a match for an eldritch being with fond memories of the Bronze Age and the physical capability of crushing her to death one vertebra at the time. Or maybe Gus the ogre. He could always threaten to bash her over the head and eat her.
Of course, that also meant getting someone else to fight my battle. Which wasn’t entirely unappealing—delegating wisely is an important skill and dear Emmy ought to know that there was more to Pemkowet’s eldritch community than sparkly fairies and one brother-dating hell-spawn.
On the other hand, there was option two: I could get myself unhexed without the assistance of either of the Palmer Wonder Twins. It would require the Fabulous Casimir’s aid, but again, he was a legitimate ally.
Somewhere in a dark part of my mind, my father’s voice whispered to me that there was a third option, an option that was always an option. I could claim my birthright, and all the powers it included.
You have but to ask. . . .
I sighed, pushing the thought away. Okay, so it probably wasn’t a great idea to involve Lurine or Gus unless I was actually willing to let Emmeline come to grievous bodily harm, which I wasn’t. Or at least I was cognizant of the fact that to do so would be inappropriate in my role as Hel’s liaison.
So, decision made.
“Hey, Jen,” I said. “Let’s go see Casimir.”
“Are you sure?” She checked her phone. “It’s only been about half an hour since you took the meds.”
“I’m sure. If they’re going to work, then they’ll work. But I don’t want to waste time waiting if they’re not.”
She shrugged. “Let’s go.”
Luckily for me, the Sisters of Selene was only a block and a half away. I still had to hold on to Jen’s arm the whole way, wincing at the sunlight behind my dark glasses as she steered me around the lingering tourists and reemergent locals on the sidewalks.
“Hey, Miss Dais—” Casimir began greeting me as we entered the shop. “Holy Hecate! Girl, you look like seven miles of bad road.”
I wished he’d lower his voice. “I feel like it. Cas, I need a favor. I’ve been hexed. Can you undo it?”
Casimir came out from behind the counter to lock the front door and turn the OPEN sign to CLOSED. “I don’t know, sugar, but I’ll do my best. Tell me all about it.”
I filled him in on the details to the best of my ability. He let out a long, low whistle when I finished.
“Damn! Bitch has balls.” There was a hint of admiration in his voice. “Did she get her hands on something personal of yours? Hair, nail clippings?”
“No,” I said. “I don’t think so.”
“Are you sure?” he pressed. “Maybe a few strands of hair caught in your boyfriend’s hairbrush? Pillow? Towel?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “Maybe. I did borrow his toothbrush. But I don’t know how she’d know that.”
“Neither do I,” Casimir said. “But I told you before, I don’t know a lot about obeah.”
“So you’re saying this bitch hexed Daisy with a fucking toothbrush?” Jen asked in disbelief.
“I’m saying it’s possible, Miss Jenny-bird,” Casimir said to her. “If you can take a DNA sample from a cheek swab, you can build a spell around a toothbrush.”
All of this standing upright and talking was setting off fresh waves of agony in my pounding skull. “So can you undo it?”
“Well, we’ll see, won’t we?” He beckoned, or at least the two overlapping blurred figures of Casimir made a gesture that I interpreted as beckoning. “Come into my altar room, Miss Daisy. Ritual participants only,” he added apologetically to Jen. “But there are some back issues of Vogue and Occult Monthly under the counter.”
She nodded. “Thanks.”
Casimir led me through the door at the rear of the shop into his altar room. From what I could make out, it was a lot more clean and spare than I would have expected given his relative flamboyance.
“Step over the circle.” He guided me unobtrusively. “Good girl. Now, just make yourself comfortable on the kneeling pad while I get everything ready.”
Getting everything ready turned out to be a pretty complicated business involving numerous invocations, the donning of a tasseled and knotted scarlet cord around the waist, the lighting of candles and incense, the consecration of water with salt, the blessing of various instruments including an athamé knife and a sharpened quill feather, and the grinding of special ink in a mortar.
If I hadn’t been in excruciating pain, it would have been fascinating.