“Hey, Mr. Rodgers,” I said. “It smells wonderful in here.” He glanced up to give me a taciturn nod.

“Do you mind if I keep working while we talk?” Sinclair asked. “We’ve got a lot to do.”

“Go right ahead.” I took a seat on an available stool, watching as Sinclair selected pieces of evergreen, trimmed them deftly with a pair of shears, and affixed them to a circular form with florists’ wire. As a Christmas wreath took shape beneath his hands, a look of serenity settled over his features. Working with plants, even cut plants, agreed with Sinclair. I almost hated to disturb him.

When I didn’t say anything, Sinclair stole a quick glance at me. “So, no luck finding that bogle?”

“No,” I said. “We found the bogle.”

“And?”

“The bogle was a big help.” I watched him wire a pinecone in place. “As a matter of fact, you can tell Stacey that she was right. She solved the Sphinx’s riddle.”

He looked up again in surprise. “No shit?”

“No shit,” I said. “If I can bind the Night Hag with a strand of her own hair, she’ll be compelled to obey me. The problem is, I need to lure her into a nightmare to do it, which is why I’m here to ask if you can hex me.”

Sinclair’s deft hands went still. “Daisy.”

Over at the adjacent worktable, Warren Rodgers set down his pruning shears and straightened.

“I need a nightmare,” I said to them. “Not just a bad dream, but a bona fide nightmare. I tried to do it myself with scary movies and greasy food, but I don’t think that can compete with her victims’ reality.”

“I imagine you’re right about that,” Warren said.

I looked back and forth between them. Neither of them looked happy about my request. Not that I’d expected happy, but I’d expected a little more responsiveness. “So can you help?”

“I’m an herbalist.” Warren’s tone was brusque. “I don’t know anything about that kind of magic.”

Sinclair was silent.

“You do, don’t you?” I said to him. “Sinclair, you know I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”

“I know you wouldn’t.” He busied himself with a sprig of holly. “But that’s dark obeah you’re talking about, and I swore I’d never go down that path. Especially after what happened with my mother and sister.”

“I’m asking for a good cause,” I said. “Doesn’t that count for something?”

“No one ever set out on the dark path thinking the end didn’t justify the means, Daisy.” Sinclair laced the holly in place, snipping the wire. “No one.”

My tail stirred. “A woman died last night, Sinclair. She died alone in a state of stark terror. She cried out for help, but no one came, because they thought she was just having a bad dream. If I can’t stop this Night Hag, there may be others. And as far as I can tell, if you won’t help me, I can’t stop her. Do you want that on your conscience?”

He shuddered, his beaded dreadlocks rattling softly. “That’s not fair.”

“You’re right,” I said. “It’s not. But it’s true.”

Sinclair glanced at Warren Rodgers, who returned his gaze impassively and said, “It’s your call, son.”

“I’ll need a few days,” Sinclair said after another long pause. “It’s not something I can prepare on short notice. And I need to consult with Casimir. I suspect he’s walked down a gray path or two in his time.”

“Thank you,” I said to him. “Um . . . how many days are we talking about?”

“Three, more or less,” he said. “If I push it, I can have it ready for you the night after tomorrow.”

“I appreciate it,” I said. “Truly.”

Sinclair gave me a look that was hard to read. “I’ll need something from you, too, Daisy. I’ll need to know your deepest, darkest fear.” He smiled without humor when I hesitated. “This kind of thing doesn’t come without a price, you know. A real practitioner of the dark path would trick you into revealing it, or better yet, get one of your loved ones to inadvertently betray you.”

“Okay.” I squared my shoulders. “Here and now?”

He shook his head. “I’ve got to prepare the charm first. Can you be at my place around eleven o’clock tonight?”

“Of course,” I said.

Warren made a shooing gesture at Sinclair. “Go on, get out of here. I can handle this on my own.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’ve done it before, haven’t I?” he said wryly. “There’s time yet. If we run short, folks will just have to wait until after Thanksgiving to buy their wreaths and swag. You need anything?”

“I could use some henbane,” Sinclair said.

“You know where the herbiary is,” Warren said. “Help yourself.”

“Thanks, Mr. Warren,” I said to him. “I appreciate your giving Sinclair the time off.”

He considered me. “Well, I figure he owes you. We all do. Just you make sure the risk he’s taking pays off.”

“I will,” I promised.

Outside, Sinclair took a deep breath. “There’s really not much I can do to speed up the process,” he said. “But it will be a blessing to have the extra time to concentrate on it. It’s going to take a lot of focus.”