After two weeks of unimpeachably good behavior, Jane was starting to get antsy. She had trekked to Brooklyn nearly every day to meditate with Dee, practiced on her own in between sessions, and made excuse after excuse to exclude Harris from it all. It was exactly what she had told herself she should be doing . . . and it was getting dead boring.

There was no denying that the work was yielding results, though. She could burn out lightbulbs on purpose, and she could (usually) stop herself from blowing them out when she was angry. Her telekinesis was stronger, too. Just that morning, she had dragged Dee’s wooden bench across the living room, though the effort had left her spent, and her mind-reading was getting easier and more reliable with every attempt.

But her progress felt slow when measured against the rapid approach of her wedding in two weeks, and after that . . . well, she had no idea what life would be like in hiding. She didn’t even know which continent Malcolm would take her to. The world as she knew it would cease to exist after March 2, and that date was bearing down on them all like a freight train.

The looming uncertainty left Jane grouchy and unfocused, which was why she groaned when Dee had announced it was time for her to practice her craft in public. It felt risky, but she had to admit that it also sounded like progress.

Dee had suggested Rockefeller Center, but Jane had cringed at the image of skaters tumbling everywhere. Instead she had chosen Barneys, with the hopes of checking out the lingerie selection afterward. “It’s so freaking crowded,” Jane whispered, the adrenaline rushing out of her as the crowd of well-dressed shoppers pressed around to try on hats, jewelry, and handbags. Her almost unbearable cabin fever vanished abruptly into thin air, and she wanted nothing more than to be sitting on Dee’s saggy couch. “It’s a Thursday, for God’s sake. Don’t they have anywhere they need to be?”

“Well, we’re here,” Dee pointed out reasonably, grinning in response to Jane’s glare. “Maybe they’re practicing their magic.” She all but skipped to the elevators, forcing Jane to follow close on her chunky black heels.

I’m the witch here, so why’s she the one dressing the part? Jane thought irritably. Of course, the bright side of that was that if anyone noticed the magic she planned to work, they would most likely blame it on Dee. Jane knew she was being the slightest bit unfair: tons of New Yorkers dressed in black, heels were in for spring, and the bright red tartan coat Dee had thrown over her ensemble didn’t look the slightest bit mystical. But knowing that she was moody because she felt nervous about trying out her magic in public, and snapping out of her funk were two entirely different things.

When they reached the cast-bronze bank of elevators, Dee spun around, her face annoyingly cheerful. “Which floor?”

“Just pick one,” Jane growled. They had both agreed that the upper floors were likely to be a little calmer than the street-level one, but when it came to the actual decision between designer sportswear and shoes, Jane couldn’t care less.

Dee rolled her amber eyes, but she marched into an open elevator and punched a button at random.

“Evening wear?” Jane said, picturing piles of expensive delicate silks and satins in jagged shards on the floor. As the doors glided shut, she opened her mouth to suggest a less couture floor, but someone stuck their hand in the doors just before they closed, and suddenly Jane and Dee were surrounded by chattering shoppers.

Unable to have a meaningful conversation and momentarily distracted, Jane glanced around idly at the newcomers. Coral is back in, she noted, and woven-leather bags. A year and a half behind Paris, as usual. She couldn’t help but feel a little smug until a perfect blowout in the far corner of the elevator caught her eye. Its owner was wearing the head-to-toe black of a salesperson, and Jane had a nagging feeling she’d seen those glossy chestnut tresses before. Then the mystery employee raised a hand to rake her scarlet-nailed fingers through her hair, and Jane was sure.

Madison.

Luckily for Jane’s composure, Malcolm’s ex never turned around. When the elevator reached the fine-china floor, Jane grabbed the red hem of Dee’s coat, cautioning her to stay put. As long as there were enough people in the elevator to camouflage them, she felt a reckless desire to follow Madison. She had expected the girl to exit on the seventh floor, where the personal-shopping department was based, but Madison and three other shoppers stayed on until the very last stop. FRED’S AT BARNEYS, the lit-up button announced, and Jane realized that she was tailing Malcolm’s ex on her lunch break.

Kind of stalkerish, Jane admitted, but the curious, envious part of her brain hushed the thought. And anyway, wouldn’t a restaurant be as good a place as any to practice magic?

The restaurant boasted a pleasant milk-chocolate-colored wood motif, and a massive stone fireplace sat in one corner. When the hostess led her and Dee to their table, Jane plunked down in a chair with a sigh, picked up her menu, and glanced around it the way that she had seen people do in spy movies. The ploy felt awkward and the menu made it hard to see, so she gave up, dropped it on the table, and leveled with Dee. “That walking tanning-bed ad on the elevator with us used to date Malcolm,” she whispered. “Do you see her anywhere?”

Dee nodded. “Two tables back, to your right, with some guy,” she confirmed, barely moving her lips. Dresses like a witch, spies like a spy, Jane thought wryly. She’s like the Swiss Army knife of friends. Dee leaned out into the aisle subtly before returning with her assessment. “Kind of hunky, but if Malcolm looks anything like his photos, you win. Listen to her.”

“I’ll never be able to hear what she’s saying over this din,” Jane pointed out. “I could probably muss up her blowout a little, though. That could be fun.”

Dee rolled her eyes. “I meant listen to her thoughts.”

“Oh, right.” Jane put both hands on the table to anchor herself and took a deep breath. She then closed her eyes and focused until the voices around her diminished into white noise. She cast her mind out like a net, touching, probing, until she found a mind that felt familiar.

But it wasn’t words that occupied Madison’s mind right then. Instead, she had a fairly detailed, full-color fantasy going on, in which she crashed Jane’s wedding with her lunch date—who, in Madison’s view at least, was considerably better-looking than Dee had implied. Of course, in the fantasy, Jane’s hair was so peroxided that it was falling out in clumps, so Jane decided to take the details with a grain of salt.

The vision-Madison was wearing a skintight white dress (which she currently had on hold on the seventh floor), and Malcolm turned from his overweight straw-haired bride to see his radiant, model-thin, tropically tanned ex with her handsome oil-heir date. Predictably, Malcolm shoved Jane out of the way so he could beg Madison to marry him right away, in front of all of these witnesses, because he had never stopped loving her.

Jane gagged theatrically and reported her findings to Dee. “Nice work,” Dee said, her amber eyes glittering. “Now spill something on her.”

Jane obediently reached her mind out again toward Madison, this time looking for something inanimate. The last couple of weeks of practice had obviously yielded results; it felt as though she were running her fingers over the table behind her.

“Concentrate,” Dee whispered, and Jane almost snapped that that was harder to do with her friend talking at her, but then her mental fingers found the cold, brittle edge of a water glass, and she pressed her mouth shut and pulled. A squeal from somewhere behind her confirmed her success, and a waiter ran frantically past their table.

Jane opened her eyes and grinned at Dee, who was flashing a wide, white grin of her own. Suddenly the idea of a “real-world” practice session seemed absolutely brilliant all over again.