“There,” I said in a small voice. His hand tightened briefly on the handle of the knife before he put it down.

Maggie came rushing on tiptoes down the stairs, hissing, “Freya—Freya!” I knotted my fingers under the table and fixed my eyes on the door.

“Freya—” She burst into the kitchen, high-pitched and out of breath—and stopped short when she saw Cory. He pulled out a chair and gestured for her to sit.

“Goodness,” he said. “You seem excited. What happened up there? Are you all right?”

Maggie hauled up a different chair—the one next to me—and sat on it.

“Nothing happened. I’m fine, thank you.” She tidied her hair and placed her hands on the table, loosely clasped, as if she were about to conduct an interview.

“What’s going on?” Cory persisted, stirring the teapot. “Did you see a ghost?”

“No—why? Is Byrne Hall haunted?” She laughed lightly. “Tea! Wonderful, thanks. I’m parched.”

Cory’s eyes flitted from her face to mine as he poured. Maggie rested her chin on her hands and looked about the room, the picture of ease. Cory wouldn’t have been able to tell, from where he stood, that she was perched on the edge of her seat, or that her toes were fidgeting inside her shoes.

He passed the mugs round and sat himself down. Maggie found my foot and trod on it hard—but what could I say? Cory, don’t let us keep you from your work.

“If something happened upstairs; if you’ve something to say . . .” Cory wasn’t going to let it go.

“I’ve nothing to say.” Maggie smiled cordially. “I don’t know what you mean.”

We sat in silence, the steam unfurling from our mugs like genies from their magic lamps. I wondered what I’d ask for, if I were granted a wish right then. I’d probably mess the whole thing up, the way foolish people always do in fairy stories. I’d word my desire ambivalently and end up with something I hadn’t intended.

Maggie leaned toward Cory with a confidential air.

“I hope I’m not keeping you from your work?”

“Not at all.”

She smiled tightly and shifted in her seat.

Cory won, of course. Maggie was permitted to sip tea and attempt conversation for as long as she could bear it, but then he showed her out, got in the way when she tried to hug me, and slammed the front door shut when she was barely clear. The hall seemed intensely dark when she’d gone, like the darkness that succeeds the extinguishing of a candle.

“I don’t get it,” I said.

“What?”

“I don’t get why you dislike her so much.”

“I don’t get why you like her.” He gestured with his outstretched arms at the dark hallway. “This is our world, Freya! Yours and mine. Why would you want to dilute it?”