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.

“Why did you do that?” The words feel cold when they slip out of me.

“It was a bug.”

“It was a bee.”

Mrs. Tyburn turns her face away from me and kind of scratches her ear. “I suppose they are lovely little furry things.”

“Get a hundred more and you can make yourself a coat.”

It looks like she’s trying to change her facial expression but can’t quite make her muscles hit the mark, so I can’t tell if she’s angry or confused. You’re, like, a million years old, I want to say to her. What is Botox supposed to do, make you look half a million?

Because she’s my boss, because she’s old and I’m not, because I’d rather face the floor than look at her, because there’s a mess now and someone’s got to clean it, I go get the dustpan and the tiny broom out from under the sink and sweep her floor.

“Did you manage the rest of the corrections to Sophia’s diary?” I nod and try to soften up my face. “Very good. Let’s have a look at Herbert’s vexing little boat, shall we?”