It seemed a strange thing to do to be standing here all alone in the living room, wondering . . . quite what I was doing there. I knew I had come into the room to do something important. I sat down on the arm of the sofa, and my mind clicked over, trying to connect the trail of events that had led me here. We were talking in the kitchen, and Landen was still there. He was doing something. Something important. Maybe something about Phlegethon’s attempt to kidnap Jenny that morning. And that was when the door opened and Tuesday came in.

“There’s a cleaning lady here wanting to know if you need any cleaning done.”

“We have Georgina, and she comes Tuesdays and Fridays.”

“That’s what I told her.”

“Where’s your father? He can deal with it.”

“He’s mumbling to himself in the kitchen and won’t be distracted.”

“Really?”

The door pushed wider open, and a middle-aged woman walked in. My heart thumped, and in an instant my pistol was pointed at her. I flicked off the safety, and Tuesday stepped hurriedly aside.

“Mum?”

“It’s her. Phlegethon. She tried to kidnap Jenny this morning.”

“When?”

“On the school run.”

“You never mentioned it,” said Tuesday. “And anyway, Phlegethon is a man.”

“He changes sex as the mood takes him.”

“I’m not sure that’s possible.”

“I’m not Phlegethon,” said the woman. “I’m the Cleaning Lady, and you’re going to have to put the gun down. Rely on nothing your memory tells you. You’ve been led astray by Aornis Hades and her memory tricks.”

“I haven’t seen Aornis for years.”

“You saw her less than a minute ago. She’s somewhere in this house.”

My finger tightened on the trigger. “Impossible! Don’t try anything. You fired three shots into our car this morning. You tried to kill us.”

“If that’s so, then why can’t you remember the police interviewing you afterward?”

I looked inside my own memory but all I found was an isolated event—her, a blue car, several shots and Jenny screaming. But it seemed to lack depth and detail, as though I had seen the highlights on a bad TV screen, and only once.

“She’s making up the memories right now so you will kill me. She hasn’t had the time to put in the detail, but she will.”

My temples ached, and a stab of pain hit my head.

“She’s right, Mum,” said Tuesday. “I had lunch with Jenny, and she was fine—you know what a chatterbox she is, and she would have been talking about nothing else. I don’t think it happened.”

“Shit!” I yelled as loud as I could. “She’s in my head. I can feel it, like a spider, crawling over my subconscious, her feet leaving false memory trails like water on a bathroom floor!”