Herb and the Bone Witch fell into the same spell of the same book for the same reason from widely different places. This was not a love-lock spell, or some other style of curse; they would never be romantically entwined. Instead it was a seeking, a chance attempt by two to find one to care for regardless of fortunes or fashions. She gathered bees’ combs and bleached skulls to intone over, seed grains and fallen flowers to dry and grind for sprinkling on candle flames. He prayed silently into the darkness of a bottomless loneliness. She failed, lost interest, moved on to other things. He persisted, cursing both gods and the abyss, finally found himself stripped naked by her absence on the side of an ossuary hill, discovered who it was he’d needed all along.