“There’s one right here.” Harmony flipped open the catalog and placed a pink-tipped finger onto the page.

Bubbe shuffled closer and stared over her shoulder. By the grunt that followed, I guessed my grandmother didn’t approve of Harmony’s choice.

“It’s a hacekomoe,” Bubbe replied.

My Russian was rusty, but I could tell by my grandmother’s tone whatever Harmony had chosen, it wasn’t the source of mystical strength Bubbe had in mind.

“It’s pretty,” Harmony objected.

Another snort from Bubbe.

My emotions back under control-or at least well hidden-I wandered to the table and the open catalog. Harmony’s carefully manicured finger was flattened over the image of a tiny pink-and-purple butterfly. I grinned, thoughts of serial killers being pushed from my mind for at least a few seconds as I enjoyed Bubbe’s struggles with one of the world’s most dreaded adversaries-a teenage girl intent on getting, well, anything.

“What, you don’t like it, Bubbe?” I asked.

My response must have given Harmony hope. She beamed up at me, then jerked the neck of her mint-green T-shirt down to reveal the edge of a lace bra. “I was thinking I’d put it right here.” She pointed to the top of her right breast.

My smile vanished. “I don’t think so.”

“You have one there,” Harmony objected.

“Yeah, but it’s…” I pursed my lips, struggling to suppress the image of two round patches of skin peeled back from a pair of young bodies.

“Not a hacekomoe,” Bubbe burst into the conversation. “What strength will that give you? Cobcem he, I tell you.” Sputtering, she stomped off.

“Harmony, a tattoo-” Mother began.

“Isn’t for you.” I jumped in, the words coming out unnecessarily terse. “You’re too young. We’ve beaten this horse to death. End of discussion.” I picked up Harmony’s backpack, grabbing the catalog away from her when she moved to stuff it back inside. “Now you need to worry about getting to school.” I gifted her with the look I’d tried on Mother and Bubbe. This time it worked.