Choosing an amulet, I massaged three more drops of my blood onto it to invoke the spell. It soaked in quickly, as if the spell pulled the blood from my finger. I extended the charm to him, thinking of the time I had been tempted to stir a black spell. I survived, but came away with my demon mark. And all I’d done was look at the book. Black magic always swings back. Always.

“It’s got your blood in it,” he said in revulsion. “Make another, and I’ll put mine in it.”

“Yours? Yours won’t do squat. It has to be witch blood. Yours doesn’t have the right enzymes to quicken a spell.” I held it out again, and he shook his head. Frustrated, I gritted my teeth. “Your dad used one, you whiny little human. Take it so we can all move on with our lives!” I thrust the amulet belligerently at him, and he gingerly took it.

“Better?” I said as his fingers encircled the wooden disk.

“Um, yeah,” he said, his square-jawed face suddenly slack. “It is.”

“Of course it is,” I muttered. Slightly mollified, I hung the rest of my amulets in my charm cupboard. Glenn silently took in my stash, each hook carefully labeled thanks to Ivy’s anal-retentive need to organize. Whatever. It made her happy and was no skin off my nose. I closed the door with a loud thump and turned.

“Thank you, Ms. Morgan,” he said, surprising me.

“You’re welcome,” I said, glad he had finally dropped the ma’am. “Don’t get any salt on it, and it should last for a year. You can take it off and store it if you want when the blisters go away. It works on poison ivy, too.” I started to clean up my mess. “I’m sorry for letting Jenks pix you like that,” I said slowly. “He wouldn’t have if he had known you were sensitive to pixy dust. Usually the blisters don’t spread.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He stretched for one of Ivy’s catalogs at the end of the table, pulling his hand back at the picture of the curved stainless-steel knives on special.

I slid my spelling book away under the center island counter, glad he was loosening up. “When it comes to Inderlanders, sometimes the smallest things can pack the hardest punch.”

There was a loud boom of the front door closing. Stiffening, I crossed my arms before me, only now recognizing that it had been Ivy’s motorcycle tooling up the road a moment before. Glenn met my eyes, sitting straighter as he recognized my alarm. Ivy was home.

“But not always,” I finished.

Five