“That’s a good idea,” Max said, slipping a key into the lock on the shop door and holding it open for her. And it was a good idea. He’d have thought of it himself, if he’d known there was an—“Hey, how did you know there was an herb pantry?”

She shrugged one shoulder, running her fingers idly along the spines of books on the shelves as she passed them. “When I was tracking him, I broke in. It was not hard. There is only cardboard over that broken window.”

Max looked to the door, where the tape he’d used to meticulously seal the empty box to the window frame hung limp and useless at one corner. “Did you take anything?”

“I am a killer, not a thief,” she said, tossing him a playful smile over her shoulder.

Swearing under his breath, he followed her. He’d come down here to escape her. He was fast learning that was an impossibility. “Carrie’s going to be back soon. I think it would be better for her to see him when he’s not, you know, bat-shit insane.”

Bella nodded absently, scanning the rows of neatly packaged herbs in their little plastic bags. “Your friend really knows what he is doing. He has everything a witch would need, and then some.”

“Then you can help him?” Max realized he’d resumed his awful habit of stepping nervously from side to side, something he thought he’d had under control years ago. He commanded his feet to stay in place.

“I hope so. Some mullein leaf should keep whatever that other being is at bay. I’ll give him valerian to induce sleep, and…” She traced down a column of herbs until her eyes widened at the sight of what she was looking for. “Catnip.”

Max made a face. He didn’t go in for most of this hippie, herbal remedy hoo-ha. “Catnip? Shall I fetch him a piece of string to play with, too?”

“You will be pleased to hear that I myself am not fond of it.” She faced him, tiny plastic envelopes of herbs clutched in her hands. “But it is a calmative plant. Hopefully, these can do their jobs.”

There were at least a hundred different dried herbs on the wall, not to mention whatever the bottles and vials on the shelves lining the cramped space contained. “Don’t you need some more? Like this stuff—what does this do?”

She took the bottle he offered and squinted at the label. “That is oil of orris root. You could use it for a love spell, but I will not help you.”

Quickly, he put the bottle back. “Very funny.”

“I am only using one for each purpose. These plants, though they are dead and dried, still have a very personal energy. Imagine if I asked you to come to a party to perform magic tricks—”

“Never gonna happen.”