As far as I can tell, it is a kind of banishing spell. A way to sever the connection between the Emissary and me. The problem is, in order for it to work, we have to be in the same place. Which means we either have to go looking for Death, or wait for it to come to us.

“Oh, what are these?” Jacob points to a row of brightly colored pouches. “Do we need one?”

I pick up a pretty red pouch. It’s a small, solid weight in my palm, and when I lift it to my nose, it smells … earthy. Damp. Like the woods after a storm.

“That,” says Philippa, “is a gris-gris bag.”

I look up. “What does it do?”

“All kinds of things. They’re talismans. Some for protection, and others for luck, prosperity. That one, I believe, is for balance.”

Balance. I think of the tarot card, the Two of Swords, the need to balance the scales.

“What’s in it?” asks Jacob.

“Oh, a little of this, a little of that,” says Philippa. “Let’s see, that one has a crystal, and some herbs, nail clippings, hair, a bit of grave dirt.”

I yelp and drop the bag, but Philippa catches it before it falls.

“Careful,” she says, petting the bag. “You’ve got to treat them nice. Feed and water them …”

“What does it eat?” whispers Jacob as Philippa sets the pouch back on the shelf.

“Speaking of grave dirt,” says Michael, producing a black pouch the size of a softball. “This should be enough.”

I don’t want to reach for the bundle, but I do, expecting to feel some terrible omen pass over me when it hits my hands. But it just feels like a bag of dirt.

I realize I can’t pay for any of it—not unless they’re willing to take a handful of international coins—but Renée waves me away. “The Society looks after its own.”

We load the supplies into Lara’s red backpack as Lucas polishes his glasses and says we really should be going. I wish I could stay here, in the safety of the shop, but he’s right. It’s getting late, and my parents will be waiting back at the hotel.

Jacob turns toward Philippa, who seems to be having a one-sided conversation with Amethyst the cat.

“Sorry,” he says, “about the case.”

She blinks, and looks up. “Things break,” she says with a shrug, as if she’s lost more than one display case to a moody spirit.

“Wait,” says Michael, “that reminds me.”

He takes two charms from a cabinet behind the counter. Smooth glass circles threaded onto cords. He hands one to Lara, presses the other into my palm. When I look down at the charm, I see a series of blue and white rings around a black dot.

It almost looks like an eye.