Steadfast

“Protection from what?”

“Bad dreams, for one.”

“Huh.” Mr. Caldani looked nonplussed. “Nadia’s really not the superstitious type. Let’s see. Here’s where the books live.”

The shelves were overladen with books new and used, paperback and hardback. He began searching through them, which gave Elizabeth a chance to touch her quartz ring.

Mr. Caldani muttered, “Sense and Sensibility? I’m not seeing it—but hang on. It could be anywhere in here.”

She looked at him, concentrated, and cast a spell of desire.

Light flashed in the room, though Mr. Caldani wouldn’t be able to see it. All he would be able to see—all he saw now, as he slowly turned to see her—was how beautiful Elizabeth was.

How incredibly, irresistibly beautiful.

Now he would be blinded to the fact that this was his daughter’s room, his daughter’s friend; he would only see Elizabeth’s willowy body, the perfect oval of her face, the brilliance of her eyes.

He is mine, Elizabeth thought. Nadia, your father belongs to me.

“There’s no rush to find the book,” she murmured as she stepped closer to him. “We can hang out in here for a while.”

Mr. Caldani swallowed hard. He was struggling. Fighting it. Sometimes they fought.

“Is it on this shelf, maybe?” Elizabeth stepped next to him, so close that she nearly fit in the angle between his body and the bookshelf. Her shoulder brushed against his chest.

“I—hmm. Don’t see it.”

“I’ll check down here.” She sank to her knees by his side, but Mr. Caldani immediately backed away. Elizabeth frowned. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, of course. But I, ah, have a conference call for work that starts soon, and really—you know, just get Nadia to bring it to you tomorrow at school. How’s that?”

Elizabeth hesitated, then rose. “All right.” She strolled out without a backward glance, saying nothing besides a very ordinary farewell; she pretended not to hear the strain in Mr. Caldani’s voice as he wished her a good day.

The warden-crow circled overhead as Elizabeth walked back home. She hadn’t completed her task today; the spell hadn’t been strong enough to overcome his resistance. Few men would have resisted temptation so successfully.

But there were spells that could take away any man’s will, if she needed them.

Nadia seemed to rely strongly upon her family. If she continued to complicate Elizabeth’s plans—to defy the right and natural path in front of her—then the very things Nadia relied on were the ones that would have to be crushed into oblivion.

When Elizabeth walked out the door, Simon Caldani shut it, dead-bolted it, and sank to the floor.

What the hell is happening to you? That wasn’t like him. Had never been like him. Simon had always thought guys who dated women much younger than themselves looked a little pathetic; he’d rolled his eyes when one of the other partners at his old firm brought a twenty-two-year-old date to the Christmas party. But at least twenty-two was legal, for God’s sake.

She was his daughter’s age! He’d never imagined he was even the kind of guy who could find that attractive, much less the kind who actually would. The more Simon thought about that moment upstairs, the weirder it seemed to him. Normally he’d never have let anyone in Nadia’s room without her permission, even a friend. And when he’d found himself attracted to Elizabeth, it was almost as though some kind of . . . trance had come over him, as crazy as that sounded.

The fact is, it’s been way too long since your wife left.

Simon thudded his head against the door, disgusted by himself, and sure of only one thing: He was never, ever going to be alone with that girl again.

“It’s just an experiment,” Nadia said as they waited their turn for “suicide” runs across the gym. PE was such a joy.

Verlaine didn’t look convinced. “An experiment on me.”

“Well, yeah.”

“Explain to me again why this is necessary?”

Nadia had known this would be a hard sell, but they had to do it. She needed the experimentee to be someone she knew, somebody who could be questioned thoroughly afterward without it raising too much suspicion. The only other possible candidate was Mateo, and his mind was under enough strain with the burden of the Cabot curse. So she had to get Verlaine on board.

Before she could say another word, though, the coach blew his whistle; their fifth turn was up. So she and Verlaine had to run to the first free throw line, back, half court, back, second free throw line, back—suicide runs sucked.

But as they went, Nadia managed to speak loudly enough for Verlaine to hear her over the thump and squeak of tennis shoes on the court. “I have to—try to make—Elizabeth forget stuff. Right?”

Verlaine nodded; her pale skin was already flushed red.

Panting, Nadia continued, “But I have to make sure—I can pinpoint—the spell. Make her forget first—what I want her—to forget most.”

“And this means—I have to forget something?” Verlaine said between gasps.

“Got to be—one thing—you’d like to forget. Right?”

They were on the last leg, the full-court run, and neither of them spoke until they reached the finish. As they collided with the padded back wall, Nadia scooped her sweaty hair away from her face. Verlaine said, “Could you make me forget the time I messed up at my third-grade piano recital, and the whole room went quiet while I tried to think of what to play next, and in that total silence of that crowded church, I farted louder than anybody else you ever heard in your life?”