Flushing at such thoughts in front of my mother, I gave her a weak smile. She returned it, pulling her slight body up straight. “Well,” she said, “I’ll go open a jar of alfredo, then.”

Tension drained from me, and I gave her a hug. Her grip had a new tightness to it, and I responded in kind. I’d missed her. “Thanks, Mom,” I whispered.

She patted my back, and we stepped apart. Not meeting my eyes, she turned to the kitchen. “I’ve an amulet in the bathroom if you want it, third drawer down.” She took a breath, and with a cheerful face headed into the kitchen with quick, short steps. I listened for a moment, deciding nothing had changed as she chattered happily to Nick about the weather while packing the tomato-based sauce away. Relieved, I thumped down the shadowed hall in my flip-flops.

My mom’s bathroom looked eerily like Ivy’s—minus the fish in the bathtub. I found the amulet, and after washing off the Covergirl, I invoked the spell, pleased at the result. A final primp and sigh at my hair, and I hustled back to the kitchen. No telling what my mom would tell Nick if I left her alone with him too long.

Sure enough, I found them together with their heads almost touching as she pointed at the photo album. He had a cup of coffee in his hands, the steam drifting between them. “Mom,” I complained. “This is why I never bring anyone over.”

Jenks’s wings made a harsh clatter as he rose from my mother’s shoulder. “Aw, lighten up, witch. We’ve already got past the naked baby pictures.”

I closed my eyes to gather my strength. Moving with a happy swing in her step, my mother went to stir the alfredo sauce. I took her place by Nick, pointing down. “That’s my brother, Robert,” I said, wishing he would return my phone calls. “And there’s my dad,” I said, feeling a soft emotion fill me. I smiled back at the photo, missing him.

“He looks nice,” Nick said.

“He was the best.” I turned the page, and Jenks landed on it, hands on his hips as he strolled over my life, carefully arranged in neat little rows and columns. “That’s my favorite picture of him,” I said, tapping an unlikely looking group of eleven-and twelve-year-old girls standing before a yellow bus. We were all sunburned, our hair three shades lighter than usual. Mine was cropped short and stuck out all over. My dad was standing beside me, a hand on my shoulder as he smiled at the camera. I felt a sigh slip from me.