Once, from the corner of his eye, he thought he saw a shadow move at the window. But when he looked around there were only raindrops running on misted glass. Just ordinary life. He’d forgotten how easy it could be. He made a decision: He would put the old robot away for good. When he got home, he would say sorry to Carl and make things up with his mum. Since he’d returned from Prague, he had been increasingly avoiding talking to her, because he simply didn’t know what he might be in danger of saying. Dad. I saw him. Alive. All that time. But now.

He turned his mind from that. So. He would take the old toy away, somewhere remote, bury it deep where no one would ever find it. Just give it all up and forget. Get back to reality. A life that didn’t involve his grandfather’s world of ancient strangeness and sleeping monsters and salt and sinister machines and secrets and power. His father’s world.

It was just as David’s dad began serving dessert that Alex became aware of a change in the old woman. She hadn’t snored for a while. Looking up, he caught a glint beneath one eyelid. It closed quickly. But she was awake. The eye opened a sliver again. Watching him.

He did his best to ignore it and turned to accept the bowl David’s mum was passing. “Thanks, Mrs. Anderson.”

“Alex. How many times,” she said. “It’s Laetitia. Here. I made extra sweet potato bread.” She slid another slice alongside his ice cream. “I remembered how much you like it.”

The stuff was delicious, but Alex barely tasted it. The old woman had both eyes open now, fixing him with an angry stare. No one else seemed to have noticed. He chewed uncomfortably, forced down another mouthful, then almost choked as the old woman slammed both hands hard on the table.

The music bounced happily on as the gathering fell silent. David’s great-grandmother was hauling herself to her feet.

“Granmé?” David’s mother started out of her chair to help her. Before she could, the old lady straightened, extended one arm, and pointed an accusing finger in Alex’s face: “Bokor!”

They all looked at each other. A voice from the stereo was singing about a girl in a hat. The old woman drew a shuddering breath, then shouted the word again, still pointing at Alex.

“What?” Alex managed.

“Granmé? Granmé, it’s all right. . . .” David’s mother and grandmother rushed to her side. She struggled to fight them off. Alex stared at the melting ice cream on his plate. He felt conspicuous, under attack. Then, with alarm, he felt something else: the stirring beyond the borders of his mind he had been searching after for weeks.