“Fake it till you make it,” she said, getting out of the car. The fresh air, cold and sharp, filled her lungs and snapped her out of the last dregs of her morbidity. Omen joined her, and they searched for Byron’s house, one in a thousand just like it.

“What’ll I say?” Omen asked as they walked up the weed-spotted driveway.

“Say you’re here to see Byron.”

“That’s his taken name, though, and I think only one of his parents knows about the whole magic thing, but I don’t remember which one.”

“Then ask if Paul can come out to play.”

Valkyrie hung back while Omen continued on to the front door. He rang the bell and waited. A woman answered. Omen stood there. She stared at him.

“What?” she said brusquely.

Omen smiled back. “Hi. Hello. Is Paul in?”

“And who are you?”

“I’m Omen.”

“You’re a Mormon?”

“No. Omen. That’s my name.”

The woman frowned. “That’s a funny name, that is. Is it foreign?”

“Not too foreign. I’m from Galway. Well, near Galway, a small town beside—”

“Paul!” the woman yelled, and then looked back at Omen. “He’s coming.”

“Thank you.”

“He hasn’t mentioned you. You a friend of his? You from that bleedin’ school, are you?”

“I am, yes. We’re in the same Year.”

“Didn’t think he had any friends. Always thought he was a bit touched, y’know? In the head, like. A bit strange.”

Omen chuckled. “I think we’re all a bit strange.”

Her face hardened. “I’m not. What’re you trying to say? You saying I’m weird?”

Omen visibly wilted, and Valkyrie walked over.

“Mrs Matthews?” she asked, extending her hand. “I’m Miss Cain, Paul’s teacher. How do you do?”

Mrs Matthews shook Valkyrie’s hand, her frown deepening. “Ah, what’s he done? Is he getting expelled, is he? Nothing but a burden, that boy, since the day he burst outta me.”

“We’re just here to talk to him. I promise you, he’s not in any trouble. I’m dreadfully sorry, what’s your name?”

“My name?”

“Your name. Your first name. What is it, please?”

“Rose.”

Valkyrie kept shaking her hand, kept eye contact. “Rose Matthews, so good to meet you. Rose Matthews, this is not a big deal. When you think about this later, you’re going to skip over it. You’re not going to dwell on it, are you, Rose Matthews?”

“I’m not going to dwell on it,” Mrs Matthews responded.

“Of course you’re not. There’s no reason to. What were you doing before this?”

“Painting,” Mrs Matthews said.

“A portrait? A wall?”

“The Enterprise.”