“Don’t lie. It’s because you love Stökéwood so much,” I say, catching another twitch of her lips before I turn on my heel to slog the rest of the way up with her.

I—we—fumble with the house locks for a solid three minutes (Mama insisted the door be fitted with heavy, old-fashioned iron locks opened by heavy, old-fashioned iron keys the size of Baby’s First Tire Iron, which is chic and everything if you never have to carry the damn three-pound things) only for Saxim to push the door open a crack, finding it unlocked. Did I leave it unlocked when I last left? Or has someone else been here? I blink away the thought and lean into the heavy oak with both hands, only to be greeted by a rush of dust. I stagger down the hall in the midst of an epic sneezing fit, swirling around like a whirling dervish in ripped denim shorts, almost knocking over a stack of paperwork.

“Thaïs?” comes a female voice, coupled with mechanical scritch-scritch-scritching. Saxim and I lock eyes as Mina rounds the bend, her panel a soothing seaside blue. “And Saxim. Welcome home, precious girls,” she adds, two animated doors on her panel opening, smiling anime eyes behind them. “Where’s Manon? And Boy? Will I get to see them again soon?”

Saxim shoots me a wary look.

“Who the fuck is Boy, Mina?” I ask, running my hands along the stone of the main hall to steady myself post-sneeze, only to realize what she means and burst out into a laugh. “You mean Nítuchí’s nephew? The one Noni’s on a date with? You little spy.” I pull my fingers away and find them coated in muck, like I’m a Dickensian chimney sweep. “Mina, don’t you have a cleaning setting or something?”

“I’m here to care for your family, Tai, not clean up your mess,” she says peaceably. “Your cheeks look too thin. Can I fix you some dinner? We have dried cod,” she coos, as if that’s at all enticing.

“I brought fresh mulberry tea and custard twists,” grime-free Saxim says sweetly, edging past us both. “Why don’t Mina and I set it up, while you borrow my phone to text your sister? Mina, would you mind?”

“Custard twists are delicious, but they’re full of cholesterol,” Mina starts, scritching behind Saxim. “Perhaps we should consider conducting a full blood panel before you indulge? Life is to be lived, though, and—”

“It’s fine. I’ll just run down the drive for a second.” I rush for the functional, dusty flashlight by the front door before I have to listen to them outmom each other another second.