“I’m not sure,” said Dawes. “The spell Mercy found—”

“It was just a guardian spell,” Mercy finished. “Do you feel any different?”

Alex shook her head. “Battered, bruised, and full of quality soup. No change.”

Tripp reached into the crucible, nearly toppling into it. Turner grabbed him by the waistband of his shorts and hauled him back. There was some kind of bird in Tripp’s hand.

“Is it a gull?” he asked.

“It’s an albatross,” Dawes corrected, her voice troubled.

As they watched, its white salt wings unfurled. It took flight, circled once around Tripp, then landed on his shoulder, folding into his body as if it had found the perfect place to roost. A pattern of silvery feathers cascaded over Tripp and disappeared into his skin.

“They’re amazing birds,” said Mercy, her hands flapping as if she too were about to take flight. “They can lock their wings in place and sleep while they fly.”

Tripp grinned, arms outstretched. “No shit?”

“No shit,” said Mercy. It was the most civil exchange they’d had.

Hesitantly, Dawes reached into the ash. “I … What is that?”

The tiny salt creature in Dawes’s hand had enormous eyes and strange hands and feet that looked almost human. It sat as if it were hiding its face.

“It’s a slow loris,” said Mercy.

“It’s adorable is what it is,” said Alex.

The salt loris peeked out from behind its hands, then climbed up Dawes’s arm, its movements graceful and deliberate. It nuzzled her ear and then curled into the crook of her neck, dissolving. For a moment, Dawes’s eyes seemed to glow like moons.

Turner didn’t look impressed. “Is it going to kill those demons with cuteness?”

“They can be deadly,” Mercy said defensively. “They’re the only primates with a poisonous bite, and they move nearly silently.” “How do you know all of this?” Alex asked.

“I was a really lonely kid. The advantage to being unpopular is you get a lot more reading done.”

Alex shook her head. “Boy, did you come to the right place.”

“I’ve read about the loris,” said Dawes. “I’d just never seen one.

They’re nocturnal. And they make terrible pets.”

Alex laughed. “Sounds about right.”

Turner sighed and peered into the heap of ash. “There better be a fucking lion in there.” He drew a sculpture out of the crucible. “A tree?” he asked incredulously.

Tripp burst out laughing.

“I think it’s an oak,” said Dawes.

“A mighty oak?” offered Mercy.

“Why did everyone else get something good and I got a damn plant?”

“The spell indicated the guardians would come from the living world,”

Dawes said. “Beyond that—”

“An oak is alive!” Tripp giggled, doubling over. “You can acorn your enemies into submission.”

Turner scowled. “This is some—”

The oak sprang alive in his palm, shooting toward the ceiling, spreading in a vast canopy of white salt branches, its roots exploding over the floor and knocking Tripp to the ground. They wrapped around Turner and sank into his skin. For a moment it was impossible to tell the tree from the man. Then the glimmering branches evaporated.

Mercy was the last. Alex helped her balance as she tipped into the cauldron. She drew out a prancing horse, its mane flowing like water behind it.

As soon as Mercy set her feet back on the floor, the horse sprouted wings and reared back on its hind legs. It circled the room, seeming to grow larger and larger, its hooves shaking the ground. It leapt directly at Mercy, who screamed and threw up her hands in defense. The horse vanished into her chest, and for a moment, two massive wings seemed to extend from Mercy’s back.

She murmured a word Alex didn’t understand. She was beaming.

“We need to cleanse the ash,” said Dawes.

“Wait,” said Tripp. “There’s something else in there.”

He tipped over the edge of the crucible again and plucked a sixth salt figure from the leavings.

“A cat?” Turner asked, peering at the sculpture in his palm.

Dawes released a sob and pressed her hand over her mouth.

“Not just any cat,” Alex said, feeling an unwelcome ache in the back of her throat.

There was a scar across one of the cat’s eyes, and there was no mistaking that indignant face. The ritual had chosen Cosmo as Darlington’s guardian, although she doubted that was the cat’s true name. She remembered the white cat she’d seen in the old man’s memories. Just how long had this creature been around?

“Will they really protect us?” Tripp asked.

“They should,” said Dawes. “If you’re under threat, lick your wrist or your hand or … I guess anywhere you can reach.” “Gross,” said Mercy.

Dawes pursed her lips. “The alternate spell requires that I remove someone’s tibia to stir the pot.”

“No, thank you,” said Turner.

“I can make it fairly painless.”

“No, thank you. ”

Alex remembered the address moths Darlington had used to remove her tattoos, a gift he’d given her, an attempt to show her that the uncanny might be good for something other than causing her misery. This was the cozy

magic of childhood imagining. Friendly spirits offering protection. Cats and snakes and winged beasts to stand guard over their hearts. She tucked the salt Cosmo into her pocket, beside the Arlington Rubber Boots box she carried with her everywhere now. She needed magic to work for them for once. If they could bring Darlington home, if they could drag those demons back where they belonged … well, who knew what might be possible? Maybe she wouldn’t have to be haunted by Hellie or Darlington or anything else anymore. Maybe the Lethe board would take pity on her. She could make them the same offer she’d made Anselm. She’d happily barter her gifts if it meant she got to keep the keys to this kingdom.