“Jeez, Rachel,” Francis whined, dabbing at his face. “You gave me a bloody nose.”

My thoughts cleared, and I turned a mocking eye on him. “You’re a witch. Go stir a spell.” I knew he couldn’t be that good yet. He would have to borrow one like the warlock he used to be, and I could tell it irritated him. I beamed as he opened his mouth to say something. Thinking better of it, he pinched his nose shut and spun away.

There was a tug as Jenks landed on my earring. Francis was making his hurried way down the aisle, his head tilted at an awkward angle. The hem of his sport coat swayed with his stilted gate, and I couldn’t help my snicker as Jenks hummed the theme for Miami Vice.

“What a moss wipe,” the pixy said as I turned back to my desk.

My frown returned as I wedged my pot of laurel into my box of stuff. My head hurt, and I wanted to go home and take a nap. A last look at my desk, and I scooped up my slippers, dropping them in the box. Joyce’s books went on her chair with a note saying I’d call her later. Take my computer, eh? I thought, pausing to open a file. Three clicks and I made it all but impossible to change the screen saver without trashing the entire system.

“I’m going home, Jenks,” I whispered, glancing at the wall clock. It was three-thirty. I’d been at work only half an hour. It felt like ages. A last look about the floor showed only downward-turned heads and backs. It was as if I didn’t exist. “Who needs them,” I muttered, snatching up my jacket from the back of my chair and reaching for my check.

“Hey!” I yelped as Jenks pinched my ear. “Cripes, Jenks. Knock it off!”

“It’s the check,” he exclaimed. “Damn it, woman. He’s cursed the check!”

I froze. Dropping my jacket into the box, I leaned over the innocent-seeming envelope. Eyes closed, I breathed deeply, looking for the scent of redwood. Then I tasted against the back of my throat for the scent of sulfur that lingered over black magic. “I can’t smell anything.”

Jenks gave a short bark of laughter. “I can. It’s got to be the check. It’s the only thing Denon gave you. And watch it, Rachel. It’s black.”

A sick feeling drifted through me. Denon couldn’t be serious. He couldn’t.

I glanced over the room, finding no help. Worried, I pulled my vase out of the trash. Some of Mr. Fish’s water went into it. I leveled a portion of salt into the vase, dipped my finger to taste it, then added a bit more. Satisfied the salinity was equal to that of the ocean, I upended the mix over the check. If it had been spelled, the salt would break it.

A whisper of yellow smoke hovered over the envelope. “Aw shhhhoot,” I whispered, suddenly frightened. “Watch your nose, Jenks,” I said, ducking below my desk.