I had dried dandelions from last year, but I knew he’d appreciate the chance to harvest something for me. He was back almost immediately with a dew-wet, closed flower, and after shooing his kids from the window, he set it next to the lopsided pentagram I had sketched on my mobile chalkboard. It was the size of a laptop and had a cover to protect a design in transit.

“Thanks,” I said, and he nodded, lifting briefly into the air to land on the textbook.

“You going to set a circle?” he asked, looking slightly nervous, and when I nodded, he added, “I’ll…um, watch from the windowsill.”

Hiding my smile, I moved all my stuff to the other side of the island counter so I could both work and see him. “It’s a medicinal spell,” I explained. “Why take chances?”

Jenks gave me a mild, “Ummm.” I knew he didn’t like seeing me under the influence of a line. He said it was because there was a shadow on my aura that wasn’t there the rest of the time. I didn’t like it because my hair got staticky, moving in the wind that always seemed to be blowing in the ever-after.

My pulse quickened in anticipation, and I glanced at the clock. It was way before midnight—lots of time. You could work white magic after midnight, but why push your luck? Grabbing a handful of salt, I sprinkled it over the line etched in the linoleum.

Jenks’s wings shifted fitfully when I stretched out my awareness to touch the small, underused ley line running through the graveyard out back. My breath came in fast, but by the time I had exhaled, the energy flow was balanced. A faint tingling in my fingertips and a heavy sensation in my middle told me my chi was full, and I didn’t pull more off the line to spindle in my head. I wouldn’t need more than this to work the spell.

Uncomfortable, I wiggled my shoulders as if trying to fit into a new skin. It used to be that it took several moments for the strength to equalize. Practice had shaved it to almost nothing. My hair was floating already. I tried to flatten it, and my skin prickled where my muscles flexed. If I cared to, I could open my second sight and actually see the ever-after superimposed on reality, but it gave me the creeps.

“Whoops,” I said, remembering I didn’t have my candle lit yet, and went to the gas stove to get a burner going. Using a bamboo skewer, I lit the vanilla-scented candle I cleared the air with when I burned something. I shook the stick out and carefully carried the candle to the center counter, where it flickered in the muggy breeze coming in the window.