I returned it steadily. Along with being seriously pissed in a slow, simmering way, I was feeling pretty confident about my backup after Stefan’s visit. If Emmeline wanted a showdown, I was ready for it. But she zigged when I was expecting her to zag.

“You know, you really should have agreed to work with me on this, Daisy. It would have been ever so much more civilized,” she said, gathering her things. “Very well, I’ll go. But I’ll be back. Sinny, this isn’t over. You have a month to think about it.”

His face was stoic. “I don’t need a month. My answer is no.”

“I won’t ask nicely the next time,” Emmeline warned him. “Whatever happens, it will be on your head.”

“Nice,” I said. “Classic abusive logic. Oh, and by the way? You’re not welcome to return.”

She ignored me. “Deep down, there’s a part of you that wants it, Sinclair,” she said softly. “I know you miss me. And you know that the two of us together could be more than twice as powerful as either of us alone.”

Sinclair folded his arms. “That’s what this is really all about for you, isn’t it? Go home, Emmy.”

Reaching up, she patted his cheek with her free hand. “Think about it.”

Eighteen

That afternoon, I called in sick to work—hell, after the morning I’d had, I figured I was entitled—and Sinclair and I had The Talk. By this time, I’d already pieced together most of the details, but it was good to get the whole story.

In a nutshell, his mother was a brilliant, ferociously ambitious lawyer, now judge, and obeah woman descended from a long line of obeah men and women, and had used her gifts throughout her life to obtain whatever she wanted, including Sinclair and Emmeline’s father, who was a good-looking, hardworking, God-fearing man who had wanted nothing to do with obeah or those who worked it. When the twins were three years old, by sheer happenstance their father discovered the love charm that had bewitched him.

And no, I did not interrupt Sinclair’s story to inform him that while infatuation could be compelled, genuine desire couldn’t.

Anyway, it was at that point that his father fled the island of Jamaica, taking his son with him.

“Why did he leave Emmy behind?” I asked him. We were on the dilapidated, butt-sprung plaid couch in Sinclair’s living room, where he was lying with his head in my lap, eyes closed.

“He tried to take her,” he murmured. “She didn’t want to go. She screamed bloody fucking murder. So in the end he left her with the neighbor.”

I stroked his temples. “Do you remember it?”

“I remember Emmy screaming,” he said.

In the years that followed, the divorce and the terms of custody were settled. From the time he was a young boy, Sinclair spent one month out of every summer on the island, being trained in the tradition of obeah until he was old enough to choose otherwise.

“Why did you walk away from it?” I asked him. “I’m not arguing the decision by any means—I’m just curious.”

He opened his eyes. “I saw what it did to my father, Daise. All my life, he’s never been quite . . . whole. And my mother . . . you know, for all her power, I don’t think she’s a happy woman.”

“What about your sister?” I asked. “What was that business about the two of you being twice as powerful together?”

Sinclair was silent a moment. “It’s true, but it’s not that simple. You know what she said about obeah being a path of balance?” I nodded. “Well, I’m drawn to the light. Emmy’s drawn to the dark. Together, we’re capable of finding balance in far greater extremes.”

“Sounds kind of ominous,” I said.

“It’s dangerous,” he said soberly. “Especially for her. That’s another reason I left. What’s the point in studying healing magic, blessings, and luck charms if it drives the person closest to you deeper into darkness?”

Okay, not exactly a question I could readily answer. “You know what’s odd?” I said instead. “Emmy mentioned the whole balance thing to me last night, only she said that your dating me was one step too far into the darkness.”

“Did she?” Sinclair smiled wryly. “I think what she really meant is that it’s one step too far out of reach. This has been going on for a while, Daisy. But before, Emmy and my mother could tell themselves that I’d be drawn back into the fold eventually. It was when I came to Pemkowet that they began to worry that I’d found something that suited me better. Dating a, um, member of the eldritch community was the final straw.”

I was dubious. “I don’t know how much she said to you, but Emmy didn’t think much of your life here.” If I recalled correctly, the terms “neutered American house cat” and “japing like a mountebank” had been used, but I wasn’t about to mention that either.

