Marcel had been up since around six. He’d done a bit of yoga and then meditated for a whole hour. Bliss! Well, except for the bit when Buttons had decided to sit on top of his head. At some point he thought he’d heard the front door opening quietly, but it had probably been the wind. Or maybe their houseguest had decided to take an early morning stroll. Nothing wrong with that; the early morning was by far the best part of the day.

And now the whole family was going on a rare car trip so that Jupiter Peacock could see all the main sights in the town. It had been Hazel’s idea. Other families, she had decided, would be giving their honored guests tours in their cars. Well, the Bottle family had a car too, didn’t it? So they could give their honored guest a tour too.

The Bottle family car was in that unfortunate category between antique and ancient. It only worked because of the healing spells Octavia Bottle cast on it when she borrowed it each year to go on her annual seaside vacation. It was a peculiar color: somewhere between rusty red and orangey brown. It was fair to say that no one who really liked cars would have been seen dead in it. Its upholstery, which had been lovingly wrought in brown leatherette many decades earlier, had been equally lovingly mended by Marcel, who, when he wasn’t doing yoga, rather liked sewing. Indeed, Marcel liked sewing so much that he had once spent the weekend making a hundred mice stuffed with catnip for the troubled local cats’ home.

“Come on, Lexy!” Marcel called again.

By now, everyone else was assembled in the open-plan living area of the Bottle house. Hazel Bottle was wearing her best rainbow-patterned heavy wool kaftan over what looked like a pair of pajama bottoms. She had put on her only pair of high-heeled wedge boots, which made her look as if she was about to topple over at any moment. On top of the boots were a pair of purple leg warmers that Marcel had knitted for her. Hazel had a matching scarf that she couldn’t find, so instead she had put on a snood made from yellow glittery hemp yarn that had been given away for free at the local jumble sale.

Jupiter Peacock was ready too, although had only just emerged from the spare room in a cloud of French aftershave and hair pomade. His pompadour was immaculate once more. He was wearing a light turquoise linen suit through which it was unfortunately possible to see the outline of his pants. He was carrying a brown briefcase that looked as if it might hold evil plans, and his faintly bloodshot eyes were those of a man who had been up all night plotting and talking philosophy with wrongdoers and ne’er-do-wells.

Lexy had still not come down.