“No,” Clara said.

“Well, for one thing, I have a scar on my forehead that looks like a lightning bolt. Just like Harry Potter.”

Clara and I examined Glo’s forehead.

“I guess it could look a little like a lightning bolt,” Clara said. “How did you get it?”

“I crashed into the coffee table when I was six years old.”

“I don’t know if that qualifies,” Clara said.

Glo ran her finger along the scar. “An evil spirit could have pushed me.”

Clara and I rolled our eyes.

“And then there was that time I told you I saw a green aura around Mrs. Norbert,” Glo said. “And a week later, she hit the jackpot at Foxwoods.”

“That’s true,” Clara said. “I remember.”

“Anyway, this is big,” Glo said, pulling a weather-beaten, leather-bound book out of her tote bag. “This book called me into the shop. I was meant to have this book.”

Clara and I looked over Glo’s shoulder at the book. The leather was cracked with age; hard to tell if the aging was man-made or natural. The front cover was hand-tooled, with scrollwork that bloomed into flowers and leaves and tiny dragons. The book was secured with a hammered-metal clasp.

Glo slipped the clasp and opened the book to an elaborately inked frontispiece. On the page facing the frontispiece someone had written in perfect old world penmanship Ripple’s Book of Spells.

“Who’s Ripple?” Clara wanted to know.

“No one in the store knew,” Glo said. “But the book is dated June 1692. That was right in the middle of the Salem witch trials.”

“Turn it over and see if it says ‘Made in China’ on the back cover,” Clara said.

Glo looked at Clara. “You, of all people, shouldn’t be so cynical about this book. Everyone knows the Dazzles aren’t normal.”

I was new to this. I’d moved to Marblehead five months ago and wasn’t up to speed in the rumor department.

“How so?” I asked.

Glo dropped her voice to a whisper. “The Dazzles have always had special abilities. I heard some of them could fly.”