Unfortunately, said his tone, but Walden just breathed out hard. “Thank you. Thank you. Do let me know … what I can do. If anything.”

“Magicians,” Ramamurthy muttered. “If it was up to me … well.”

Walden felt it would be impolitic to say something true but uncooperative like, You do realise that legally I can’t be held responsible for anything my body did while possessed by a higher demon. It was obvious that Ramamurthy knew that already, and didn’t much like it. Walden had some sympathy with his position. She felt responsible. She had been there all along. The Phoenix had been herself. Herself—and yet not.

“Can you confirm that the concealed curseworkings we found in several places around the school site were the work of Mark Daubery?” Ramamurthy asked.

“You sound like you already know,” Walden said. “How many exactly did you find?”

“Enough,” Ramamurthy. “Yes, I know. I know his bloody handwriting. We’ve never been able to pin anything on him.”

“I can…” Walden began, and then said more honestly, “I’m not sure.”

“Define sure.”

“There was a cursed umbrella,” Walden said. “It had a demon lure on it. That was the one I found. It shook me badly enough that the Ph … the higher demon I had leashed was able to break loose. I feel fairly certain that was Mark, yes. I don’t know about any others.”

“An umbrella. Right. What colour?”

“Red. With a school logo.”

“We’ll start looking. Have another of these, Dr Walden.” He took out a card and left it on the end table next to the get-well-soon bouquets. The flowers were wilting. “Do call me if anything else occurs to you.”

The person Walden had been six months ago would have asked more questions, lots of them, immediately. Now she just felt tired. Mark was exactly the kind of person that Chetwood School existed to create: powerful, free, capable of anything, capable of getting away with anything. Maybe Chief Ramamurthy would stop him from getting away with what he’d done to her school. A cynical part of her soul doubted it very much. It should have made her angry, but it didn’t. She was just exhausted. She still felt distantly, glumly awful about what the Phoenix had done to Mark; and she hoped she would never see him again.

Chief Ramamurthy paused by the door. He nodded at Walden’s truncated right arm. The stump was above the elbow, though she remembered seeing Laura’s shining blade go through the joint. The surgeons had had to tidy up the amputation afterwards, apparently, and take a bit more off to—avoid infection, or something? Walden needed to have a proper conversation with someone about it, obviously. She needed to be practical. But it was all a little hard to think about.