I didn’t really want to know, but I couldn’t stop myself from asking. “And the hand?”

“Disappeared. She wasn’t really strong enough to do anything with it anyway; Juanita was more of a hanger-on than a priestess. But for a long time there were serious fears that someone else might make a go of it. Eventually, John Gray and his crew were pretty much forgotten.”

I shifted uncomfortably. “That’s not surprising. It’s been an awfully long time.”

“No, not surprising, but possibly dangerous. The time’s not quite up yet. Soon, though.”

“How do you mean?”

Brian turned another page. “It’s not yet been one hundred and sixty-five years. That’s the longest his soul can stay tied to earth close enough to come back—before passing all the way over to the other side, that is. Once that anniversary has passed, he’s gone for good.”

“So it’s this year?” My math was never the best, but I knew I had to be close.

Brian returned to the book and went to a page we’d already passed, dragging his finger down the page until it stopped on the date John Gray had died. Apparently he wasn’t much good with numbers either, because he then reached for a calculator in a drawer beside the cash register to confirm my calculations. “Yes. This year. September twenty-ninth.”

“That soon?”

“Yep. About a week and a half from now and the world will be quite safe.”

“That’s . . . reassuring.” Only a week and a half away. “Quite safe” was just around the corner.

“You don’t look too reassured.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, but then I felt stupid for apologizing. “I’m not sure why it makes me feel so uneasy.”

“Probably because it’s not past yet. You’re just showing good sense.”

I grinned, trying to make it look real. “Thanks.”

He patted me on the back. For a minute I thought he was going to call me “little sister” or “little lady” again, and I might start laughing despite my unease. “Don’t worry about it so much. John Gray’s dead, and so are all his children. There’s nothing more to fear from the likes of him.”

“You’re right. I’m sure you are,” I lied, for he was too kind to argue with.

As thanks for the information, I went ahead and bought the book and some incense that smelled sweetly of vanilla and jasmine. “Take this too, on the house,” he said, handing me a tiny velveteen bag about the size of a strawberry. It was soft and blue, and inside it was tied a mixture of herbs and powders that might have been cinnamon and sage. “It’s a gris-gris.”