Every time I was in Eve’s flat, I was struck by how clean everything was. I’d have known if she paid someone to do her dusting for her. It was possible she’d mastered a complicated series of runes that enabled her to use magic to keep the place spick and span but I suspected that she used nothing more than elbow grease. The poor woman needed to get out more.

‘Harold,’ I called. ‘Harold! It’s Ivy from down the hall.’

The cat didn’t answer. Perhaps I was being too familiar with the familiar. I tried again. ‘Harold Fitzwilliam Duxworthy the Third? Are you there?’

There was a faint meow from the living room. My brow furrowed slightly. I followed the noise, pushing open the door in time to see a small brown shape dart at full speed across the coffee table. A heartbeat later Harold flew after it, knocking over several black candles and what had to be a year’s supply of enchanted bee pollen across Eve’s spotless floor. I sucked in a pained breath; I knew how much that stuff cost. Then I sneezed three times in quick succession and grimaced.

‘Sneeze on Friday, sneeze for woe,’ I muttered to myself. That didn’t bode well.

Leaving the pollen for now, I edged round the table to try and find Harold and discover what he’d been chasing. He was squeezed into the gap between the wall and the sofa, staring fixedly with huge pupils at something underneath it. I grabbed him and received a yowl and a vicious scratch for my efforts. I tossed him into the kitchen and locked the door then hunkered down on all fours and peered under the sofa. From the gloom in the corner, I could make out a tiny twitching nose and quivering whiskers. A mouse.

I pulled back. Huh. Although Eve had said she was doing well at Myomancy, it seemed likely that the little creature was scampering around and causing havoc not because her flat had a nest of rodents but because she was using him to hone her skills. I tapped my mouth thoughtfully. It was a long time since I’d practised the art of reading rodent behaviour; I wondered whether I could still do it.

I let myself relax, emptying my mind as I’d once been taught, and focused on the mouse. For a long moment it remained frozen but, when I crooked my little finger, it skittered towards me. I let out a silent breath. I still had it.

I reached underneath the sofa and turned over my palm. The mouse wasted no time; it tentatively advanced, its small paws tickling my skin. I gave it a moment to get comfortable and then slowly drew it out. Standing up, I held it aloft and looked into its shiny eyes. ‘So, Mister,’ I began. The mouse twitched. ‘Sorry. I mean Miss.’ It relaxed again.

‘What do you have to tell me?’ I enquired, pushing out a tendril of magic towards it. ‘I could do with some good fortune coming my way.’