Of all the people to pop back into existence, did it have to be Delilah Foster?

Eleanor reached instinctively for Pip’s hand, but Pip was looking at her mother with wariness, not distress, her hand on Gloaming’s hilt.

Ms. Foster’s eyes widened when she entered, and her perfect poise wobbled for a moment. “My goodness. It is true,” she said, soft as the slithering of a snake. “All three of you. And is that—Claire Barton?” She stared at the hedgewitch with unconcealed shock and distaste.

“You are not welcome here,” Bartimaeus rumbled. He looked thin and frail, standing before Delilah Foster with her bright colors and youthful face.

“Pip. Darling. It is so wonderful to see you,” Delilah said, her smile wide and unconvincing. She held out her arms as if for Pip to rush into them.

“You’re . . . my mother,” Pip said. There was a small, puzzled line between her brows.

“Of course I am, Philippa my dear,” Delilah said. Her lipstick was the color of a bruise, and it made her teeth look impossibly white in contrast. “And I’m delighted to find you returned. Delighted and—well, a bit confused. Perhaps you could explain it to me, Bartimaeus.”

“I need not explain anything to you,” Bartimaeus said. “Leave my house and leave me in peace.”

“Defying Mr. January has serious consequences,” Delilah said warningly.

He laughed. “What consequences would those be, Delilah? I was one of the original signatories to the deal. I enjoy all the same protections as Eden Eld itself.”

“Not for long,” she snapped, her voice bitter. “Without your little hidey-holes, time is going to catch up to you. No more keeping yourself alive. You’re going to get old and weak.”

“At this point, that will be an invigorating change of pace,” Bartimaeus said, unperturbed. Eleanor smirked. She didn’t exactly like Bartimaeus. He’d done the absolute bare minimum to help them, instead of actually putting himself in any risk to right the wrongs he’d helped cause. But she did enjoy seeing Ms. Foster flustered, as she looked between all of them.

The hedgewitch’s hand fell to Eleanor’s shoulder, almost possessively. Eleanor stiffened at the touch.

“Delilah. Things have changed since we last met, and you will find that I am not so easy to chase off,” the hedgewitch said, her voice low and dangerous. “Claire Barton is gone. I am the hedgewitch, and these children are under my protection. When last we met, you nearly got burned. I promise you the fire will not be so easy to escape again.”

Ms. Foster flinched, and Eleanor’s breath caught. She was talking about the day their house burned down. The day that Eleanor’s mother disappeared.

“Do you remember what happened on Halloween?” Eleanor asked. “Do you remember how we beat you, or did you get plucked from an earlier time? Do you want us to show you?”