Following our last show, the curtain dropped and the stage exploded in hugs, tears, whistles, and cheers. I made the rounds, going through the motions, but I was not one of the revelers. My matinee and Saturday night performances went fine — just fine — not great. I didn’t fall or screw up, but I didn’t dance like I had on Friday, either.

The problem was Jack. I missed him. I had expected to, but it was more than that. Our good-bye had been distant and cold. First cousins in a fair number of states could legally display more affection. Worse, I honestly didn’t know where we stood. “Take care of yourself”? It sounded more like a kiss-off than an accompaniment to a see-you-soon kiss.

I kept trying to convince myself that it was just nerves. His fear of flying getting the best of him as takeoff loomed. But the way he had laughed at Logan’s remarks — I’d never seen that side of Jack before.

Penny practically tackled me with her post-Gerda hug. “Are you coming to the Kountry Kettle?” she asked, her cheeks wet with happy tears.

“I can’t. You know Afi and I start our trek to Iceland bright and early.”

“Speaking of treks, what about Jack? Did you talk to him before his flight?”

“No. I didn’t get a chance.” Because he hadn’t called me. Prior to boarding, Stanley had called my mom briefly, but Jack, he said, had wandered off.

“Are you sure you don’t have even a half hour to come out and celebrate with us?” Penny asked.

I shook my head no, but, in truth, it wasn’t the time I lacked, more like the right frame of mind.

My mood was no better the next morning as I threw the last bits and pieces into my suitcase. I scooped a brush, a pocket English-Icelandic dictionary, and my makeup case from my dresser top, when a small black velvet pouch caught my eye: the runes from Jack’s grandmother. The sack sat where I’d dropped it the morning after returning from the blizzard fiasco, in a lopsided pottery bowl I’d made in seventh grade. Somehow, their association with my horrible blunder had prevented me from researching the moonstone rocks and their engraved symbols, or even handling them. My hand hovered over the crude bowl. Sure, I expected Iceland to be a little backwater, but an ancient alphabet carved into small stones — what did I think I’d trade them for, a handful of magic beans? I hardly knew, but my greedy fingers — ignoring the TSA baggage restrictions running like a news banner at the bottom of my thoughts — snatched up the pouch and tossed it into my suitcase. Next came a good-bye to my teary mom. She, at least, had pregnancy hormones and cabin fever to blame for her crazy emotions.

“Now, remember,” she said, her voice thin, “call me, for any reason. Don’t worry about the expense.”

“OK.”

“And take care of Afi. Make sure he eats right. He’s been looking so thin.”

“I will.”

“Give me a hug, then.”

Despite the big tummy bulge, she seemed small and weak as I leaned over her bed. Taking care of her, I knew, was a big job. I just hoped Ofelia was up to it. Ofelia. Just thinking about her gave me an uneasy feeling.

“How’re we doing in here?” Ofelia said, appearing suddenly in the doorway to my mom’s bedroom. The uneasy feeling grew. Dang, her mind-reading thing was creepy.

“I’m just about ready to head out,” I said. “Afi’s probably sitting on his suitcase in his driveway.”

“No, he’s not,” Ofelia said.

My mom gave her a quizzical look; the look I gave her required a stronger adjective.

“He seems way too smart a fellow to sit in the cold,” Ofelia said, trying to cover her tracks.

“OK, Mom,” I said, lingering in the doorway. “It’s just a week. We’ll be back before you know it.”

“Love you,” my mom called out to me.

“Love you back,” I said, backing into the hallway.

Ofelia followed me downstairs.

“Don’t worry about your mother,” she said. “I’ll take care of her.”

Take care of, I rolled it around my mouth like a marble. It sounded like something Tony Soprano would say. And definitely not helping my overall mood.

“Thank you,” I said, wheeling my suitcase toward the back door.

“Katla,” she said, “there is something I feel needs saying.”

Kind of a long-way-round listen up, but it got my attention.

“What is it?”

Ofelia squinted and lowered her head. “I had not realized the strength of your calling. It is . . . What I mean to say . . . I would never forgive myself were I not to —”

“Ofelia, just tell me.”

“A warning,” she said in a gravelly voice. “You are more than a deliverer of souls, and more than a summoner of souls.”

Again, Ofelia hesitated, giving me time to ponder the difference. So she suspected what I had done for Jacob. What I hoped I had done. There still had been no news on that front.

“OK,” I said.

“Special ones may appear to you.” Ofelia gripped my shoulder. “Be careful. A pact once made cannot be broken.”

Oh, boy. And great. Because I needed one more thing to add to my load.

“No need to worry,” I said, tucking my heaviest parka under my arm. “I’m on vacation, remember?”