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“One in the left, one in the right. Don’t do like you did last time.”
    â€œWhat might that have been?” He slips the laminated leaves in his pocket.
    â€œYou didn’t put them in your shoes, and what did the Husk do?”
    What she calls Lamont. An empty shell, nothing there.
    â€œShe gave you some awful job. A dangerous one,” Nana says. “Laurel is the herb of Apollo. When you wear it in your shoes, your boots, you stand on victory. Make sure the tip points toward the toe, the stem toward the heel.”
    â€œYeah, well, I just got another awful job.”
    â€œFull of lies,” Nana says. “Be careful what you do, because it isn’t about what she says.”
    â€œI know what it’s about. Ambition. Selfishness. Hypocrisy. Vanity. Persecuting me.”
    Nana cuts off another strip of tape. “Justice is what I need in thought, word, and deed. I’m seeing a revolving sign and rubber marks on pavement. Skid marks. What’s that about?”
    He thinks of Stump’s motorcycle accident, says, “Got no idea.”
    â€œBe very careful, my darling. Especially on your motorcycle. I wish you wouldn’t ride that thing.” Laminating another bay leaf.
    When the price of gas hit three dollars a gallon, he sold his Hummer and bought the Ducati. Then what a coincidence. About a week later, Lamont came up with a new policy: Only her investigators on call could take home their state police cars.
    â€œFor tonight anyway, you get your wish because I need to fill your old battleship with gas,” he says to Nana. “Will bring it back tomorrow. Even though you’ve got no business behind the wheel.”
    He can’t stop her. So at least he’ll make sure she doesn’t end up stranded on the roadside somewhere. Nana tends to forget about flat-footed realities, such as keeping her car filled with gas, checking the oil, making sure her registration is in the glove box, locking her doors, buying groceries, paying bills. Little things like that.
    â€œYour clothes will be nice and clean. As always, my darling.” Indicating his gym bag on the kitchen counter. “What touches your skin and the magic begins.”
    Indulging her in another one of her rituals. She insists on hand-washing his workout clothes in a special concoction that leaves them smelling like an herb garden, then wrapping them in white tissue paper and returning them to his gym bag. A daily swapping. Something about an exchange of energy. Drawing negativity out of him as he sweats, while drawing in the herbs of the gods. Whatever makes her happy. The things he does that nobody knows about.
    Miss Dog stirs, rests her head on his foot. Nana centers a leaf on a strip of tape. She reaches for a box of matches, lights a Saint Michael the archangel candle in a colorful glass jar, and says, “Someone’s poking a stick at something and will pay the price. A very high price.”
    â€œPoking a stick at something is her normal routine,” he says.
    â€œNot the Husk. Someone else. A nonhuman.”
    Nana doesn’t mean an animal or a rock. Nonhumans are dangerous people incapable of love or remorse. In other words, sociopaths.
    â€œOne person comes to mind immediately,” Win says.
    â€œNo.” Nana shakes her head. “But she’s in danger.”
    He reaches across the table, plucks Nana’s car keys off the outstretched ceramic arm of a small Egyptian statue, says, “Danger keeps her from getting bored.”
    â€œYou’re not leaving this house, my darling, without putting those bay leaves in your boots.”
    He pulls off his motorcycle boots, slips in the bay leaves, making sure they’re pointing the correct way, according to manufacturer’s instructions.
    Nana says, “Today is the day of the goddess Diana, and she rules silver and copper. Now, copper is the old metal of the moon. It conducts spiritual energy, just as it