Nick had made us sandwiches about a half an hour ago, and the lasagna was put away into the fridge still hot. My bologna sandwich had been tasteless. I didn’t think I could blame it all on the fact that Nick hadn’t put ketchup on it as I asked, saying he couldn’t find any in the fridge. Stupid human foible. I’d find it endearing if it didn’t tick me off so much.

Ivy had yet to show, and I wouldn’t eat the lasagna by myself in front of Nick. I wanted to talk to her but I’d have to wait until she was ready. She was the most private person I knew, not even telling herself what her feelings were until she found a logical reason to justify them.

Bob the fish swam in my next-to-the-largest spell pot beside me on the counter. I was going to use him as my familiar. I needed an animal, and fish were animals, right? Besides, Jenks would flip out if I so much as hinted at a kitten, and Ivy had given her owls to her sister after one narrowly escaped being torn apart when it caught Jenks’s youngest daughter. Jezebel was fine. The owl might be able to fly again. Someday.

Depressed, I continued to grind the leaves to a pulp. Earth magic held more power when made between sunset and midnight, but tonight I was having difficulty concentrating, and it was already past one. My thoughts kept circling back to that photo and the Make-a-Wish camp. A heavy sigh escaped me.

Nick looked up from the opposite side of the counter, where he was perched on a bar stool finishing off the last of the bologna sandwiches. “Give it up, Rachel,” he said, smiling to soften his words, clearly knowing where my thoughts lay. “I don’t think you’ve been tampered with, and even if you were, how could anyone prove it?”

I let the pestle fall still and pushed the mortar away. “My father died because of me,” I said. “If it hadn’t been for me and my damned blood disease, he’d still be here. I know it.”

His long face went sad. “In his mind, it was probably his fault you were sick.”

That made me feel a whole lot better, and I slumped where I stood.

“Maybe they were just friends, like your mom said,” Nick offered.

“And maybe Trent’s father tried to blackmail my dad into something illegal and died because he wouldn’t do it.” At least he had taken Trent’s dad with him.

Nick stretched his long arm out to snag the photo still on the counter where I had dropped it. “I don’t know,” he said, his voice soft as he gazed at it. “They look like friends to me.”

I wiped my hands off on my jeans and leaned to take the picture. My eyes crinkled as I scanned my dad’s face. Sealing my emotions away, I handed it back. “I didn’t get well because of herbal remedies and spells. I’ve been tampered with.”