“It’s those pesky overactive libidos.”

“Thank God that’s over.”

“Speaking of libidos, what day is it?”

“Why,” Frances puts on fake surprise. “I do believe it’s Friday. First one of the month, in fact.”

“Already? I wonder who Ted will row over this month.”

I mark my page with the leaf I’ve been using and gather up my bag, fighting off the massive smile Gretchen and Frances planted there.

I hand the nail scissors back to Gretchen and they let me by. “Um, thanks.” It seems like the polite thing since I don’t know what else to say.

“See you tonight,” Frances chants after me.

First Friday of the month. I completely forgot. I take out my phone; I put it on silent when I got to the Oceanic. One missed call. Jason.

Chapter Three

It’s late, almost quarter past two, and I’m running again, past the clumps of long, pale grass bent from how the wind’s always bothering them. It’s hot. My underarms are all itchy. I shouldn’t be nervous about Jason coming but I can’t help it. Little e-fiend butterflies are having a sweaty rave in my stomach as I climb the hill. Jesus, it got really hot. And what am I wearing? It doesn’t matter. I don’t even look right in my own clothes, so I might as well look wrong in Lolly’s. I consider stopping to call Jason back—I’m already late; two more minutes won’t make a difference—but I’d rather call when I’ve gotten my breath back and I’m less at risk of sounding like someone’s asthmatic phone stalker.

Mrs. Tyburn is at the kitchen table looking through the Sotheby’s catalog. She glances at her watch when I walk in. She won’t say anything if I stay a little late tonight.

“Pleasant lunch?”

“Yeah. I went to the Oceanic to read to the Duchess for a bit.”

She smiles and sort of coos at me.

Just then her eyes move, and mine follow. Up, then quickly left and right. There’s a noise, a long scratch. Now it’s gone, and in a second it’s back again. When the pitch changes from low to irritatingly high, I can see it. Our eyes meet as it flies between us and then shoot up as it makes for the ceiling. It hovers back down again in a quick zigzag and lands on the edge of the table near the sugar dish. Mrs. Tyburn squints, then moves so fast it makes me flinch.

It’s like an igloo exploded—white cubes in the air, scattering across the table and onto the floor. I manage to catch the sugar dish before it falls and shatters. I start picking up the glittering cubes from the tabletop and when Mrs. Tyburn moves the catalog I spot the little body.

“Got it.”

Just. She whacked the catalog down when it was on the very edge of the table; it almost got away. Another inch or two and she would have made it. Her wings twitch against the stripy fur on her back.