"Sure." She has honey and vinegar left. She pours over all the tattoos apart from the bayleaf, and contemplates adjustments, and finally says, "Hide four marks / conceal these four / make unseen / non-leaf workings."

"No kidding. I'd share if I could, but not even my boyfriend's daemon, who can turn into a witch well enough to fly a cloud-pine and feel celestial light, can get out so much as a pure verse spell," says Amariah apologetically.

"Unfortunate," he says, rolling his sleeve down again.

"Sorry," says Amariah. "Oh, it's almost sundown. We should head back to Bella's."

"Off we go," agrees Juliet, picking up her messenger bag and following her witch counterpart out the door.

What an interesting pair.

Juliet has Sherlock's blood ready for him on time.

And Sherlock is on time to receive it.

"Hey, do you want blessings and stuff too?" Amariah asks him when he shows up. (She hangs back. She doesn't like the smell of blood either, although her distaste is about on the level of Juliet's after Slayer activation; she's had to get used to it for sacrifice components.)

"If I were you I'd be worried about a bad interaction with the goddesses from some of the spells," says Juliet. "I mean, I know it's only crosses and not also crescent moons and Stars of David and yin-yangs, but still."

"Oh, I know," he says. "But it probably won't kill me. Odds are slim it'll even hurt."

"The tattoos hurt," says Juliet.

"Seperately, I mean," he says with a wave of his hand.

"Well, this is going to wipe me out of the ingredients that I can't conjure, but I think I have enough of everything to do one more person, anyway," says Amariah. "I don't think it's worth even trying to ask Charlie, is it? I mean, mine's used to witch stuff, but I'm imagining mine if I brought home - I don't know, aliens?"

"Yeah, I think not informing him of you or offering to paint him with bayleaf ink is the best bet," says Juliet.

Sherlock laughs.

At the crypt, Amariah gets to work while Juliet shadowboxes and practices tumbling around artfully on the floor without hurting herself.

If the tattoos do hurt, Sherlock doesn't complain of it.

"Do you want these showing or hidden?"

"Oh, showing, I think."

"All right then," says Amariah. "Have you got a trash can or something for the empty bottles?"

Juliet may or may not be peering through the open archway at shirtless Sherlock, between rolls and flips and shadowboxed throws.