“No can do, sweetheart,” he said. “Once the seal’s broken, the magic starts to evaporate.”

“Okay.” Nine hundred bucks for a bottle of dew. I took out my credit card, calculating how much I had left on my limit. I really, really hoped the PVB didn’t quibble at the cost. Also that they paid their invoices promptly, or I was going to have a hell of a time making my rent next month. “There’s no invocation, is there? I never used one as a kid, but it didn’t always work, either.”

“No, but to do it properly, you need a spotless, round white tablecloth, preferably Irish linen.” The Fabulous Casimir nodded at the door with a sour look. “Try across the street. I used to stock them, but they undercut my prices.”

An Irish linen tablecloth from the Elegant Table set me back another eighty bucks. I was beginning to realize I’d gotten off cheap summoning naiads. Apparently fairies were a lot pricier when you went the commercial route. No wonder the naiads took offense.

After depositing my purchases and the file on Dr. Midnight’s star attraction in my apartment, I ducked into the park, where there were a couple of spectacular old oak trees. I hunted around beneath their shade, scrabbling my fingers through the thin grass that grew there, rooting in the hard-packed dirt. In mid-July, it was harder than you might think to find acorn caps.

“Whatcha doin’?” a small voice asked me.

I looked up to see a chubby boy some six or seven years old, wearing a striped shirt, khaki shorts, and kid-size Crocs on his feet, watching me gravely. “Looking for acorn caps.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to have a tea party for some fairies.” I sat back on my heels. “Where are your parents?”

He pointed toward a pair of exhausted-looking women seated on a park bench surrounded by shopping bags. “That’s Mom and Aunt Nancy. They’ve been shopping all day long. Can I come to your tea party?”

“No,” I said. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Fairies are very shy.”

“Oh.” With perfect unselfconsciousness, he rooted around in one nostril with his finger, and okay, ew, but I kind of liked the kid’s aplomb. He pulled out his finger and inspected the tip. “Can I help you look?”

The nearby rhododendron bushes rustled, and Mogwai deigned to make an appearance, winding around the boy’s Croc-strapped ankles and purring.

Boogers notwithstanding, I felt an inexplicable surge of tenderness. “Sure, why not? What’s your name?”

He beamed at me. “Jake.”

“Hi, Jake.” I smiled back at him. “I’m Daisy.”

It turned out to be a smart move. When it came to finding acorn caps, Jake was like one of those truffle-hunting pigs in France. With his help, I soon had a good twenty-some nubby, hollow caps.