There is indeed a Costa up the street. I think Shepard is disappointed by how banal it all is. I’m relieved; I could use a muffin.

When we ask for “Old Kipper,” we’re directed to the 30-something manager, a tired-looking woman with bobbed purple hair. “I’m Kipper,” she says pleasantly. “Do you need some help?”

“Hi, Kipper,” Shepard says. “Someone at the Whistling Ogre suggested we talk to you—”

“Oh,” she says, brightening up a bit, “are you here for a commission?”

“Yes!” he says. “A commission.”

“I can take my break in a few minutes. Just have a seat.”

I get my lemon muffin, and we park ourselves in the corner of the shop. “I wonder if there are magickal coffeehouses…” Shepard says. “Do magicians have their own coffeehouses?”

“We don’t need magickal coffeehouses,” I say. “We’re magickal wherever we go.”

“Yeah, but you’re so put off by Normals, I’d think you’d want a place to escape from them.”

“Magicians don’t mind Normals, in general.” I break my muffin in half and offer him some. “It’s just me who finds you off-putting.”

He takes the muffin. “So magicians make friends with Normals.”

“All the time.”

“And tell them about being magicians.”

“Never.”

“There must be exceptions.”

“There really mustn’t.” I think of Micah and his new probably-Normal girlfriend. Does she know what he really is? I always thought Micah liked me (in part, at least) because I was a good magician. We practised our spellwork together. We talked about the magickal life we were going to share.

Kipper sits down at our table, taking off her apron. “Hi again, thanks for waiting. Unfortunately I only have a few minutes before I have to go back to the register.”

“We’ll get right to it, then,” I say.

“I’m Shepard,” he says. “And this is Debbie.”

Kipper smiles at me. “That’s my mother’s name.”

I have no reply to that, so I cut to the chase: “We’re looking for someone who knows about languages, a translator.”

“Oh.” Kipper looks disappointed.

“We’re sorry,” Shepard says. “Is that not your area?”

“No,” she says, “it is. I just thought you wanted an actual commission. I’ve been doing more watercolours. Portraits, mostly. Sometimes I do pets.”

“Really?” he asks, sincerely interested. “They didn’t tell us that. I’d love to see some of your paintings.”

Kipper already has her phone out, opening her photo folder. “I have a shop online, but sometimes people see my prints down at the Ogre and ask about me.”

Shepard is looking delighted by something on her phone. I lean over to see. It’s a watercolour of a cat wearing a bow tie.

“Oh my God,” he says. “Adorable. And really reasonable pricing.”

“People like to get their pets done after they die,” she says. “After the pets die, I mean. To remember them.”