I got up to fetch the menu from the pizza place. It was tacked to the refrigerator with a magnetic clip, just like it had been when Sinclair and I were dating, which gave me a bit of a pang . . . but that was my own fault.

Half an hour later, the women voting in favor of The Princess Bride, the five of us were lounging around the living room eating pizza and watching Buttercup’s heart break at the news of Westley’s death at the hands of the Dread Pirate Roberts. Given that our group contained a pair of exes, an uneasy triad of former high school nemeses, and one slightly paranoid genius, it was surprisingly companionable.

I tried to picture Stefan in our midst, and couldn’t do it. I wondered what, exactly, it was that Stefan saw in me. I really didn’t know if there was room in Stefan Ludovic’s centuries-old reality for an impromptu Spice Girls sing-along.

Maybe I’d feel differently after our big date on Saturday, but honestly, I couldn’t picture that either. It sounded like a setup for an eldritch joke: A ghoul and a hell-spawn are on their first date . . .

Where would we go and what would we do? I didn’t know if Stefan even had a car. I’d never seen him on anything but a motorcycle.

One way or another, I guess I’d find out.

God, and I’d have to figure out what to wear, too.

      Thirty-three

Sinclair called me with an update on the protection charm idea the following morning. “Casimir thinks it’s a long shot, but it’s worth a try if you’re willing to take the risk of planting it on the judge.” He paused. “Are you sure about that, Daise? Stacey won’t risk it. She’s under enough pressure as it is.”

I swallowed, my stomach lurching at the prospect. “Yeah. I don’t know how, but . . . yeah.”

“Okay,” he said. “The coven will meet tonight to discuss it. It will have to be something small and easily concealed, like the Seal of Solomon charm that Casimir gave you last fall.”

“No offense, but that thing didn’t actually prevent your mom from putting the obeah whammy on me in the cemetery,” I reminded him. “Do you really think it will be effective against Dufreyne?”

“It’s just the vessel,” Sinclair said. “We’ll take advantage of the fact that we’ve got a whole moon cycle to, um, amplify its power.”

“Pimp my charm?” I suggested.

He gave a low chuckle. “Something like that, yeah. Rituals, spells, herbs, white-light casting, maybe some of Mrs. Meyers’s knotwork . . . I don’t know. Casimir’s already doing research. Do you need the details?”

“No,” I said. “I just need it to work.”

“That depends on whether or not you’re right about Dufreyne’s personal underworld providing enough juice for magic to function in his vicinity,” Sinclair said. “That, and you not getting caught.”

My stomach lurched again. “Right. Keep me updated.”

“Will do.”

It might be a long shot—okay, it was definitely a long shot—but at least it was something. Better a half-baked plan than nothing at all. Well, except for the nauseating fear of getting caught—but I’d worry about that later. At the moment, I had far more mundane things to worry about, like the fact that I didn’t have a decent winter coat, which came home to me when Stefan called on Saturday morning to confirm our date and suggested that we attend the East Pemkowet Holiday Stroll that evening, followed by dinner at the Market Bistro.

Whatever I’d expected, it wasn’t anything quite so . . . quaint. It left me slightly dumbstruck.

“You want to do the Holiday Stroll?” I said dubiously.

“Why not?” Stefan asked in an equable tone. “Is that not the sort of thing you enjoy, Daisy?”

“Well . . . yeah.” That was an understatement. I loved the Holiday Stroll as much, if not more, than the tree-lighting ceremony. I couldn’t believe I’d forgotten it was this Saturday.

“So?”

“It’s totally corny,” I warned him. “I mean, it’s totally Stars Hollow.” Oh, for crying out loud! Stefan wasn’t going to get a Gilmore Girls reference. “I’m just saying I don’t think you’d be into it.”

There was a brief silence on the other end. “I am not entirely sure I follow your meaning,” Stefan said carefully. “But this Holiday Stroll appears to be a charming local custom.”

“Oh, it is,” I assured him.

“Are you reluctant to be seen with me?” He sounded curious, not angry.

“No!” I took a deep breath. “Okay, fine. You know what? That sounds perfect. Delightful, even.”

“Then I will call for you at your apartment at six o’clock,” Stefan said. “Is that agreeable?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Do you have a car?”

“Yes, Daisy.” Amusement laced his voice. “I have a car. I will see you this evening.”

Okay, so that whole what-to-wear issue? No longer a joke. Oh, I had a decent wardrobe, thanks to the fact that I finally let my mom contribute to it. In fact, I’d been meaning to ask her if the cocktail dress she was making me out of that midnight blue silk shantung that Lurine had purchased was anywhere near finished. But Mom didn’t have the sewing equipment to handle heavy-duty outerwear, and the one thing I didn’t have was a winter coat that was both warm and attractive.