Zeb rolls his eyes. “I wouldn’t feed this one after midnight,” he advises, and Max laughs.

“Mal is fine, aren’t you?” he says hesitantly.

The boy shakes his head. “It’s Xavier actually. You should really learn to listen, especially at your age. I mean, how long will you have your full hearing?”

Max stares at him, and I break into laughter. The blond boy winks at me.

At that point Patrick comes in, and when he sees Zeb his face lights up. He makes a move as if to come over, and I watch as almost simultaneously Frances grabs his arm and the grey-haired lady who must be Patrick’s mother shoots Zeb a look that suggests if she had a spell to turn him into a potato, she’d use it.

Before the old lady can get on her broomstick or call her familiar, a waiter announces that dinner is ready and we all move towards the table.

“That was a lucky escape,” Max mutters. “A second longer and you’d have been bleeding on this very expensive rug. I hope you haven’t given a damage deposit for this week. Nina looks like she’s contemplating disembowelling you before she really gets around to torture.”

Zeb shakes his head repressively and takes my arm gently to steer me down the table. There are cards stuck at the place settings, and I’m relieved to see that Zeb and I are together, and that Frances and Patrick are at the far end of the table. I’m less relieved to find that Max and Xavier are sitting at the other end and sitting opposite us is the homicidal old lady and her husband who looks like he’s contemplating throwing himself under a bus. I sneak a look at the old lady again. I wouldn’t blame him, really.

Amidst the bustle as everyone sits and snaps their napkins out, I lean closer to Zeb. “Is that Patrick’s mum?” I ask.

He blanches slightly. “That’s her. Nina and Victor.”

“And you were with Patrick for five years? Weren’t you afraid that as the offspring of a witch he’d eat you in your sleep?”

He shakes his head and fights a smile. “Be nice,” he warns me. He looks at her, and at that point she looks up and catches his glance.

“Zebadiah,” she says in a glacial voice.

He nods at her. “Nina.”

She sniffs haughtily. “I’d like to say this is a pleasure, but I’m afraid it’s not. I’m amazed you have the nerve to attend this joyous occasion.”

I open my mouth to speak but Zeb grabs my knee under the table and squeezes. Hard.

“Ouch,” I mutter.

“Behave,” he says tightly.

“I can’t promise anything if you happen to move that hand a couple of inches up.”

“A couple of inches? You’ve got a comfortable self-image.”

I shrug. “I work with what I’ve got.”