My liege knew where I was going, and my cats were taken care of. That just left one more call that needed to be made before I could leave. It wasn’t to a local area code, even though the apartment I was calling was only a few miles away. Strictly speaking, I wasn’t sure I was even calling a phone.

Balancing the receiver on my shoulder, I pressed the keys in rapid reverse order. There was a click, followed by the hum of an expectant silence as I chanted, “Mares eat oats and does eat oats, but little lambs eat ivy. A kid’ll eat ivy, too. Wouldn’t you?” It wasn’t much of a spell. It didn’t need to be. All it had to do was remind an existing connection of where it was supposed to lead me.

There was a pause as lines that had no reason to cross crossed themselves and wires were rerouted to lead to an apartment that had never signed any agreements with the phone company. The receiver clicked twice and began making a deep, murky buzzing noise. I waited. The Luidaeg likes special effects: if you can’t handle them, don’t call her. You could always just drop by—assuming you aren’t particularly fond of having legs. “Just dropping by” on a water- hag older than modern civilization isn’t the sort of hobby meant to ensure a long life span.

The buzzing stopped with a final click, and a husky, aggravated voice said, “Hello?”

“Hello, Luidaeg.”

“Toby, is that you?” Her irritation was fading.

“Yeah, it’s me.”

“What the hell do you want?”

“I’m going to Tamed Lightning.”

She paused. “Tamed Lightning? Why would you go there? It’s nothing but dirt and morons as far as the eye can see.”

“Sylvester’s sending me.”

“Right. The head moron.” She paused again. “Why are you telling me this?”