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Yannick’s face sagged with relief. “Thank God! I was worried something dreadful had happened to him.”

“Worried?” Élise repeated. “Why, because one wicked magician isn’t enough to deal with? If only those two would blast each other to bits and save us all this turmoil.”

Yannick wasn’t listening to her. He swept to the back of the shop, pausing only to give a pat to Banshee, oblivious to our human angst as she calmly washed her face.

“Havelock?” he called, already tromping down the stairs. Élise and I went down more carefully, and thus had not even reached the bottom step before Yannick reappeared below us.

“He’s not down here,” he called up.

“He’s in his library,” I said. “I mean, the fifth floor. It’s not locked, by the way.”

“No, he always answers when I call. And his worktable hasn’t been touched.” He charged up the stairs, forcing Élise and me to press ourselves into the wall.

“Yannick,” I said, as he held the trapdoor open for us to exit, “I’m certain he’s down there. I saw him just last night.”

“You did?” Yannick demanded. “How did he seem? Was he—”

He was walking as he spoke, but came to an abrupt halt, leading me to collide with his back.

Havelock was sitting on the counter, scowling at the cats on the other side of the room. Banshee lay comma-shaped on her back below him, paws curled in a transparent plea for affection, which Havelock was pointedly ignoring.

“Where on earth did you come from?” I demanded, both relieved and annoyed.

“I turned myself into smoke and floated up through the heat vent, as any self-respecting dark magician would.”

“Havelock!” Yannick exclaimed. And then, to my astonishment, he hurried forward and pulled Havelock into a hug.

Havelock endured this for a moment or two, then pushed Yannick away. He wore his usual array of rings, which flashed when they caught the light, and around his neck were several gold chains, their pendants tucked beneath his sweater, all of which made him look like some sort of aristocrat who’d wandered in from the Renaissance. His hair was nearly as dishevelled as it had been the night we’d met, as if he’d slept in a strange position.

“What is the matter with you?” he said. “I’ve disappeared for longer than a day before. Did you really think I’d let Valérie get the better of me a second time?”

“No, I thought I’d have to find a path to the Fifth Fathom, to drag whatever you’d become out of the Rivenwood,” Yannick said, sounding cross. I’d never seen Yannick remotely irritated before, and again I found myself wondering about the nature of their relationship.

Havelock shook his head slightly. “If I’d truly been taken by the Rivenwood, you’d know it.”

He said it matter-of-factly, which was what made it so unnerving. I thought of that uncanny forest, and suddenly I felt as if the temperature had dropped to match that of the winter street.

If Élise noticed the tension, she didn’t show it. “You didn’t answer Agnes’s question,” she said, continuing to eye Havelock with a coldly assessing look.

Havelock blinked at her, then at me, showing the confusion most people did when they noticed how alike we were. “I was upstairs,” he said. “I didn’t think there was any need to lurk belowground like a minotaur any longer, so I went back to my old room.”

“What!” I exclaimed. “I didn’t hear you come up.” But then, I remembered, I had fallen into an exhausted slumber in my clothes. When I’d arisen that morning, the door to the bedroom across the hall had been closed, but I always kept it that way, as I did with the door to the lounge, to shut myself off from as much of the apartment’s intimidating opulence as possible.

“No?” he said caustically. “You didn’t order that panther to chase me downstairs? It came hurtling out of your room and clawed my ankle to shreds. I only managed to chase it away by enchanting one of the rugs and rolling them both into the hallway. It will be bent on murdering me now, I suspect. Not that one,” Havelock said, as Yannick glanced at Banshee. “It seems as harmless as a moth. About as witless, too.”

Banshee, delighted that Havelock was at last looking in her direction, began to rub her back against the floor, baring her white stomach invitingly.

“I’ll thank you not to insult my cats,” I said, trying not to snort at the image of Havelock fending His Majesty off with a rug. I noted that His Majesty went out of his way to menace Havelock upstairs, but kept out of sight in the basement, though he’d clearly been exploring down there for some time—it demonstrated the malicious cunning I expected from him. “On that subject,” I continued, “I have a proposition for you.”

“The subject of your Behemoth? Whatever it is: no.”

“Not him,” I said. “The others. You’re no doubt unaware of this, because you don’t seem to give much thought to anything of a practical nature, but there is now a rumour going around that we are selling enchanted cats.”

“I was worried something like that might happen,” Yannick said, rubbing a hand over his face. “Have the police heard of it? I’ve had enough difficulty throwing them off the scent. We’ll have to put an end to it somehow before it spreads.”

“I don’t want to put an end to it,” I said. “I want to encourage it.”

“Encourage it,” Yannick repeated blankly.