The woman loomed over him, all silky white linen and fury. “Not special? Simply a woman? I am Mona O’Connor. I come from a proud line of O’Connors, stretching back to the kings and queens of Ireland, and I’ve got more fight in me than a wet sock of a man like you could ever hope to muster. What do you have to say about that?”

Jackaby sat up, swaying slightly. He waggled his jaw experimentally, then snapped his attention to his attacker. Thoughts rolled across his gray eyes like clouds in a thunderstorm. “You said O’Connor?”

“That’s right. Have a problem with the Irish, too, do you?” Miss O’Connor squared her jaw and looked down the bridge of her nose at Jackaby, daring him to confirm the prejudice.

Jackaby climbed to his feet, dusted off his coat, which clinked and jingled as the contents of various pockets resettled, and tossed his scarf back over one shoulder. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss O’Connor. I don’t suppose you have a roommate?”

Mona’s stance faltered. She looked briefly to Charlie and me, finding only equal bewilderment, and then back at the detective. He smiled at her again with charming, innocent curiosity. The left side of his face was red, and the outlines of four dainty fingers were slowly gaining definition. He was behaving in precisely the manner in which a man who had just been walloped across the face should not behave.

“An old relative, perhaps?” he prompted, continuing as though nothing had happened, “Or a family friend? Been around since you were just a girl, I imagine.”

The red left Mona’s face.

“Getting on in years, I expect, but hard to place just how many?” Jackaby persisted. “Been around as far back as you can remember, and yet she seems just as old in your memory as she is today?”

The rest of the color left Mona’s face as well.

“How did you . . . ?” she began.

“My name is R. F. Jackaby, and I would very much like to meet her, if you don’t mind,” he said.

Mona’s brow tensed, but her resolve had clearly been shaken. “My mum . . . My mum made me promise I’d look after her.”

“I mean her no harm, you have my word.”

“She’s having one of her . . . one of her spells. I . . . Look, I’m sorry about—er—that business earlier, but I think you’d better come back some other time.”

“Miss O’Connor, it is my belief that lives hang in the balance, and so I’m afraid the time is now. I promise to help in any way I can with her spell. May we please come in?”

Miss O’Connor, her guard now thoroughly shattered, walked back to her open door. She paused in indecision for just a moment, then stood aside and gestured for us to enter.