“If we want to see just how widespread this is, I could call Dean or my grandmother.” My family has an odd genetic quirk that left most of us either immune to magic or magical, though we’d only just discovered that. My brother Dean was the wizard in the family, and we seemed to have inherited this trait through my grandmother.

“Call them,” he said, picking up the soup again.

I called the family store. Dean’s wife, Sherri, answered the phone on the second ring. “Chandler Agricultural Supply,” she sang out cheerfully.

“Hi, Sherri, it’s Katie. Is Dean around?”

“He’s out on a delivery. Can I take a message?”

“No, don’t worry about it. Is he doing okay?”

“Sure is.”

“That’s good to hear.”

“And how are things in New York?”

Of all times for my sister-in-law to decide to have a conversation with me, I groaned inwardly. “Just great. I’m having a blast.”

“I’ll tell Dean you called. Want me to have him call you back?”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll send an e-mail.”

I managed to get off the phone after another minute of chitchat, then told Owen, “The magical plague doesn’t seem to have reached Texas. And Sherri says hi.”

He shivered and pulled a knitted afghan off the back of the sofa to wrap around himself. I reached over and put a hand against his forehead. “You’re burning up. And I don’t know what to do about it if this is magical. Something tells me that your average cold-and-flu medicine won’t help.”

“It doesn’t,” he croaked. “Believe me. I’ve tried them all.”

“It seems to me that what we need to do is get you far enough away from the city that you’ll be able to think, and then we can come up with a solution.”

“I’m all for that, believe me. We probably ought to bring the boss, as well.” He pulled the afghan tighter around his shoulders and shivered again.

“Then we’ll need a car.” I knew of one person who had wheels and who might be in any shape to drive: Ethan Wainwright, the magical immune who was our corporate attorney, and whom I’d briefly dated just before getting together with Owen. I found my little address book in my purse and dialed his cell number.

As I expected, he was game—he was always up for a magical adventure. “It’ll be like old times!” he said. “It may be a few hours before I can get there, though. I’ve got a couple of things to wrap up before I can leave the office, and then I’ll have to swing by and get Merlin. I should be there around seven.”

While I was talking to Ethan, Owen had fallen asleep. I felt his forehead again and found that the fever was even higher. I wasn’t sure what to do for him. Would a magically induced fever really hurt him, or did I need to try to bring it down?

I decided that too hot was too hot, no matter what caused it, and the last thing we needed was Owen’s brain melting. I got a washcloth in the bathroom under the stairs, soaked it in cool water, then brought it back and placed it over his forehead. He moaned and stirred a little in his sleep, then caught my hand and held it, but didn’t wake.

I sat by him for the next couple of hours, rewetting the cloth when it dried or warmed up. I had a whole new appreciation for what my mom must have gone through when we were kids. As I held his hand and watched him sleep, I realized just how much I’d missed him lately. He hadn’t acted like he was angry with me when I came over, but he was probably too sick to fight. I knew I didn’t want us to be fighting. I liked him too much—maybe even loved him. I gave his hand a squeeze and whispered, “You’d best not abandon me, in any way, shape, or form.”

When he woke around six-thirty, he seemed surprised at first to see me there, but then I saw the memory return to his eyes. “Is it almost time to go?” he asked in a hoarse whisper.

“Just about.”

He forced himself upright and said, “Then I guess I’d better pack. I might need help with the stairs.” He leaned heavily on me as we walked up the stairs to his bedroom, then I went back downstairs and put out some food for the cat.

He didn’t come back down, so after a while I went up to look for him and found him asleep on his bed, but at least his bag appeared to be packed. I nudged him awake and helped him back downstairs, where he lay on the sofa and told me which reference books to bring.

When I saw Ethan’s silver Mercedes pull up on the street below, I hooked our overnight bags and Owen’s bag of books over one shoulder and half carried Owen down the stairs. He was looking worse and worse, and Ethan would need to turn the car’s air conditioner to “arctic” to keep Owen from overheating the car with his mere presence.