An imperceptible shift rolled over us, as if the planet somehow turned over in its bed. The magic vanished. The electric lights came on in the shop.

Everyone exhaled.

• • •

I dropped Jim off near a Pack safe house. He wanted to take a shower and change clothes. I drove to the meat market and bought another big steak. And then I drove home. I needed to take a shower and make dinner.

Magic always had a price, but in cursing that price was very clearly defined. Pay the right amount of the right commodity—the more precious, the better—and get desired result. And whoever was cursing the store owners knew exactly how far he or she could push it. The curser had cursed for their worst fears to manifest, trusting that the manifestations would kill them. He or she didn’t curse them to die. That would’ve required even greater sacrifice, his life or the life of a loved one. Just any life wouldn’t do. A sacrifice had to come at a real cost to the one casting the curse.

All of this made me anxious. We’d stopped three attempts to murder the store owners. That meant three sacrifices wasted. The person would come after us. I had no idea what my worst fear was. Well, no, I knew. My worst fear was that I wasn’t good enough. That I wasn’t woman enough, sexy enough, hot enough. I’d analyzed myself to death. I had the kind of brain that refused to stay quiet, except when Jim was near. Then it shut up and let me bask in my quiet happiness.

I got home, took a shower, and inspected the kitchen. My mother had been through it. There was cooked rice and a vegetable curry on the stove, and the fridge had been restocked with everything from tofu and cucumbers to apples and watermelon.

I’ve learned that Jim, like most shapehsifters, didn’t care for overly spicy food. He would eat it heroically, but he preferred lighter seasoning. I filled a pot with water, unwrapped the steak and dropped it in.

Blood. Ew. The scent drifted to me from the water. I got a wooden spoon and swished the steak around to get all of the blood and possible contaminants off. I pinned the steak with a spoon and poured the water off, then I got a clean towel, laid it on the counter, slid the steak onto it and patted it dry with the towel. So far so good.

I transferred the steak to a cutting board; got some garlic, squeezed it through a press; added a little tiny bit of pepper, salt, and a little bit of olive oil; smushed it all with a spoon and spread it on the steak.

I could still smell the meat.

And now I reeked of garlic. Hi, Jim, I’m your sexy garlic-smelling date.

I went to the phone to call my mother. My purifying magic came to me from my father’s line. But the curses, spells, and the systematic approach, that was all my mother. She saw things clearly, the way I did, and she had more experience.

My answering machine blinked with red. I pushed a button.

“Dali, this is your mother.”

Like I wouldn’t know.

“Komang called. She says you were there with a man.”

I leaned against the island.

“She said the man was very dark and said he was your boyfriend! I want to kno . . .”

I clicked the next message.

“This is your aunt Ayu . . .”

Click.

“Dali!” My cousin Ni Wayan. “My mother told me that you have a boyfriend . . .”

Click.

“Boyfriend? What?”

Click.

Click.

Click.

“Dali,” my uncle Aditya said. He was all the way up in North Carolina. The magic has been down for an hour. How did they even get ahold of him this fast? “I am so happy for you.”

I pressed Delete All and dialed my mother’s number. I didn’t know what was sadder, the fact that my family lived to gossip or that all of them were so overjoyed that some male person finally took an interest in me.

She didn’t pick up.

I listened to the answering machine come on with a click.

“Hi, Mom. Thank you for the food. I found out what’s wrong with Eyang Ida. Please call me back when you get in. I need some advice.”

I hung up and looked around the kitchen. I felt so alone all of a sudden. Was this what it would be like when Jim and I broke up?

Sometimes it was best not to get into relationships in the first place. Then you never had to deal with heartache. And we hadn’t even had sex yet.

Not that sex always improved relationships or somehow magically fixed them. My first sexual experience wasn’t amazing. I was fifteen, my then-boyfriend was sixteen, and it was the first time for both of us. We were both awkward and nervous enough to turn the whole thing into one long fumble. He kept asking me if I liked it and I kept thinking, “If that’s all there is to it, wow, that’s a letdown.” When we finished, he asked me if it was good for me and then he asked if I thought he had a small penis.

We quietly broke up after that. We never talked about it; we just went our separate ways. I’ve had relationships since. I dated a gorgeous blond guy in college. He was the most handsome man I had ever seen. He turned out to be dumb as a board. He was attracted to me because he bought into the whole mystical sexy Asian girl thing. Combined with my turning into a white tiger, he was sold. The sex was great, but eventually we had to talk. He was disappointed I wasn’t Chinese, and I never understood why he thought I would be, because I don’t look Chinese at all. He didn’t know Indonesia was a country. He couldn’t find it on a map even after I showed it to him several times. I told him about Bali and gave him a book with pictures. One night, about two months into our relationship he was laying on the bed next to me and asked me if I would wear a kimono for him like a geisha. And then he asked if we had geishas where I was from. I realized it had to stop.