There was a For Sale sign in front of the small house at 413 Clover Lane. Some of the windows were open to let in the warm spring air, and out of those windows, music could be heard. At the moment, it was the acoustic version of Bon Jovi's Wanted Dead or Alive.

Inside, Thirteen and her familiar, Jinx, were busy packing. The walls stripped bare, a stack of unfolded cardboard boxes leaning against a doorframe. One a table, rolls of packing tape and a felt marker for labeling. Several boxes had been constructed and filled and sealed and marked. The Acanthus, in the bedroom area, was currently working on a new box, stashing her collection of crow plushies away.

In the kitchen, Jinx stood on the counter, where he was dropping utensils into another box on the floor. One at a time, making them clatter constantly.

Thirteen scowled and angrily called over, "Would you be careful?! Pack them neatly!"

"What do you want from me, woman? I don't have hands!" came the sassy reply. A spatula was dropped and made a clanging sound.

She had to admit defeat on that point. The bird could only do so much, even if crows were surprisingly good with tools. With a sigh, she turned off the music playing on her phone. "Let's take a break."

"Music to my ears!" the familiar fluttered over to the couch, and the Enchantress joined him.

"What's got you so grouchy today, anyway? Well, grouchier?"

Thirteen sighed, "It's Friday the 13th."

"You got something against slasher flicks?"

"Not the movie, you bampot! The actual calendar date. It's the 13th of March and it's on a Friday. Not the first time this year, either. We had one last month. Two in a row is... a wee bit unsettling."

The crow cocked his head to one side, curious, "Why?"

"It's considered an unlucky day."

"I know that. Crows are symbols of bad luck, too. You don't mind the murder hanging around, or me. So what's eating you about a day of the week?"

Her brown eyes gazed out the window, watching some of the local crows perched on the power lines across the street. "When you grow up like I did, practically cursed with bad luck, you tend to take superstitions seriously. I never did anything that might bring more ill fortune down on my head. I still make an effort to avoid steppin' on a crack when I walk down the street."

Jinx, nestled into the couch cushion, kept his eyes on the woman, "You worried about your mother's back? I thought she was dead."

"It's the principle of the thing, I guess," she continued, "Habits are hard to break. Did you know I was born on a Friday the 13th? That's an omen."

"Oh! Happy birthday!"

The Acanthus rolled her eyes, "Not every Friday the 13th is my birthday! It's once a year, featherduster. Next month, in fact. That one's on a Monday."

"Do you celebrate it? Will there be cake? Balloons? Clowns?!" The crow sounded excited. He'd never participated in the human ritual before.

"I... don't, usually." Her fingers idly played with the silver necklace she wore, a small crescent moon combined with the number 13. Her magical tool, but it was more than that. "My mum gave me this. Birthday present, not long before she died. That was the last time I celebrated."

The spirit-made-flesh didn't always pick up on human social cues. Many things these hairless apes did confused him, no matter how much pop culture he tried to consume. This time, though, Jinx could sense this was a sad moment that needed some amount of tact.

"Uh, sorry." That was he could think to say.

Thirteen turned her eyes away from the window and looked down at the bird. A wan smile decorated her lips. "Thanks, lad." She reached out and gently petted his head. Jinx enjoyed it.

The pair were silent for a time. Eventually, the Enchantress broke it.

"Tell you what... how about next month, I get a cake? A small one." Maybe it was time to be a little more upbeat about her birthday.

Jinx perked up, "Can I sing the song? Oh, and can we have a clown?"

Thirteen instantly scowled, "No clowns! I'd sooner shoot one. Evil bastards."

The familiar was taken aback. "That... sounds like a whole different childhood trauma."

"Oh, no," she said, shaking her head, sending red curls bouncing, "No trauma. I just hate them on general principle."