“Hey, Miss Dais—” Casimir began greeting me as we entered the shop. “Holy Hecate! Girl, you look like seven miles of bad road.”
I wished he’d lower his voice. “I feel like it. Cas, I need a favor. I’ve been hexed. Can you undo it?”
Casimir came out from behind the counter to lock the front door and turn the OPEN sign to CLOSED. “I don’t know, sugar, but I’ll do my best. Tell me all about it.”
I filled him in on the details to the best of my ability. He let out a long, low whistle when I finished.
“Damn! Bitch has balls.” There was a hint of admiration in his voice. “Did she get her hands on something personal of yours? Hair, nail clippings?”
“No,” I said. “I don’t think so.”
“Are you sure?” he pressed. “Maybe a few strands of hair caught in your boyfriend’s hairbrush? Pillow? Towel?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “Maybe. I did borrow his toothbrush. But I don’t know how she’d know that.”
“Neither do I,” Casimir said. “But I told you before, I don’t know a lot about obeah.”
“So you’re saying this bitch hexed Daisy with a fucking toothbrush?” Jen asked in disbelief.
“I’m saying it’s possible, Miss Jenny-bird,” Casimir said to her. “If you can take a DNA sample from a cheek swab, you can build a spell around a toothbrush.”
All of this standing upright and talking was setting off fresh waves of agony in my pounding skull. “So can you undo it?”
“Well, we’ll see, won’t we?” He beckoned, or at least the two overlapping blurred figures of Casimir made a gesture that I interpreted as beckoning. “Come into my altar room, Miss Daisy. Ritual participants only,” he added apologetically to Jen. “But there are some back issues of Vogue and Occult Monthly under the counter.”
She nodded. “Thanks.”
Casimir led me through the door at the rear of the shop into his altar room. From what I could make out, it was a lot more clean and spare than I would have expected given his relative flamboyance.
“Step over the circle.” He guided me unobtrusively. “Good girl. Now, just make yourself comfortable on the kneeling pad while I get everything ready.”
Getting everything ready turned out to be a pretty complicated business involving numerous invocations, the donning of a tasseled and knotted scarlet cord around the waist, the lighting of candles and incense, the consecration of water with salt, the blessing of various instruments including an athamé knife and a sharpened quill feather, and the grinding of special ink in a mortar.
If I hadn’t been in excruciating pain, it would have been fascinating. I’d never actually seen the Fabulous Casimir—or anyone, fabulous or otherwise—perform a ritual like this before. Under the circumstances, I pretty much just knelt quietly in front of the altar with my eyes closed and let it all wash over me, clutching my messenger bag and concentrating on remaining upright.
“Okay, Daisy.” Casimir knelt opposite me. “I need you to hold still while I draw the seal.”
“No problem.”
He dipped the quill in the magic ink and began tracing a design onto my forehead. “This is a seal of protection. If it works, you’ll be protected for as long as the image lasts, about as long as a henna tattoo.”
Great, so I was going to look like a freak with a henna tattoo on my forehead.
The tip of the quill scratched against my skin. “You’ll still need to find the charm and dismantle it to be safe.”
“What charm?” I did my best to ask without moving my head.
“Whatever she used to fix the spell,” Casimir said patiently. “Hair, toothbrush, whatever. It could even be a photo of you.”
“Like a voodoo doll?”
“It’s the same general idea.” He dipped the quill again. “Sympathetic magic, basically. You know, in your line of work, you really should invest in a high-quality amulet,” he added. “Or ideally, a permanent tattoo.”
“On my forehead?” I said in alarm.
“Hold still,” he reprimanded me, which I thought was a bit unfair under the circumstances. Kind of like when the dental hygienist asks you a question, then sticks an instrument in your mouth. “No, it doesn’t have to be on your forehead, Miss Daisy. Protection spells work a lot better if you employ them before you’re the victim of a magical attack.”
I squinted at his blurred face. “Cooper said she had a ward. A powerful one. Is that like a protection spell?”
“Mm-hmm.” Having drawn what felt like a couple of circles and a series of straight lines, Casimir began drawing smaller, squigglier bits. “Who’s Cooper?”
“A ghoul,” I said. “He wouldn’t touch her.”
“Really.” Casimir’s hand went still. “That would be a powerful ward,” he mused, more to himself than me.
“I think it was a cowry shell.”
He resumed his squiggly drawing. “Cowry shells have a long, rich history of occult association.”
Too much talking. The pain in my head protested by rising to a fresh crescendo. I squeezed my eyes shut, taking refuge in the darkness. I couldn’t let myself rest there, though. “Cas?”
“Hmm?”
“Would a powerful ward protect dear Emmy from a physical ass-kicking?”
“Not in the slightest,” he assured me.
“Good.”
“All right, my dear.” There were bustling sounds as Casimir fussed with his implements. “I’m going to invoke the spell. Try to keep your eyes open.”
I cracked my eyelids and peered at his vague double image as he took up the black-handled athamé blade.
“Bound be all powers of adversity from the north, south, east, and west,” Casimir chanted, touching the blade lightly around me. “Bound be all ill-wishers and those who practice violence against the bearer of my seal! Bound and sealed by my hand and name shall be all who to seek to harm Daisy Johanssen.” He pressed the tip of the athamé against the center of the seal etched onto my brow. “By my will, so mote it be!”
Light flared around me.
For a brief, blessed instant, the pain simply vanished. It went away as though it had never been, and I could have wept with gratitude for the absence I’d taken for granted all of my healthy life. My vision cleared. The Fabulous Casimir’s face sprang into sharp focus. He was wearing a bouffant wig today, looking like a 1950s housewife. I could see the pores of his skin beneath a thick layer of makeup, his shrewd, concerned eyes studying me behind the long false lashes he wore.
And then the seal on my forehead contracted with a sizzling sound, drawing my skin tight. I doubled over in agony as the pain came thudding back—the spike between my eyes, the jackhammer in my jaw.
Through blurred eyes, I saw bits of dried ink sift to the floor like rusty snowflakes.
“Well,” Casimir said, “that didn’t work.”
Sixteen
The bad news was that the Fabulous Casimir’s failure meant that Emmeline Palmer’s power exceeded his by a considerable degree.
The good news was that Cas was pissed off about it. “Let me talk to the coven,” he said to me. “We’ll schedule a ritual with the full circle. There’s no way she’s a match for all of us.”
I nodded gingerly. “Okay.”
“We can do this, Daisy,” he promised me. “Don’t start looking for alternatives, you understand?”
“You mean my father?” I asked.