He could feel it, warm in his pocket, a breathless giggle at the very edge of his mind.

Not sentient. Not alive. But aware, somehow, of what it did.

Curse. Spell. Enchantment. Witching. They were all the same thing. Mind, directing emotion, calling and controlling the very particles that formed the universe and bidding them do as willed.

What was luck? Being in the right place at the right time? Not being in the wrong place at the wrong time? Was it a force?

He remembered the reaper.

What the hell would this cost?

Behind him, Sam tripped.

His family.