2

She found Jack bent over the Compendium. He looked up as Gia entered the kitchen. His eyes were red and bleary. She was sure hers were no better.

“Where’ve you been, Gi? I’ve been worried about you.”

She tried to keep her expression neutral. She didn’t want to give anything away.

“I left you a note.”

“Yeah: ‘Went out for some things. Be back soon.’ What things?”

“Ingredients.”

“For?”

She pointed to the Compendium. “Something I saw in there. A recipe for a stain remover.”

His eyes widened as he began leafing back through the pages. “Where? Where?”

“Somewhere near the middle,” she said, then quickly added, “Don’t bother. I wrote down all the ingredients.”

“But didn’t the book say it can’t be removed, even if you cut away the skin?”

“No. It said it may not be ‘shed.’ There’s a difference between shedding and having it removed by someone else.”

“Sounds like a lot of parsing, but…”

“But what have we got to lose?”

He nodded. “Right.”

Gia hoped that would be enough, that he wouldn’t go back to search for the page.

She found a saucepan, emptied the bottle of vanilla extract into it, and turned on the gas. While that was heating she laid out the other ten ingredients.

She consulted her notes—many times; she could barely think—and measured the proper proportions of the other ingredients. She noticed her hands trembling.

When the vanilla extract came to a boil, she took it off to let it cool. Then she began blending the rest in a stainless steel mixing bowl.

Five minutes later she added the vanilla and the proper amount of water, then began heating it all to a boil.

“I just…” Jack began. “I just don’t want you to get your hopes up.”

She glanced at him. “You mean our hopes?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Our hopes.”

“Don’t worry. Really, how could I feel any worse? I’m simply trying something. I’m ready to try anything.”

But her hopes were sky high. The remedy had mentioned the Lilitongue by name. She only prayed she hadn’t messed up the proportions, and that the vanilla “juice” she’d concocted was the right one called for.

Once she’d brought the mix to a boil—it measured about a cup—she removed it from the heat and poured it into a saucepan to speed its cooling. She looked at the steaming brown liquid and thought, I’m crazy. This isn’t going to work.

But she had to try. Especially since she couldn’t see a downside.

Except for the monkshood. She’d Googled that while waiting for the mix to boil. What the Chinese man had told her was true: poison if taken internally but long used topically for pain relief.

Under no other circumstance could she imagine applying a poisonous mixture to Vicky’s back…

Gia climbed to her second-floor bedroom and stood in the doorway. Her eyes filled with tears as she watched her sleeping child. She looked at the clock radio on the nightstand.

Thirty-six hours gone. That left just under two days.

My God, my God, my God, how am I going to live if she’s taken away from me?

She stretched out beside Vicky and wrapped her arms around her. If the solution didn’t work, maybe when the time came, if Gia held her tight enough, Vicky wouldn’t, couldn’t be taken away.

The pressure must have awakened Vicky because she started and twisted around.

“Mom! You’re crushing me!”

“Sorry, honey. Come on downstairs. I’ve got something I want to try on that mark on your back… see if we can wash it away.”

Vicky hopped out of bed and headed for the door.

“Really? Okay! Let’s do it now! I hate that mark! It’s ugly and I don’t want it on me.”

Gia clutched the banister railing for support as she followed Vicky’s bounding descent.

Please let this work, God. Please.

When Vicky saw Jack she squealed and leaped into his arms with the abandon of a child who had no fear of being dropped. Not by Jack, anyway. Not with their history. They’d bonded, those two, and nothing would tear them apart. Nothing except…

Jack squeezed her and laughed, but his expression as he looked at Gia over Vicky’s shoulder revealed his desperation. She saw him blinking back tears.

“Okay, Vicks,” he said. “Your mom’s going to try something on your back to see if we can get rid of that Stain.”

He set her on one of the kitchen chairs and lifted the back of her pajama top. Gia suppressed a gasp. The Stain… it now spanned almost the entire width of her narrow little back.

She stepped to the counter where she’d put the solution to cool and tested the temperature. Most of the heat had dissipated, leaving a mildly warm liquid. Gia pressed her palm into the saucepan. Once she had a thick coating, she turned and smeared the solution onto the Stain.

And now… the final prescribed ingredient: As she rubbed she had to make a wish. Not just any wish. The book had been very specific, going so far as to dictate the exact terms of the wish.

She felt almost silly. A wish… she’d been wishing the Stain away since her first sight of it. Of course she hadn’t had the recipe until now. The Compendium said the solution plus a specific wish would do it.

A simple wish…

Yet she hesitated. She hated herself for faltering, but couldn’t help it. This wish, if answered, would change so many things… would change everything…

And yet, how could she deny Vicky her safety?

So Gia closed her eyes and made the wish…

… and prayed…

… and hoped…

…and—

She felt her palm grow warm, hot.

“Ow, Mom! That hurts!”

“Jesus Christ!”

Jack’s voice. She opened her eyes and looked at Vicky’s back.

She’d smeared the solution over the middle of the Stain, planning to coat it to its borders and beyond. But that wouldn’t be necessary.

With her heart bursting Gia watched the edges of the Stain retreat, fading as they drew back toward Vicky’s spine.

Could it be? She ached to believe it but couldn’t help thinking that her mind was conspiring with her eyes to let her see what she most desperately wanted.

“It’s gone!” Jack whispered.

And it was. Not just her imagination or wishful thinking—he saw it too. Without a trace. Except for a smear of brown liquid, Vicky’s back was clear.

Gia wrapped her arms around Vicky and began to sob.

It worked! It worked!

That clear little back was worth anything—even the burning itching sensation that had just begun on her own.