“No. No you most certainly may not pet me.”

Simone shot Sarah a look that would have curdled milk. “Boy, someone’s in a mood.”

Sarah was hardly aware she’d hissed until she was halfway through her next sentence. “You woke up with a hangover, Simone! I woke up with a tail.”

Simone sighed, clearly irritated, and bounced into the kitchen to make coffee. Simone bounced even when she was hung over. “Well, look, you just have to track down that gypsy guy and get him to lift the curse.”

Stunned, Sarah curled up on the couch quietly.

Simone prompted her further. “The one you called a hobo when he asked you to dance. You know, with the tattoo. He cursed you, remember?”

A cloudy memory began rising to Sarah’s consciousness … a swarthy guy about her age, wearing baggy, filthy clothes. He had a weird tattoo on his face and smelled like garlic. She wasn’t even sure how he’d gotten into the club.

“How do you know he was a gypsy?”

“I studied them in Cultural Anthropology. You wanna find him?”