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“Iffit kills me—”
    â€œThen I’ll get Miss Palmer to bring you back from the beyond to chat as often as you like. Now, open up and drink.”
    He obeyed. His face was rigid as she held the cup for him, chanting a prayer. Brown rivulets leaked from the corners of his lips. Aida thought of the crunch from the mortar and pestle and couldn’t bear to watch him drink. She clamped a hand over her mouth.
    He gasped in pain—he was trying to keep it down, gagging. Bo turned around, hands on his knees, breathing heavily.
    â€œThere you go,” Velma praised.
    Winter stilled. His eyes rolled back into his head, but instead of white, they were swarming with black lines, moving and vibrating like a spiderweb being shaken by a fly. He looked possessed. Aida had never witnessed anything like this—and she’d seen a lot of strange things in her line of work.
    Bo gaped at Winter with horror-stricken eyes. “He’s not breathing. What have you done, witch?”
    â€œHe’s really not breathing,” Aida seconded.
    â€œWait!” Velma shouted.
    They all stood stock-still. Watched. Waited. Winter wasn’t moving, but the water was. It bubbled up, the pink hue turning darker . . . blackening. Something moved within it, shifting and stirring.
    Suddenly the surface rose like boiling water inside a pot. It churned and roiled, and up from the depths, tiny black shadows wriggled and danced, thousands and thousands of them.
    Everyone jumped back. Disjointed shrieks of terror reverberated through the bathroom.
    Winter’s body sagged into the mass of black shadows as if he were melting. His limp arms hung over the sides. Velma called his name, but he was unresponsive.
    As his head sank below the surface, the shadows rose until they spilled over the sides of the tub. But when they hit the black-and-white checkerboard of Velma’s floor, they just . . . disappeared. As if the entire gruesome spectacle was a mirage. Might’ve been; magic often was.
    Winter remained underwater, unmoving.
    Aida’s heart drummed a crazed rhythm. A silent scream welled up inside her.
    The foamy bathwater calmed and lightened to pink. Then, like a submarine surfacing, Winter’s head shot out above the water. Eyes wide and clear, he gulped air and began coughing.
    â€œYou see?” Velma said triumphantly as Bo and her men rushed to pull him out of the water. “I told you I was a doctor.”
    Aida exhaled a long-held breath as the men hauled Winter onto his feet and covered his shaking body in towels. He looked exhausted and defeated, but he could stand. He gave Velma a pitiful, grateful look, as if that was all he could manage.
    â€œMy pleasure,” Velma said as she turned to exit the room. “Get him dressed and leave the bathwater alone. I’ll need to throw it away at a crossroads and cleanse this room later.”
    Aida stepped in the hallway with Velma and shut the bathroom door with a shaking hand. “Is he really going to be okay?”
    Velma nodded. “He’ll feel better after a good rest. Hopefully he won’t be drawing any more ghosts . . . though I can’t do anything about him seeing them if he stumbles on any around the city. His eyes are open now—no fixing that.”
    Tough break, but Aida had little sympathy. She’d been able to see ghosts since she was a small child. If she could live with it, surely a big, tough man like him could do the same.
    The conjurer stared at the empty cup in her hands. Traces of antidote ringed the bottom. She turned it upside down on the saucer. “Once he’s back to normal, he’ll need to track down the person responsible. Looks to me like he’s got some enemies in your neighborhood.”

FOUR

    A FEW HOURS AFTER LEAVING GRIS-GRIS, WINTER SAT IN A leather armchair in his study, staring out a long set of windows that overlooked twinkling city lights ending at the