“That’s very peculiar,” said Samuel.

He examined the invitation that the demons had been sent. It was addressed to Mr. Cushing and Mr. Lee, the names under which Nurd and Wormwood were living in Biddlecombe. Only a handful of people knew that Nurd and Wormwood weren’t exactly human: even most of their employers at the Biddlecombe Car Testing Institute just regarded Nurd as unusually fireproof, and quite bendy.²⁶

“Why is it peculiar?” asked Wormwood. “We’re good company!”

He thought for a moment.

“Well, we might be, if there was nobody else in the room.”

“It’s peculiar,” said Samuel, “because, as far as most of Biddlecombe is concerned, you’re just two odd-looking men who happen to be living with us. You haven’t been drawing attention to yourselves, have you?”

“No,” said Nurd. “Wormwood’s been drawing flies, but that’s nothing new.”

“I like to think of them as pets,” said Wormwood. “And, sometimes, as snacks.”

Mrs. Johnson felt queasy, but said nothing.

“So why would this Mr. Grimly invite you two to the opening of his new shop?” asked Samuel.

It was only after he had asked the question that he realized how unkind it sounded. He hadn’t meant it that way. He had been thinking aloud. But now he could see the hurt in Nurd’s eyes, and even Wormwood, who was harder to offend than a dead person, looked a little pained. Nurd snatched the invitation back from Samuel.

“Why wouldn’t he invite us?” said Nurd. “We’re nice.”

“No, you’re not,” said Wormwood.

“And we work hard.”

“No, you don’t.”

“And we— Whose side are you on, anyway?” he asked Wormwood.

“Sorry,” said Wormwood. “Force of habit.”

“I didn’t mean it that way,” said Samuel. “It’s just that Mr. Grimly shouldn’t have heard of you. We don’t want people to hear about you, because if the wrong kind of people know about you, then there’ll be all sorts of trouble, and they might take you away. Don’t you understand?”

Nurd’s shoulders sagged. He wanted to argue, but he couldn’t. Samuel was right.

“Yes,” he said, “I understand.”

“I don’t,” said Wormwood. “But then, I never do.”

“I’ll explain later,” said Nurd.

He placed a consoling hand on Wormwood’s shoulder, then looked for somewhere to wipe his fingers. Mrs. Johnson gave him a cloth.

“It doesn’t matter,” said Nurd. “Honestly, it doesn’t. But just for a while, it felt like we were part of something.”

“You are part of something,” said Samuel. “You’re part of our family. Right, Mum?”

Mrs. Johnson didn’t answer immediately.

“Mum?” urged Samuel.

“Yes, yes, of course they are,” said Mrs. Johnson, under pressure. “I just tell people they’re from your dad’s side.”

Nurd tried to smile, but couldn’t quite manage it. He took one last look at the invitation, then tore it up and threw it in the bin.

“Let’s go upstairs, Wormwood,” he said. “You can entertain me by making unusual smells.”

They left the kitchen. When they were gone, Mrs. Johnson turned to Samuel.

“He has a point, you know,” she said. “We can’t keep them cooped up in here forever when they’re not working. If they’re going to stay in this world, they have to find their place in it. I don’t mean a physical place: they’ll always have a home here, even if I do sometimes wonder what Wormwood does in the bathroom, because he certainly isn’t washing, or if he is, then it isn’t working. No, what I mean is that they need to be happy in it, and to be happy they have to discover what makes them happy. Maybe you should let them go with you to Wreckit’s. They’ll have a lovely time, and it will help them. I’m sure of it.”