“These are beautiful,” she said. “Melinda must have been so grateful for that healing.”

Sydney froze mid-step. “What healing?”

“It’s not important,” I said hastily, hoping my mother would get the hint. At other times, Daniella Ivashkov was a remarkably astute woman. Today, however, she seemed to be in fully oblivious mode.

“Melinda Rowe, the Court florist,” my mother explained. “Adrian and I ran into her the last time we were out at a feeding. She was having a terrible acne flare-up, and Adrian was nice enough to speed along its healing. She promised to help get some peonies in stock in return.”

Sydney turned on me, speechless in her fury. Needing to calm this situation immediately, I grabbed hold of her arm and pulled her into our bedroom. “Make it fast,” I called to my mom, just before I shut the door.

Sydney lashed out immediately. “Adrian, how could you? You promised! You promised no more spirit, unless it was to help find Jill!”

“It was nothing,” I insisted. “It hardly took any power at all.”

“It adds up!” Sydney cried. “You know it does. Every little bit. You can’t waste it on stuff like this . . . on someone’s acne!”

Although I understood why she was upset, I couldn’t help but feel a bit hurt. “I did it for us. For our anniversary. I thought you’d like it.”

“What I’d like is for my husband to stay sane,” she snapped back.

“Well, we’re long past that,” I said.

She doesn’t know the half of it, remarked Aunt Tatiana.

Sydney crossed her arms and sat on the bed. “See? There you go. Making a joke of everything. This is serious, Adrian.”

“And I’m being serious. I know what I can handle.”

She met my gaze levelly. “Do you? I still think you’d be better off stopping spirit altogether. Go back on your pills. It’s safest.”

“What about finding Jill?” I reminded her. “What if we need my spirit magic for that?”

Sydney looked away. “Well, it hasn’t been of much use so far. No one’s magic has.”