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“Like I could possibly stop now,” Desmond said. “I have got to know what kind of mad scientist bullshit they got up to.”

“Okay, I just don’t want you to feel like I’m using you,” I said.

“Oh, you are. But that’s Vaughan tradition,” he replied, with a joking tone that wasn’t joking at all.

“I guess that’s all right, then.” I rolled my eyes. “As long as I’m being atraditionalasshole.”

“You’re well on your way to fitting in,” he told me in a faux congratulatory voice. Then he hesitated. “Notfitting in here can help—sometimes. Having my dad and his family helps me remember that this isn’t...”

“Normal?” I suggested. I leaned back on the bed, bracing myself with both hands as I raised an eyebrow at him. He sighed and sat in the desk chair, resting his elbows on his knees.

“What I mean is it’s not the only way to be,” he said. “Even all of this—Thanksgiving being so formal, like it’s a show we’re putting on instead of the chance to be together. I’ll take the messy, burned casserole, arguing over who has to do the dishes version any day.”

“Why aren’t you with them this year, then?” I asked.

“My dad’s a physicist, and this year he’s working at CERN—you know, unlocking the secrets of the universe.” He said it like he was downplaying it, but his eyes glowed with pride.

“A man after Nicholas Vaughan’s heart,” I joked.

“Donotlet him hear you say that,” Desmond said with a rueful shake of his head. “Anyway, he’s in Switzerland, so it’s not reallya long weekend kind of visit. Normally, I’d go to my grandparents’ place anyway, but since I’m flying out to see Dad for Christmas I agreed to stick around for Thanksgiving. So you’re stuck with me.”

“Alas,” I said in mock despair, and we exchanged a grin. Then I cleared my throat. My gaze wandered off to stare at the wallpaper, and casually as I could, I added, “Oh. By the way. I invited Bryony Locke to join us tonight at the folly.”

“You what? Why?” Desmond asked, looking a bit panicked. “She’s the witch!”

“Exactly. She can help with the... knowing stuff.” I gestured broadly. “Besides, she’s—she’s—”

“What?” Desmond demanded.

“Very pretty,” I told him, and then groaned and flopped back on the bed, covering my eyes as my cheeks turned hot.

“Helen.”

“Yes.”

“Helen.”

“What.”

“Do you have a crush on the Harrow Witch.”

“No. Yes. Shut up,” I said.

“Helen. This is a very concerning display of bad judgment. The Harrow Witch isnotfriendly with Vaughans. ShehatesVaughans,” Desmond informed me.

“I knoooow.” I groaned, craning my neck to look up.

He tapped his chin thoughtfully. “On the other hand, maybe we’re cursed because of some falling out with the original witch, and you kissing her will break the spell.”

“Who said anything about kissing her?” I asked, scrambling up. I sat cross-legged, shoving my now-messy hair back from my face. “My plan is to absolutely never let her get the slightest inkling that I feel any way about her at all so it’ll be less mortifying that she despises me and also that I am the most awkward human being in existence.”

Desmond was grinning now, leaning back in the chair with his hands laced behind his head. “You’re gonna kiss the witch,” he told me.

“Desmond, please shut up,” I begged him.

He raised his hands in surrender. “All right. I’m leaving you here to google ‘how to get a spooky forest lady to like me,’ andI’mgoing to go do real work. Like translating obscure nineteenth-century ciphers about interdimensional space gods.” He picked up his notebook and the journal, gave me a jaunty wave, and headed for the door.

“Wait,” I said when his hand was on the knob. “Thank you.”