Carlyle stirred. “Boo? What are you doing here?”

“Rrrruf! Ruf!” Boo licked Carlyle’s face, and the sensayer could not help but stroke its tender ears.

“Here, drink this milk, you’ll feel better.”

It was Mommadoll, riding on Boo’s back, her dress of checked red gingham studded with seeds and burrs. She held a thermos, giant as a barrel between her four-inch arms, while a sack strapped across her back leaked the scent of fresh-baked cookies.

“How did you—” Carlyle began.

“Teleportation. Drink your milk, dear.”

“Where—”

“Milk first!” Mommadoll ordered, shoving the thermos into Carlyle’s hands. “No arguments. And as for you, Stander-Y, I have a hot pot pie for you, and you’re eating all the vegetables this time or else you’re not getting any cobbler afterward. Well? Come out!”

After a few breaths’ pause, a tiny figure in sand brown crawled out from the shadow of the stairs up to the walkway above. “Mommadoll, a secret spy mission means no one is supposed to know I’m here spying.”

“Oh, fiddlesticks,” she countered, gold curls bouncing. “The Major left me in charge while they’re on the rescue mission, and I say you get a hot dinner.” She produced a tiny pie. “It’s not right you getting stuck by yourself all night. The least the Major could do is see you get a decent meal.”

Carlyle stared at the thermos in his hands, despair’s tears turning to relief’s. “You were spying on me?”

“No, we’re spying on Thisbe.” The tiny soldier’s eyes glowed as Mommadoll lowered the pie into his arms. “And the bash’house. We’ve moved Bridger to safety, but best to keep an eye out here. There could still be evidence, and Dominic could get to Thisbe.”

Carlyle gulped the milk, and gasped as Mommadoll opened her sack to display the chocolate chip treasures within. “I can’t believe you brought me milk and cookies.”

“You need it after facing one of Thisbe’s bullying moods.” Mommadoll offered a napkin from the stash in her apron pocket.

Carlyle sprayed crumbs. “Did you know?”

Stander-Y snorted. “Know what? That Thisbe’s a scary-ass psychopath? Of course.”

“Language!” Mommadoll chided.

“Sorry, ma’am. It’s true, though. Thisbe’s scarier than Mycroft. Reliable in her way, but scary.”

Carlyle paused, facing the ageless question of whether to dip her cookies or keep her milk crumb-free. “You knew Thisbe’s a witch?”

“That’s nonsense!” Mommadoll smiled the thought away with rosy cheeks. “Thisbe just says that to play with people. Thisbe’s upset. I’m sure that’s the only reason for this bullying tantrum just now. It’s been a trying time for poor Thisbe, police stomping around the house. I’ll bring more cookies later.”

Carlyle frowned. “You saw what Thisbe almost made me do.”

Stander-Y took a long breath. “I don’t know if Thisbe’s really a witch, but I do know she can do… something. Witchcraft would explain a lot, actually. Just now, where I was standing, it felt like I could feel all the same things you did, sad, then really sad and ashamed, then suddenly terrified when Thisbe snapped her fingers the first time, then weakness in my legs, and when she shushed you I choked too, like in a dream when you can’t speak. Maybe Thisbe and Bridger have powers from the same source, something about this place.”