I glanced at the pain charms draped around my neck, thinking I looked like a drunken prostitute at Mardi Gras. “It’s okay,” I breathed. “Soapy water won’t dissolution them like saltwater does.”

“Ms. Tamwood wouldn’t tell me what she put in your bath,” Matalina said primly. “There might be salt in it.”

Ivy hadn’t told me, either, and to tell the truth, I didn’t want to know. “No salt. I asked.”

With a small harrumph, Matalina landed on my big toe, poking above the water. Her wings blurred to nothing, and a clear spot formed as the bubbles melted. Gathering her skirts, she cautiously bent to dip a hand, to bring a drop up to her nose. Tiny ripples spread out from her touch on the water.

“Vervain,” she said in her high voice. “My Jenks was right, there. Bloodroot. Goldenseal.” Her eyes met mine. “That’s used to cover up something potent. What is she trying to hide?”

I looked at the ceiling. If it took away the pain, I really didn’t care.

There was a creak of floorboards in the hall, and I froze. “Nick?” I called, looking at my towel just out of reach. “I’m still in the tub. Don’t come in!”

He scuffed to a halt, the thin veneered wood between us. “Uh, hi, Rachel. I was just, uh, checking on you.” There was a hesitation. “I—um—need to talk to you.”

My stomach clenched, and my attention fell upon my wrist. It was still bleeding through a wad of gauze an inch thick. The rivulet of blood on the black porcelain looked like a welt. Maybe that’s why Ivy had a black tub. Blood didn’t show up as well on black as it did on white.

“Rachel?” he called into the quiet.

“I’m okay,” I said loudly, my voice echoing off the pink walls. “Give me a minute to get out of the tub, all right? I want to talk to you, too—little wizard.”

I said the last snidely, and I heard his feet shift. “I’m not a wizard,” he said faintly. He hesitated. “Are you hungry? Can I make you something to eat?” He sounded guilty.

“Yeah. Thanks,” I replied, wishing he would get away from the door. I was ravenous. My appetite probably had everything to do with that cakelike cookie Ivy made me eat before she left. It was as appetizing as a rice pancake, and only after I had choked it down did Ivy bother to tell me it would increase my metabolism, especially my blood production. I could still taste it on the back of my throat. Sort of a mix between almonds, bananas, and shoe leather.

Nick scuffed away, and I stretched with my foot for the tap to warm the water. The water heater was probably hot by now.

“Don’t warm it, dear,” Matalina warned. “Ivy said to get out once it went cold.”

A wave of irritation swept me. I knew what Ivy had said. But I refrained from comment.