“When will we be leaving?”

I grabbed my brush. “That’s a problem. I need to find Carris Lethway before I go. The wedding date is fast approaching.”

“True.” Gertriss bit her lip.

“Spill it. You’ve got an idea?”

“Sort of. You won’t like it.”

“You’d make a lousy salesgirl, Miss.”

“Why not ask Evis to let Mama and Buttercup stay at Avalante, until people stop marching here to set us ablaze?”

“Mama. At Avalante.”

“Surely they have a guest house?”

“Mama? At Avalante?”

“You said that once already, boss.”

“I may say it again. Right before I say no. Anyway, where would you stay?”

“With you. We could watch each other’s backs, boss. Darla wouldn’t mind. She knows it’s strictly business. And since everyone in Pot Lockney thinks we’re a couple anyway, what’s the harm?”

I shook my head. “Evis is my friend, Miss, but there are things I just won’t ask.”

“You don’t have to. I already have. Evis said yes.”

“What?”

Gertriss blushed a bit.

“I had…a feeling, boss. A Sight thing. Trouble brewing. So I sent Evis a letter, asking if Mama and Buttercup could stay at Avalante for a while. He said yes.”

“When did you do all that?”

“Yesterday.”

He’d known the whole time we’d been drinking last night, and the sharp-toothed devil hadn’t said a word.

Gertriss spread her hands. “Boss, I overstepped. I’m sorry.”

“No. No, you had a good idea, and you acted on it. That’s what I pay you for.” I got off my knees and sank onto my client’s chair. My door was a loss anyway.

“It’s a good plan, Gertriss. I’m just frustrated. Not moving too fast these days. Always a step behind.”

“You’re as sharp as ever, boss. Just tired. And you’ve got a lot on your mind. I can see that plain as day.” She sat up straight, put her hands on my desk, touched her fingertips together in a mockery of my trademark pose. “You nearly killed our latest caller, you know.”

“My patience is running is pretty thin. And for all I knew he’d brought friends. Wasn’t time to be dainty.”

She shrugged. “I never did thank you for coming to my rescue.”

“I didn’t. Buttercup did.”

Gertriss shivered. I guess walking banshee-style through solid walls was an acquired taste.

“So, Mama smelled another hex.”

“Same one as before. Somebody back home really hates me, boss. I’m sorry it’s followed me here.”

“Don’t apologize for some crazed wand-waver’s actions, Miss.”

“Sorry, boss.”

“Don’t apologize for apologizing, either.”

She made a rude gesture and frowned at the door. “Mama is coming to see us.”

Indeed, an instant later, I heard Mama slam her door shut and come stomping our way.

“This ought to be refreshing.” I shooed Gertriss out of my chair, and she perched on the end of the desk, remembering to cover her exposed knee an instant before Mama appeared in my open doorway.

“Boy,” she said. Her countenance was grim. She carried a small iron stew-pot that steamed and stank of sun-baked dead things rubbed with burnt hair and topped off with Three-leg Cat’s ten most malodorous gastric emissions.

Gertriss and I gagged as one.

“Oh, now, don’t start carryin’ on like you ain’t never smelled nothin’ ripe before.” Mama brought the foul pot inside, where it burbled and steamed and left a trail of stink. “This here brew is gonna save your skins, so you might be appreciative of my efforts, you might.”

Gertriss pinched her nose shut. As a veteran of the Troll War, I struggled to maintain my stolid military bearing and opted to hold my breath instead.

“Mama.” Gertriss’s eyes dripped with tears. “What. Is. That?”

“This here is a hex against hexes, child. You’d know that by now if’n you was taking any interest in your heritage, but seein’ as you ain’t, I’ll have to explain it.”

“Can you explain it outside, Mama? Or let me hire a carpenter and frame up a window we can open before we start?”

Mama grumbled and set the stew-pot on my desk and then began to rifle through her burlap bag. Before I could speak, she produced a top and clanged it down hard on the bubbling mess on my desk.

I made for my door, and waved it open and shut in hopes of driving some of the stench outside. I swear I saw an ogre trip as he went past, and a pair of idlers sharing a morning chat let out shrieks before fleeing for safety.

“Ain’t nobody can say it ain’t potent, can they, boy?”

“That they can’t, Mama. So, what is it? Do we just sit next to it, safe in the knowledge that nobody will ever walk down Cambrit Street ever again?”

“It’s a potion.” Gertriss released her nose. “You took something from the Sprangs, didn’t you, Mama? And from the last visitor?”

Mama cackled. “Damn right I did. Hairs. Got some from all of ’em.”

Gertriss nodded. “The hairs from the Sprangs weren’t enough, because that was one hex, is that right?”

Mama allowed herself a small smile. “That’s right, niece. But two hexes, cast from the same hand-oh, I can work with that. Oh yes, I can. This here potion, it’s gonna show you who’s been hexed a third time. Ain’t going to be no sneakin’ up on anybody. No, sir. I has had enough.” She waggled a finger at me. “Somebody is a fixin’ to pay. For comin’ after my kin, and them that I holds in high regard. People has forgot who Mama Hog is, has they? Well, by damn, I’m about to remind ’em.”

Something inside the stew-pot popped and made the lid dance. Mama slapped it and muttered a word I couldn’t make out.

“Good for you,” I said. “Mama. How does this work? Please tell me I don’t have to drink it.”

“Drink it? Boy, how long you knowed me? Have I ever tried to pour anything down that throat of yours save for tea and coffee?”

I shrugged. “So it’s not dessert. Great. But specifics, Mama-what does it do, and how?”

“If it’s like most potions, boss, we’ll need to dab a bit of it here and there, and let it dry. Is that right, Mama?”

Mama nodded.

I grimaced, not in love with the idea of dabbing that concoction anywhere.

“And if someone being ridden by the same hex that drove the Sprangs and the firebug gets close to it, we smell the whole pot, all at once, all over again.”

“Well, I reckon you know a mite more than I was given’ you credit for knowin’, niece. That’s just how it works. A dab on your door. A dab on any door. Nobody gonna smell it but you.”

“Any door? What about objects? Pens, hats, money? Would that work too?”

“It will. Anything. Can’t wash it off, neither. I makes my brews to stick.”

I nodded. If the stuff worked, it certainly had potential.

And in any case, it would probably repel mosquitoes.

“Thank you, Mama. I mean that. I know you put a lot of work into this.”

“Hush. Now. I been askin’ about that last one, the firebug. I talked to old Mrs. Ramsay. Her son spent the night in the Old Ruth for tryin’ to snatch a hair off’n an ogre on some fool bar bet. He claimed the firebug was a Packer from over Deep Ditch way. Niece, you ain’t kilt no Packers, have ye?”

“Mama.”

Mama cackled. “Well, I had to ask. Now this Packer seemed a mite slow, dim-witted I mean, according to Mrs. Ramsay’s son.”

“If Mrs. Ramsay’s boy is pulling on ogre hair he’s no genius himself, Mama, but go ahead.”

“Well, don’t that sound odd to you, boy? If this Packer be touched in the head, how’d he go thinkin’ about setting your door on fire to get everybody looking the wrong way?”

“So somebody was helping him?”

“Somebody smart enough to stay their distance. Somebody hexed, too, I’m thinkin’, because there was enough spent hex in the air to cover two men thick and strong.”

“Damn.”

Mama nodded. “So there’s another one out there, smarter than the rest. More dangerous.”

I rose and closed and locked my burnt door.

“Gonna take more than a door to end this, boy.”