“Thank you for being so thorough,” I said, turning to pour boiling water in the teapot – and also to hide the blood that had risen to my face. I knew I should be grateful to Liz, but instead I felt a sudden wash of grief at the thought that even if Liz wasn’t this careful – and no matter what dreams I had of him – I’d never see Liam in the flesh again.

“His name is Duncan Laird,” Diana blurted. “He has a DMA from Oxford!”

“A DMA?”

“A Doctorate of Magical Studies,” Liz explained. “He’s a Wizard of the Ninth Order. We’re lucky to get him. He happened to be visiting friends in Rhinebeck. He’ll be here early this evening, around five.”

“Today?” I asked, appalled. “I’ve got a flooded basement and a leaking roof. Everything’s a mess …” I looked around the kitchen and noticed for the first time that it was not a mess. The pots and pans I’d used to catch drips had been rinsed, dried, and stacked, and put away in the pantry. The mud on the floor had been mopped up. Even the coffee cup I’d given to Bill earlier was rinsed and drying in the draining rack beside the sink. There was a note from Bill under it that read: “I’ve gotten a tarp over the roof to stop the leaks for now and went for roofing supplies.”

Wow, a man who cleaned up after himself and left notes. What better reference did I need for him?

“The house looks spic-and-span,” Diane said. “Better than mine, in fact, which reminds me; I should be getting Dr. Laird’s room ready and baking some scones for tea. A British wizard will expect a real high tea.”

“He’ll also expect that you know the basics of magical history,” Liz said to me, unloading a stack of books onto my kitchen table. “I’ve brought you Wheelock’s Spellcraft and LaFleur’s History of Magic, Volumes I through V. Try to skim through them today, would you? We don’t want him to think we American witches have no standards.”

“But he knows I’m a beginner, right?” I asked as I followed Liz and Diana to the front door.

Diana and Liz exchanged a guilty look. “Not exactly. We told him you had an unusual energy signature and had short-circuited our circle. He was … intrigued.”

Great, I thought, Liz had made me sound like an interesting lab rat. But what difference did it make what Duncan Laird thought of me? The important thing was to gain enough power to bring Brock back from Niflheim and keep the door open.

“Have you heard anything more from the governing board of IMP?” I asked on the porch.

Liz sighed. “I spoke last night to Lydia Markham at Mt. Holyrood. She’s always been a great supporter of the fey, but she was evasive when I asked how she planned to vote. Then I did a little snooping on the web and discovered that an anonymous benefactor has just given a huge bequest to fund a new science lab for Mt. Holyrood. I hate to say it, but I’m afraid Lydia’s vote might have been bought.”