I looked at him. “I have...” I trailed off. Why was it so hard to say? Faith was...it was a slippery thing, staying with you and then slipping through your fingers before you knew it. If I had time to psychoanalyze myself, I was sure it would have something to do with my absentee father, the loss I had experienced throughout the years and the general unfairness of life, but I didn’t have time for all of that. The important part was that I did. I knew that as I stared at the kid. There were moments when I didn’t. Hell, there were entire days when I didn’t, but even when I had doubts, and Lord, did I have a lot of them, I had faith that there was a purpose.

I drew in a deep breath. “I have faith. Maybe not always. Maybe tomorrow I won’t, but I...I refuse to believe that I would be put in this position with everything else going on, only to lose him all over again. I have faith in our love. He had enough faith in our love that he Fell for me. I have faith that what I feel for him will be enough to bring him back.”

Tony stared at me through eyes that seemed decades, if not more, older. He nodded, and I wanted to ask if the honest answer had been the right one.

“I can help you,” the Crone announced.

My head snapped back in her direction, and I almost couldn’t breathe. “You can?”

She nodded as she took another sip of the pink, fruity-scented wine. “You need a spell that brings him to you and also traps him.”

Traps him? Suddenly an image of Dean and Sam Winchester formed in my heads. “Like an Angel Trap? That sounds like some Supernatural-esque stuff.”

“Heh,” giggled Tony. “I’m a Castiel fan. You?”

I almost pointed out he seemed too young to be watching that show but refrained. He’d probably seen some crazy stuff. “I’m a Dean fan.”

“Of course you are.” His eyes rolled.

“I have no idea what you two are talking about,” the Crone said. “But yes, like an Angel Trap, I suppose. Well, more like a person trap, but that’s neither here nor there.”

My brows lifted as I saw an encircled pentagram in my head. I really needed to stop watching TV. “How do I create this spell—trap, whatever?”

“You will need a few things.” She lifted a hand, motioning with her fingers.

From wherever Tony had roamed out from, a male came forward, looking more like an accountant than an actual witch. He was fair-skinned and middle-aged, dressed in a black suit. He carried something in his hand. He placed it on the table beside the Crone, bowing in her direction before turning and heading back to wherever he came from.