“You do now.” She took a long swallow of coffee and peered at him over the edge of the mug. “I’m not doing this on my own; that was the deal.”

“I’ll fight with you, not for you.”

“Yeah, that was the deal, but . . .” Fuck, he wished people would stop staring at him. If he hesitated, if now she was willing to fight he even once suggested it was all up to her, she’d bail. Guilt or no guilt, she was still on the edge; he could see it in her eyes. “Okay, fine. I’ll make the damned potion. What’s the recipe?”

Arra shrugged and bent down to peer into the oven. “You know the ingredients, just use as much as seems right to you. How long until these things are ready? I’m starving.”

Tony stared down into the pot of heated vodka and took a cautious sniff. Mostly, it smelled like catnip and since that’s what this potion mostly smelled like when Arra made it, he supposed it smelled like it was supposed to. What kind of measurement was . . . as much as seems right to you anyway?

“So much for wizardry being an exact science.”

Arra had paused on her way out of the kitchen. “It’s not a science at all, kid, it’s an art. It’s like television—art and science blended.”

Knowing how big a part luck played in making good TV, comparing it to wizardry didn’t exactly inspire confidence. As far as he was concerned, a world where Joss Whedon got canceled was exactly the kind of world where the Shadowlord could win.

The contents in the second pot weren’t quite the same shade of green. He tossed in another bay leaf and a few more flakes of catnip, changed his mind and attempted to scoop them out again. Unsuccessfully. Sucking his fingers, he realized he should have used a spoon.

“I told her I didn’t know what I was doing,” he muttered down at Whitby.

Whitby stretched out a paw and languidly poked Tony in the ankle.

He sprinkled a few more flakes of catnip on the cat. Getting stoned seemed like a good idea to him, but since that wasn’t an option, he’d have to mellow vicariously.

Someone knocked on the apartment door.

Tony checked his watch. Not quite 4:30—way too early for Henry and Julian had already been by. Twice. Which didn’t, of course, rule out the fact that this could be Julian dropping by again.

He turned both pots down to simmer and hurried toward the door. Arra had made it quite clear after Julian’s second visit that a third would result in the Shadowlord knowing exactly where she was because she’d open a gate to the world of annoying gits and return her unwelcome visitor to his own kind. And his little dog, too.