‘‘Oh, Cy,’’ I said, stopping her to give her the hug she so obviously needed. ‘‘I know you weren’t to blame for what happened with Magoth. I have never thought you would willingly bind me to him, so you can let go of that guilt.’’

‘‘But he makes you do things you hate! You have to steal for him, and I know how much that distresses you!’’

It took another ten minutes of Cyrene alternately begging my forgiveness (which had been granted many decades ago) and sobbing over what had been done before she managed to dry her eyes and pull herself together enough to hold a conversation.

‘‘May . . .’’ She fussed with the telephone cord, twirling it around and around as I unpacked my bag.

‘‘Hmm?’’

‘‘You remember when I called you last week?’’

‘‘Yes. You got terribly excited when I said I was going to Greece. Hold this, would you? I can’t find my hand lotion, and the air here is so dry I feel like my skin is going to flake away.’’

She took the cosmetic bag I held out, biting her lip as I sorted through the mishmash of belongings I’d tossed into my duffel bag. ‘‘Do you remember me saying there was something I needed a little help with?’’

‘‘Yes,’’ I said again, this time much more cautiously. I plucked a tube of ginger-and-orange hand lotion from the bottom of the bag, applying it while I watched her closely. Her eyes, which offered the only means to tell us apart (hers being a clear blue while mine were blue with a black ring around the edge of the iris), were clearly unhappy . . . and quite obviously avoiding meeting mine. ‘‘Oh, Cy,’’ I sighed, sitting down on the edge of the bed. ‘‘What sort of trouble are you in now?’’

‘‘It’s not my fault this time!’’ she exclaimed, tossing the cosmetic bag down to sit next to me. ‘‘I swear to you it isn’t! And . . . and I tried, I really tried to take care of it myself, because I know how much you dislike having to fix things for me.’’

I patted the hand that was clutching at mine, a small pit of worry forming in my gut. Cyrene seemed to attract trouble the way dung attracted flies. ‘‘I don’t mind helping you out when you need it, you know that.’’

‘‘I know, and I’m so grateful for that. It’s why I was excited when you said you were going to Greece on a job—I thought that, at last, here was a chance for me to help you.’’

‘‘That’s very generous of you,’’ I said, giving her another pat before picking up all the clothing I’d tossed out in the hunt for the hand cream. ‘‘What exactly is troubling you now?’’

She was silent. I glanced over my shoulder to see her face set in stony unhappiness. ‘‘I . . . I . . . I need to take a bath!’’