It was incredible what one could do with dark magic, even when one could not find the ritual one actually wanted, or when one was not using a ritual at all. Some of the uses were rather petty — sending a bout of bad luck to a former classmate, or heightening the effects of a party potion. With a few drops of blood and a muttered Québecois incantation, one could even shove some malice into a brick, malice that would continue if the spell was fed some more blood periodically. And if one had found the right brick, that malice could take out a family's floo, often enough to ensure repeat visits, strange enough to ensure that it would likely not be tied back to her. (The malice's other habits — increasing the temperature of the drainage pipe in the scullery, and snuffing out the fire early. Morrigan only hoped there would not be unforeseen consequences.)

The first time the floo broke, their visitor had not been The Woman. This was frustrating, but not a major setback. It would break again, Morrigan was sure. A few weeks passed and she was right, because there was the woman, looking at her floo. Morrigan had born intentions of using her Monday off to leave the house — they were gearing up for an extended visit from Cousin Edgar, and some of the preparation was irritating — but swiftly aborted the scheme, despite keeping her coat on. It would be helpful if The Woman thought she was leaving soon.

She stepped into the parlor and leaned against the doorframe. "This is the second time, you know," Morrigan said, raising an eyebrow. It would not be the last, either.