The package looked completely normal. U.S. Priority Mail medium-sized box, just like my mom used whenever mailing us gifts.
Kyle’s Highlights Kids magazine in my other hand, my phone showing 2:57 p.m. Yet again.
Oh, thank goodness. I never wanted to die in a fire again. That was absolutely awful. Remembering made it hard to breathe. So much that I wasted precious seconds going to get a drink of water before heading to my car.
By the time I set the glass on the kitchen counter, I felt a little better. Something Amira said before came to me. If I destroyed the hat, would I end the spell?
Was it even evidence of a crime?
No need to convince me. I would surely get a grim satisfaction from getting rid of this thing. First, I pulled our largest metal mixing bowl out from the cupboard and set it on the middle of the island. Far from any walls or curtains that might be scorched.
On second thought, I moved it into the sink. Less flammable, immediate access to water.
Rather than cutting open the package, I grabbed the meat tenderizer and whacked the box a few times. That felt good. The box went into the trash, the hat in the bowl. I grabbed a bottle of Kevin’s most expensive brandy from the top shelf, with barely a twinge at what it cost. After dumping the entire thing over the hat, I lit a match.
“Please, please, let this work.” I said the words aloud like a prayer.
Then I dropped the match into the bowl.