Shepard takes off his jacket and looks down at the floor. He’s wearing a T-shirt underneath. The tattoos start at his wrists and wrap around his arms. They’re incredibly intricate, and it’s hard for your eyes to focus on them. Sometimes they look like vines, and sometimes they look like writing—writing in an alphabet that uses all the letters we know and about a dozen we don’t.

“Hell’s spells…” Mum says, whistling. “You are well and truly fucked, young man.”

“Mum! You’re being rude, even for you.”

“I’m sorry, Shepard. I don’t mean to be rude. But this is a … breathtaking hole you’ve dug for yourself. Do your parents know?”

“No. They don’t.”

“Where’s my phone, we’re going to need photos. And a team of occultists and a demonic Rosetta Stone. Morgana, what a mess.” She’s warming to the problem now, and I can’t help but be relieved. For a moment I thought she was going to let Shepard go to hell just because she was in a bad mood.

“There’s no recent scholarship,” she says, lifting Shepard’s shirtsleeve with her fingertips, “but there is precedence. The last outbreak was at Watford. A secret society … Never join a secret society, either of you. How bored do you have to be to do terrible things for the sake of having a secret? Wealthy people can’t even earn their secrets with any integrity.”

Shepard is keeping wisely—and shockingly—quiet.

Mum has her phone out. She’s focusing the camera on his elbow. “Do you remember when it happened? How old were you?”

“I do. I was twenty—it was two years ago.”

“Well old enough to know better.”

“Yes.”

“Did someone put you up to it? Were you tricked?”

“No. I was just … curious.”

“About demons, Shepard?”

“I’m curious about everything, Mrs. Bunce.”

“Dr. Bunce. And I’m curious to hear how you think you’re getting out of this predicament?”

“I don’t think I am.”

“What?” She’s pulled away, and she’s looking down her nose at him.

“I think I’m well and truly fucked. Just like you said.”

She glares up at him. “I was only insulting you, Shepard. I was trying to make you feel so bad about your actions that you won’t repeat them; it’s a common parental tactic. You are well and truly fucked, but I don’t intend to leave you this way.” She smiles at him, just a little.

He’s so grateful for it that he smiles back widely. “Thank you, Dr. Bunce.”

Mum tucks her phone in her pocket. “Now, let’s see your wand. Is it compromised, as well?”

“I don’t have a wand, I’m not a magician.”