“I’m not sure you should be trusted with a knife.”

“Come on. I work in a restaurant. Nothing but knives. So if I were looking for weapons, this is the last place I’d come. Right?” On second thought, Mateo wasn’t sure that was the ideal argument for him to make—but Grandma seemed to be considering it.

She didn’t know the whole truth about Captive’s Sound. Mateo was pretty sure she had no clue that witchcraft even existed. Still, she believed in the family curse—which was enough for her to know that the supernatural was very, very real. Slowly she shook her head no, then called for the butler to find the knife.

He noticed that she was leaning more heavily on her cane; her fingers trembled on the handle. Tentatively Mateo took hold of her elbow. “Hey. Do you want to sit down?”

“Don’t touch me,” she snapped.

“Okay, then.” He stuffed his hands back into the pockets of his letter jacket, took a couple of steps back.

When Grandma spoke again, however, her words were soft for once. “You meant to help. I realize that. But you’re cursed, Mateo. I swore after what your grandfather did to me that I would never again be touched by that curse if I could possibly avoid it.”

Which was why she’d frozen out his mother. Why she’d only begrudgingly acknowledged Mateo’s existence once a year for his whole life.

But now that Mateo stood this close, he could see the other side of his grandmother’s face despite her attempt to keep it turned toward the shadows. The welts had never healed, not after decades. It looked as though claws had raked across her skin, twisting cheek and eyebrow and jaw into mockeries of themselves.

Elizabeth had made her suffer, too.

Quietly he said, “None of us chose this, you know.”

For one moment his grandmother looked at him—straight at him, not trying to hide her damage—and he saw just how lonely she was. They both suffered the same isolation because of the curse; they both mourned his mother, and hated being set apart from the world. Was that only pity in her eyes, or did she maybe, finally understand him a little?

But Grandma sniffed. “I chose this when I was fool enough to marry your grandfather and bear him a child. I won’t choose it again.”

When she pulled farther back, Mateo let her go.

The butler reappeared with something large and flat wrapped in a sueded cloth; the heft of it surprised Mateo as he took it. When he flipped back one corner of the fabric, he saw a long, silver knife—more like a dagger—almost black with tarnish. Although the pattern was almost hidden in the blackness, he could tell it was the same. “This is great. Thanks for loaning it to me.”

“There is no need to return it in person,” Grandma said. “If you must come here, try to send advance word.”

She still feared him. Mateo shrugged it off as best he could, heading for the door. “Right. Got it. By the way, make that guy polish the silver sometime. What else does he do all day?”

Now that Cole had been pacified with what had to be his nine thousandth viewing of Lilo & Stitch, Nadia had a chance to unwind.

Well. If extreme moping could be considered unwinding.

Mateo and Verlaine had been so positive and encouraging, but Nadia’s heart still stung from last night’s failure. She still thought the idea had been a good one, in theory—but Elizabeth had charms and protections Nadia could only guess at.

What if she’s just too strong? What if there’s no way for me to take her on? Is it like—like when Cole tells Dad he wants to wrestle? Dad makes a good game of it and they roll around on the floor, but it’s not like he can’t pin Cole in an instant as soon as he’s ready.

Maybe that’s all Elizabeth is doing. Toying with me.

Then a rap on the window startled Nadia from her reverie. She sat upright, brightening as she thought that Mateo must have come to see her. But why hadn’t he come to the front door? Maybe he thought sneaking into her bedroom was romantic. If so, he was right.

Nadia rose and slid open her window—and realized it wasn’t Mateo who’d come to visit.

“Mind if I come in?” Asa smiled. He perched easily on the tree branch; though the limb swayed in the strong wind, his balance remained perfect.

“Yes.”

“Too bad.”

With a leap, he landed on her roof, hands on the windowsill just between hers. There was no sound, as if he were light as a cat. Nadia jumped back, an automatic reflex, but one that allowed Asa to slip through the window and stand in front of her. He wore jeans and a dark gray sweater, the expensive kind with a soft sheen to it. In every way, Asa looked just like the spoiled rich kid Jeremy Prasad had been; only the uncanny grace of his movements and the knowing sharpness of his gaze betrayed his true nature.

“Willow,” he said with a nod toward the pressed leaves and flowers on her walls. “Lavender. Minor protections, to be sure, but even little things add up after a while.”

“What the hell are you doing here?” she said, keeping her voice as low as she could while still making it really clear Asa wasn’t wanted. “Get out.”

“First we should have a chat.”

“Actually, no, we shouldn’t. Get out now.”

“I’ll leave in ten seconds.” That sounded promising—until he lifted his hands and clapped. The sounds of Cole’s movie from downstairs stopped in an instant; the music playing on her computer did, too. Nadia didn’t even bother looking at her clock. She already knew time was standing still. Asa folded his arms across his chest and leaned against her wall. “And yet we still have plenty of time to talk.”