This was the point in the speech where Mateo usually mouthed the final words along with Dad’s voice: blood on their hands.

Today, though—with his own knowledge of the dreams Mom had seen, too, with his grandmother’s scarred face still fresh in his memory—that blood seemed way too real.

Nadia had hoped she and Verlaine could slip up to the attic without being noticed, but there was a downside to having her father working from home.

“Well, who have we here?” He smiled as he rose from his desk; already stacks of papers were spread around him like he was building a nest. Within a week, the chaos would be total.

“Verlaine Laughton,” Verlaine said. She didn’t seem to mind meeting Nadia’s father; the weird defensive edge she had most of the time had vanished. “Nadia and I go to school together. Thanks for having me over. This house is amazing. Is it, like, a hundred years old?”

“A hundred and fifteen, according to the realtor. Did you say your name was—”

“Verlaine.” Obviously she was used to repeating it. “One of my grandmothers was named Vera, the other one was named Elaine, so my parents put them together.” Her cheery expression clouded. “I like to think they’d have chosen something else if they’d known Verlaine was also a famous poet who died of syphilis back in the day. At least, I hope they would’ve.”

“At least it’s original.” Dad laughed, though he was clearly distracted; Nadia could tell she’d have to remind him of Verlaine’s name again.

“We’ll be upstairs, okay, Dad?” Nadia hurried Verlaine out as smoothly as she could. For his part, Dad settled back into work; when he got his head into legal questions, he usually didn’t resurface for hours. Cole, meanwhile, had only looked away from the Disney Channel long enough to wave.

Verlaine followed her up to the attic, obviously wary, but when she got there, her reaction was almost deflated. “I thought this would be all, you know, spooky and mysterious.”

“Sorry to disappoint you.” Nadia stowed her school stuff in a corner. Already she’d set up a couple of card tables; someday soon, around the end of the month, she’d go Dumpster diving and see if she couldn’t find something sturdier to replace them with. Her various ingredients were stored in test tubes and flasks she’d ordered from medical-supply catalogs, along with a few apothecary jars that had been in her family for a long time, left behind by Mom when she went, probably by accident. Her Book of Shadows might get to look mystical in time—as they gained power, apparently, they could change appearance and practically take on lives of their own—but right now it looked like an ordinary leather-bound journal propped on a windowsill.

But it wasn’t all science. She had some oversize pillows to sit on, the protective blue ceiling like a cloudless sky overhead, and a secret stash of chocolate. Some materials and ingredients had the power to conduct and focus magic, and weirdly, wonderfully, chocolate was one of the best.