“It’s me and it’s not,” I said, and explained what I was. Once Friday had told me it was “pretty weird, even for Mum” and Landen had agreed but added loyally, “it’s still your mother— kind of,” Friday accepted it, but I saw him looking at me strangely for the rest of breakfast.

Gavin appeared soon afterward, yawning and scratching.

“Hey, Friday,” he said, “still going to kill me this afternoon?”

“I guess.”

“D’you know why?”

“I can think of a number of reasons why I might,” he said, “but none as to why I should.”

“Any luck with the Unentanglement Constant?” I asked Gavin.

“None at all,” he said, pouring himself some Shreddies. “We went down a dead end until four A.M. and restarted the calculations in a different direction at six. I’ll be honest, it’s not looking good.”

“Shit,” I said to myself. If Gavin and Tuesday failed, it meant Smite Solutions would be the first line of defense against the smiting and I’d have to swap twenty seasoned felons for Joffy, always supposing I could deliver the righteous man on time and in the right place.

“Gavin?” said Landen.

“Yes?”

“It’s not good manners to come to breakfast dressed in only a T-shirt.”

Gavin stared at him. “It’s worse manners to murder a guest. Your son is going to kill me, and you’re worrying that I’m half dressed?”

Landen fell silent at this. Gavin was right. It didn’t make much sense.

Tuesday walked in, hair damp from a shower. She knew instantly that something was wrong about me. But she was less freaked out than Friday had been, and she peered closely at my skin and eyes, then asked several probing questions about metabolic functions until I felt like a frog on a dissecting table.

“What am I,” I said, “your science project?”

“Oh, boy, if only,” said Tuesday admiringly. “Where’s Mum if you’re not her and you’re here?”

I told her I was upstairs and asked her about the Uc, but she gave the same answer as Gavin.

“We’ve only been working on it since yesterday,” said Tuesday, helping herself to some orange juice. “These things generally take a lifetime. If we work really hard, we might get a small amount of preparatory work done before Gavvers bites the bullet.”

She laid a hand on Friday’s arm.

“I know that this is a whole destiny thing, but if there’s any way to avoid his early demise, I’d really appreciate it.”

They stood there together in silence for a few moments until Gavin belched, then got up to fetch some coffee from the machine.

“Oh, for all that is good and decent,” muttered Tuesday angrily, “put some trousers on, Gav—no one here wants to see your arse.”