She glared at the wall, where a wide mahogany wardrobe took up most of the space there. The night table next to the bed—her wand was on it. That wasn't where she'd left it that morning. Had he magicked it there just now, to remind her of her promise? She closed her eyes, feeling rage simmer inside her, letting it wash over her in waves, giving in to it, imagining herself with magic again, taking vengeance in the cruelest, most pleasurable of ways. That gave her relief, but it was always fleeting.