Lucie and Ian had taken charge of the buffet table. Circe, deeply suspicious of the ill-tempered cat, was following the creature around as if to make sure no perfidy occurred on her watch. Ken had been deep in conversation with Belinda’s brother for half an hour now, the two of them enthusiastically discussing football, and Altamira, rather pleased to find herself much fussed over by so many adults, was solemnly listing every single swear word she knew.

Elsewhere, Rosetta was with Belinda, gazing up at her with a look of total adoration, like she couldn’t quite believe she existed. Mika didn’t know what it must feel like to be ten years old and to discover the existence of a beautiful Black witch like Belinda—who had purple streaks in her thick, black coils of hair, a Scottish accent, and a kind, sensible way of dealing with any nonsense—but she imagined it was quite possibly one of the top three experiences of Rosetta’s life. Meanwhile, Terracotta was showing off her mastery of the animation spell.

“You’ve got to come visit me in Wrexham,” Sophie Clarke was saying to Hilda and Kira as Mika passed them, her blond curls bouncing enthusiastically. “And you, too, of course, Mika! I have to hear more about your librarian!”

“If I can get him to overcome his chronic aversion to social interaction,” Mika called back, “you might actually get to meet him!”

But before Mika could make her way indoors to the library where Jamie had cloistered himself, she was waylaid by Primrose, who, a saucer of cheesecake in one hand and a fork in the other, actually seemed to be enjoying herself.

“We won’t be making a habit of this, of course,” she said, because she was Primrose, “but, for what it’s worth, dear, you’ve pulled off something very special.”

“I appreciate you saying so,” Mika said, absurdly pleased with this compliment. “I know the world won’t transform overnight, and I know you still have your doubts, but thank you for trying.”

“Hmm,” said Primrose, her cheeks pinking slightly as she moved on.

Mika went inside.

Jamie was in an armchair in a corner of the library, behind several bookshelves, obviously hiding lest one of the children try to browbeat him into coming outside. He gave her a wary look as he glanced up from the enormous book sitting open on his lap.

“No,” he said.

Mika put the book on the floor with great care and took its place on Jamie’s lap. His wary, implacable expression softened and he nuzzled her cheek. “I know you hate people, so I won’t pester you to come outside,” she said. “I’ll just say, once, that I would love it if you did.”

“I don’t hate people!”

“You do,” Mika said lovingly. “You have the soul of a cantankerous old man who yells at little kids to get off his lawn.”