shifted. He took it from me without comment, loosening the cord and examining the contents.

“You know what it is, right?” I asked.

“Yeah.” His voice was flat. “You might call it a conjure bag or a gris-gris here in the States. In the Caribbean, we call it a wanga bag. Daisy, I’m so sorry. I swear, I had no idea. I would never have let Emmy do that to you.”

“I know,” I said. “But she did. And the thing is, I’m not just some girl you’re dating, Sinclair, hell-spawn or otherwise. I’m the agent of Hel’s authority in Pemkowet. I was willing to let a vague threat slide, at least for a while. Not this.” I shook my head. “I can’t. In attacking me directly, your sister challenged Hel’s order.”

He swallowed. “I don’t think she meant to, Daise. I don’t think she knew what she was doing.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Oh?”