“Oh, I’m sure she was horrified,” he said. “All the more so for knowing I like being the guy who drives the tour bus, who brings a spark of magic and joy into the lives of people she doesn’t think deserve it.”

“Sounds about right.” Gazing down at Sinclair’s face, I sighed. “Dammit, you were supposed to be the normal guy! The nice, uncomplicated guy with the great smile and killer thighs, the guy I could talk to about movies and go out to dinner with and hold hands and feel like a normal human girl for once in my life.”

“Sorry.” He paused. “As opposed to who?”

“Oh, no one in particular.” It was a total lie, because of course I immediately flashed on the images of both Cody Fairfax and Stefan Ludovic, my long-standing childhood crush and the centuries-old Outcast who made me feel quivery inside. “It’s just . . . this was supposed to be simple.”

“Life isn’t, Daisy,” Sinclair murmured.

“Tell me about it.” I laid one hand on his chest, feeling his heart beat steadily beneath my palm. When all was said and done, there was something soothing in the contact. “Your sister’s coming back, isn’t she?”

“Uh-huh.”

“What happens when she does?” I asked him. “Because I can order her to leave again, and I’m pretty sure I can enforce it, but I can’t stop her from coming.”

Sinclair met my gaze. “I’ll tell her no.”

“And?” I prompted him.

He took a deep breath. “My guess? She’ll try to set a duppy on me, one that will haunt me until I say yes.”

“Okay,” I said slowly, thinking. “So that’s what we need to plan for, right? Protecting you from a . . . a duppy.”

“Right.” Sinclair nodded. “And in a way, I think Emmy’s right, Daisy. I’ve been running from something I can’t run from. I need to take a measure of responsibility for my own protection. I know some, but not nearly enough. I left the practice too soon. Maybe your local coven can help?”

“Absolutely,” I said. “I’m sure Casimir would be delighted. He’s already got a grudge against your sister. Can you, um, do that? Just switch from one tradition to another?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Probably not entirely. But there should be enough overlap that I can continue to learn from them.”

“Good.”

An awkward silence descended between us. Where did that phrase come from? I wonder. Silence descended. Descended from where exactly? Was it hovering over us like the alien spaceship in Independence Day? Maybe it wasn’t really silence so much as it was the smothering weight of something unsaid, words we’d kept at bay, kept in the air, by talking about other things.

“So.” Sinclair broke the silence and broached the unspoken topic. “Where does this leave us?”

“Us.” Stalling, I echoed him. “As in you and me?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Honestly?” I shook my head. “I don’t know, I really don’t. Yesterday morning, I was coming from what was probably the most perfect and romantic night of my life, riding across the bridge on your handlebars and feeling on top of the world, and then . . . boom.”

“Yeah,” he said. “I get that.”

I withdrew my hand from his chest. “You should have told me.”

He levered himself upright on the couch. “Daisy, I swear, if I’d had any idea Emmeline was going to show up here, I would have told you sooner. I thought we had all the time in the world.”

“I know.” I blew out my breath. “But we didn’t and we don’t. We have one month to figure out how to keep your evil twin sister from setting a duppy on you. By the way, is that four weeks or a calendar month? Because it would be helpful—”

“Emmy’s not evil.” Sinclair cut me off, then backtracked, trying to lighten the mood. “Sorry. Look, did you ever see Legend? Vintage Tom Cruise? Ridley Scott film? Without darkness, there can be no light, right?”

“Of course I saw Legend!” I shouted at him, my temper flaring unexpectedly. I’d kept it on a tight rein for too long. “And I don’t need any lectures about light and darkness! What do you think I struggle with every day? And let me tell you, evil or not, your sister isn’t making it any easier!”

The air pressure in the living room intensified at my abrupt emotional shift. Dangling scraps of half-stripped wallpaper shivered.

“Daisy, I know,” Sinclair said in a low voice, calm and soothing. “Look, it’s one of the things I like about you. You may have been conceived in darkness, but you’re always struggling toward the light. I admire that. A lot.”

My anger dissipated. “Thanks,” I muttered. “Credit my mom.”

“I do,” he said. “Are you kidding, girl? I envy you your mother. I wish I had one like her.”

“Okay,” I said. “Let’s just . . . I need time to process this, all right? It’s a lot to spring on a person, Sinclair.”