From where Ashes perched on top of the nearest bookshelf, Alice supposed she presented a rather odd picture, walking down the library aisles followed by a train of walking books, like a mother duck and her ducklings. One would have to peek underneath to see the quartet of obedient swarmers supporting each volume on their backs, legs moving in perfect synchronicity. They reminded Alice of ants working together to carry a pebble many times their own size.

Mr Wurms, for reasons only he knew, had requested the contents of an entire shelf, so the string of books stretched for some distance behind her. Alice led at a cautious pace, a large portion of her attention devoted to keeping the swarmers moving. Ashes, sulking along beside her, didn’t seem to approve of the way she was using the little creatures.

‘What if you told them all to jump into the pond?’ Ashes said. ‘Would they do it?’

‘They would, but I wouldn’t. I don’t need to be cruel to them.’

‘True. They’re already your slaves, how much crueller do you need to be?’

Alice shot him a sharp look. ‘I didn’t ask for this, if you’ll recall. Some brilliant half-cat decided it would be a good idea to show me a prison-book for laughs.’

‘And got soaked for his troubles,’ Ashes said, tail lashing. ‘Don’t think I’m likely to forget it.’

‘Be quiet for a minute,’ Alice said. ‘This is a tricky bit.’

They’d arrived at Mr Wurms’ table. The bespectacled scholar didn’t look up, so Alice began building a tower of the books beside him. This was a more difficult exercise than it at first appeared, since the swarmers had a tendency to unbalance the stack while placing the next volume on the top. She almost had it until one of the little creatures tripped on the slipcover of a Swedish dictionary and brought the whole lot tumbling down. The swarmers scattered like an exploding dandelion puff, except for the one the dictionary landed on, and Mr Wurms looked up with an irritated expression.

‘Sorry, Mr Wurms.’

He sniffed and went back to his work. Alice bent and lifted the dictionary off the creature, whose rubber-ball-like physiology had kept it from being seriously damaged. It gave a pleased quirk and hopped to its feet, then vanished with a tiny pop as Alice released her mental grip on the thread. She restacked the books with her actual hands, trying to ignore Ashes’ snide chuckling. When she was done, she cleared her throat and said, ‘What’s next, Mr Wurms?’

He glared at her with eyes like pools of smeared paint behind his thick glasses. Alice wasn’t sure it wasn’t her imagination, but she thought Mr Wurms’ attitude towards her had got steadily worse in the days since she’d learned the first rudiments of her power from Geryon.