“I want you to keep me company for a while. I like you. You’re not like normal little girls. I’d say you’re much more mature. What do you think?”

“Um . . .”

“Sit,” said Jupiter Peacock. “I want to read something to you. It’s called “Galloglass.” It’s a very old poem that I have recently translated into English. It contains some extremely important philosophy, from the days before the Great Split, when all worlds were one. But I expect you don’t know anything about that. Anyway, sit. SIT.”

Buttons jumped off Lexy’s shoulder and went back to his basket. He didn’t like shouting.

Lexy had no choice. She had to sit down. She calculated that she could listen to him for five minutes, but then she’d need to get outside before the moonlight faded. It was at its strongest right now—which was why she’d come down at exactly this moment.

Jupiter Peacock began reading.

“In days of yore, when brave and true, the heroes of the day shone forth . . .”

As Jupiter Peacock continued reading, Lexy felt her mind wander elsewhere. She would need to order the black onyx first thing on Monday so that it would arrive by the end of next week, and . . .

“What do you think?” said Jupiter Peacock. He’d finished reading. Maybe Lexy would be able to get out into the garden now.

“Um . . .”

“A great deal has been written about this one poem,” said Jupiter Peacock. “Most of it wrong. What do you think of this line? ‘We’re born each one of us alone, and separate is how we stay’?”

“Um . . .”

“People think it’s bad to be selfish, but this poem says that selfish people make the world a much better place. Bet that’s not what you learn at school, huh?”

“No,” said Lexy. She wasn’t really listening. She could see the moon beginning to drop and fade. What about her crystals? Surely she’d been polite enough by now? She scraped the chair back, and was about to stand up.

“I really must—”

“Not so fast, little lady. I want a rematch before you go.”

“A rematch?”

“Indeed. I still think I can beat you at arm wrestling.”

Earlier on, while Hazel, flushed with pleasure at how well her little dinner party had gone, was making peppermint tea in the kitchen area, Jupiter Peacock had challenged Lexy’s father, Marcel, to a series of ill-considered physical competitions. Marcel had won them all. He was, after all, a yoga teacher. He had stood on his head for longer (JP hadn’t actually been able to stand on his head at all), and had performed five handstand push-ups. He had also held his breath for three minutes, which was two and a half minutes longer than JP could manage it.