Grim has not only gotten into Lara’s backpack, he’s pulled out everything he could reach. The cat was a small black tornado of destruction, scattering all our supplies around the room.

The bottle of oil is nowhere to be seen. The ball of white string has been unraveled, and tangled through the legs of the table and around the chair. Only the pouch of grave dirt has been left mercifully closed, though the culprit sits squarely on top of it, his black tail flicking nervously from side to side.

When I try to nudge Grim off, his ears go back, and his nails dig into the pouch, as if to say mine. Or maybe bad.

I reach for the pouch again, and he bats my hand away in warning. Perhaps he’s trying to protect me after all, telling me to stay away from this symbol of death.

Or maybe he’s just an ornery cat.

Dad hoists Grim up and plants him on the sofa, and Lara offers up her feathered crown to the cat as a distraction while I kneel on the floor, carefully scooping up the thin gray dust that spilled through the tiny holes where Grim’s claws punctured the cloth.

It takes ten minutes to find all the stones and pick up the loose matches.

“What is all this?” asks Mom, fetching the bottle of oil from where it rolled under the bed.

“Oh,” says Lara quickly. “Just some gifts I bought for my parents.”

“Speaking of which,” says Dad, making a tidy pile of the small black stones, “your aunt must be wondering where you are.”

Lara and I exchange a look.

“Actually,” she says, putting on her best grown-up voice, “Cass invited me to spend the night and my aunt agreed. If that’s all right with you.”

I exhale a little, trying to hide my relief. “That’s really nice of your aunt,” I say.

“I know.” Lara smiles. “She’s very thoughtful.”

Mom wavers. “It’s fine with us,” she says, “but I really would feel better if we called her to check.”

I hold my breath, waiting for Lara’s lie to fall apart, but she just nods and says, “Of course,” before pulling out her phone. It rings and rings, and I wonder if she’s called a real number at all when a voice answers.

“Hello! Hello! Thread and Bo—”

“Aunt Philly!” Lara calls in a bright, chiming voice. “It’s me, Lara.”

I can just make out Philippa’s whimsical voice on the other end. “Well, hello again.”

“Cassidy’s parents want to make sure I’m safe and sound, and that you’re okay with me spending the night. Will you speak to them?”

Lara hands the phone to Mom, shooting me a mischievous look. I can’t help but wonder if Lara has a little bit of Slytherin mixed in with all that Ravenclaw.

*  *  *