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“Barely. Turns out the curse is real, but it’s allergic to my grandmother’s folk charm.” Janice pulled a small iron talisman from her bodice. “Ma insisted I wear it to every fancy party. Always thought it was superstition.”
Forty minutes later, Ivy circled back through the sewers. She found Janice sitting on a crate, pendant still around her neck, shadows milling confusedly ten feet away like dogs who’d lost a scent. ivy wolfe janice griffith
“You’re alive,” Ivy breathed.