Suddenly a large figure loomed in front of her, teetering on tiny shoes.

“Miss Hogan,” she said, and Carmen flinched. It couldn’t be.

It was. Mrs. Marsh stood there, a burgundy dress stretched across that formidable singular bosom.

Carmen’s first thought was I knew she was a witch, followed by an irresistible urge to call Idra.

“Mrs. Marsh,” she said. “I didn’t realize you were one of the coven.”

Mrs. Marsh sniffed. “This nonsense. Not at all. I work for the university settlement office at the bottom of the street. Showing Victoria Street solidarity.”

Carmen gave a meaningful look to Mr. McCredie, which he caught. “Wow,” she said. “It looks like this entire street gets involved even when they don’t want to.”

Mr. McCredie blinked and came over, and Carmen had to introduce him, much as she was terrified of her old scary boss infecting her new lovely one. Mr. McCredie, a gentleman as ever, immediately bore Mrs. Marsh off for a drink.

Carmen took off the purple cloak—rather reluctantly, as it was warm and had a nice way of bouncing as she walked—and headed for the exit. She suddenly wasn’t in the mood, watching everyone else in the world having a good time.

The street outside was quieter now, but people were still on their way to the bars and restaurants of the understreets; the nightclubs would get noisier as the night went on.

“Here,” said Bronagh, materializing at her side before she left to take the cloak.

“Thanks for the invite,” said Carmen. “It was good to get Mr. McCredie out.”

“Oh, that poor man,” said Bronagh. “Bad blood. Does nobody any good.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, don’t mind me. Don’t forget this.”

She gave her a tiny glass bottle with a clear fluid in it.

“Just dab it on your doorstep,” she said.

“Is this a love potion?”

“Oh goodness, no, you don’t need that,” said Bronagh. “No. It’s for the bond that holds two sisters, one of the strongest things on earth. Forged in steel, hard as iron, easy to burn, never to break. Goodspeed home.”

“Actually, we’ve been getting on . . . Thank you,” said Carmen, seeing Bronagh’s face. “And happy solstice.”

SHE PULLED OUT her phone, pushing past the happy Christmas revelers and curling over against the cold wind as she waited to cross Lothian Road. Cheerful people on outings poured into the theaters and concert halls and cinemas that lined it or piled up treats for Christmas; small children gazed in awe at the lights, girls in sparkly dresses, boys clutching bags of Maltesers, enjoying the thrill of being out after dark.