“Copacetic,” she mutters bitterly.

“Good.” Oscar sits down. “Back to you, Mhari . . .”

“Okay!” Mhari beams at the Scrum. Her crimson lip gloss glistens beneath the spotlights. “Quickly, PROTECTIVE CLOTHING and LATEX MASKS. Direct sunlight burns us within seconds. I’m talking third-degree burns here, very nasty stuff. You do not want to shine a UV torch on your skin, either: we’re photosensitive. We can see in the dark, and I notice everyone’s got constricted pupils in office lighting conditions. On the other hand, we heal really fast. A one-millimeter deep cut in the skin actually heals in about an hour without scarring. Burns, similarly. That which does not kill us seems not to harm us too badly. And clothing—anything that blocks the sunlight—works fine.”

Mhari takes a step back and raises her skirt to flash her left knee. “Look.” She’s wearing opaque black tights. “I stuck my leg in a sunbeam. After about a minute it was tingling and painful, but that’s all. I exposed the back of my wrist to the same sunbeam and had a first-degree burn, with blistering, after two seconds. So it doesn’t take much fabric.” She smoothes down her skirt, then picks up a carrier bag from beside her chair. “So then I went looking for an emergency kit, and I came up with this.” She reaches into the bag and pulls out a mass of black fabric. “This is a jilbab, with niqab—that’s the face-veil—and gloves. The only skin it doesn’t cover is the eyes.” She rummages in the bottom of the bag and pulls out a pair of wrap-around shades: “And that’s what these are for. It’s not much fun, but I walked about for a quarter of an hour in daylight yesterday and I only got burned on the bridge of my nose. I recommend we all get two of these, and keep one by our desk and one at home as emergency escape kits. Sorry, gents, I know it doesn’t go with your self-image, but look at it this way: blood-sucking bankers in burkhas could be next summer’s hot new fashion!”

“What about the latex?” asks Oscar.

“I’m still working on it.” Mhari makes a moue of concentration. “Turns out we’re looking for theatrical special-effects cosmetics. I know where to buy it, but getting it right is another matter: we might need to hire a professional makeup artist.” She scribbles a couple of Post-it notes: green for the DONE column, pink for the TO-DO list. “Anyway, that brings us to about the end of our current review. To sum up: we can move fast and heal fast, we’re inflammable in daylight, and we can’t see ourselves in mirrors (but we’re still there and we show up on video). We still need to eat and we can eat garlic, crosses and holy water don’t repel us, we have amazing powers of persuasion but we can’t use them on each other, and, uh, human blood is amazing. Other species, not so much.” Her eyes are wide as she looks down the meeting table, then makes contact with Oscar. “So, boss. Where do we go with this now?”