Caldera’s definition of “around the corner” turned out to be on the optimistic side, and it took us twenty minutes to make our way through the busy Camden streets. Luna kept pace with me, staying half a step behind to keep me out of the radius of her curse; Caldera hadn’t specifically invited her but I’d signalled for her to come, and apart from a glance Caldera hadn’t objected. I kept an eye out the whole way, scanning for danger; it wasn’t that Caldera had done anything particularly suspicious, but my past experiences with Keepers have generally been less than positive. Nothing pinged; if I was in danger, it wasn’t the immediate kind.

The pub Caldera had picked for us looked like it had been built some time around the Iron Age: an old, crooked building with irregular floors and low ceilings, filled with nooks and crannies. It obviously hadn’t been designed for tall people, and I had to duck as I followed Caldera down the stairs into the stone cellar. “Right,” Caldera said as she led us past the patrons and to a secluded corner. “What are you having?”

“Just a Coke, please,” Luna said.

“Seriously?”

“I don’t drink.”

“Fair enough. You?”

“Whatever they’ve got on tap,” I said.

Caldera winced. “Okay, look. I’ll get you something good.” She headed to the bar.

“Is she really a Keeper?” Luna asked once Caldera was gone.

“Oh yeah,” I said, looking around the drawings and photos on the grubby paint-on-brick walls. I’d already looked into the future in which I asked Caldera, and I’d seen her show me her Keeper’s signet with its distinctive magical fingerprint. “Though it’s the first time I’ve had one ask me out to the pub.”

“Here we go,” Caldera announced, returning with a drink in either hand. She set them down in front of us and dropped into a corner seat with a contented sigh.

I took a dubious look at the contents of the pint glass she’d pushed in front of me. “What is it?”

“Porter,” Caldera said. “Try it.”

I checked to make sure it wasn’t going to poison me or anything, then took a sip. I raised my eyebrows. “Huh.”

“Like it?”

“Tastes . . . interesting.” I took another drink. It had a fruity flavour, with an odd aftertaste.

“Pretty good, right?” Caldera said. “Notice how it turns into a roasted coffee flavour after the raisin start? Not many pubs in London sell this stuff. They only brew it in London, bottle-conditioned—have to pour it out carefully to leave the yeast sediment in the bottom.”

“Hm. I’ll have to try it again next time.”

“There we go. Done some good today.”

I gave Caldera an amused look. “Not that I’m questioning your expertise on beer, but wasn’t there something you wanted to ask?”