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“It’s not going to—” The ring—studded with black opals in the shape of a crescent moon—simply lay there, and I suddenly felt foolish. “It’s not going to go off?”

“It’s not a gun,” he said. “Anyway, I spent the enchantment it contained. Most Artefacts can be used only once—it takes a powerful magician to fold in a recursive enchantment. Even then, the magic has to be replenished regularly.”

“Oh,” I said, relieved.

He was eyeing me in an odd way, as if I were a character in one of his novels who’d wandered in from a different story. “Even if I do have Vortigern’s book,” he continued slowly, “I can’t give it to Valérie. You don’t understand the horrors she would unleash with it.”

This was interesting. He no longer sounded so convinced he didn’t have the thing somewhere in his rat’s nest of a magic shop. Had he always known it was a possibility, despite his protestations? He struck me as the type who, given half the chance, would go out of his way to ignore truths he didn’t wish to deal with.

“We could destroy it, then,” I said. “And send Valérie the pieces as evidence. In any case, our first step is finding Clem’s Artefacts.” I stood, brushing my skirts off, as has become my habit, even when I haven’t had a cat sitting on me.

“I told you,” he said, “I don’t know where—”

“Where you put them, yes. It’s the most ridiculous thing I ever heard.”

He stared at me, then opened his mouth to make some objection. I didn’t let him.

“Yes, I said ridiculous. A magician who can’t keep track of his spells. It’s like a baker losing track of his sugar. What is the point of having a magic shop if you never do your inventory?” I paused. “Do you even know what that word means?”

“Sanctimonious and condescending,” he said. “I wish you’d left me to bleed out; I’d be spared your tedious lectures.”

I turned to leave. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Why did that sound like a threat?” he called after me. “You’re going to sic those fleabags on me if I don’t hand over my ledger?”

I doubted he had a ledger, or if he did, that he knew where it was in all that chaos. Perhaps I was underestimating him—I certainly hoped so. In any case, I’d frightened myself, talking to him as I had. I didn’t understand why I was so confident that he wouldn’t enchant me in some horrible way.

So instead of responding, I settled for a mysterious silence. He didn’t aim any curses at my back, though I’d no doubt he was glaring at me, nor did he turn me into a paper clip, and the trapdoor opened easily when I pushed on it.

Unfortunately, my plan to sort through Havelock’s daunting collection of Artefacts was forestalled the following morning, as we were forced to deal with something far more important than magic: one of the cats had fallen ill. Additionally, someone had left a cardboard box on our doorstep containing three white kittens. When I opened the flaps I found them curled up together in one shivering lump of fur.

“Let’s take them to the place on Rue Sainte-Sophie,” I told Mina. “Just feel their fur—they’re like rabbits. Mark my words, someone will want to adopt the lot, and the new cages are being delivered today. We’d best start filling them with cats.”

“I’ll take the tram over there now,” Mina said, grabbing the key. “Then I’ll check the ones in Parc Le Séraphin—some of them always survive the winter, and this could be our chance to put an end to at least one colony.”

I nodded. I knew the colony she meant; there were a half dozen scattered throughout the city, but the cats in Le Séraphin were mostly friendly, likely because they were used to being hand-fed by people in the neighbouring apartments. She hefted the box, lined with three of our warmest scarves, black as ink, which I hoped would make the kittens’ wintry fur all the more striking.

The ill cat was Thoreau, to my dismay. I’d found him huddled in his bed in a miserable ball that morning, and he showed no interest in his breakfast. Fortunately, the vet arrived less than an hour after I sent the telegram.

“Poor dear,” she said, scratching his tufted grey ears. Dr. Noémie Para was a cheerful, unassailably calm woman in her fifties. Perhaps the most experienced veterinarian in the city, she had treated every cat we’d fostered, always at reduced rates.

“I don’t hear anything wrong with his heart,” she said, putting her stethoscope back in her bag, “and his temperature’s normal. Has he been under any stress recently?”

I silently cursed Havelock, thinking of the relocation spell. “We had to—move his cage,” I said, which likely represented the greatest understatement I would ever utter.

“That might do it,” she said sympathetically. “The old-timers are often upset by change. Just don’t move him again.”

“I won’t,” I said grimly.

We didn’t have any visitors for the first half of the morning, affording me plenty of time to sit with Thoreau by the oven, which was making the place smell of chocolate that day. I was hungry enough that I couldn’t stop myself from poking my head in to check that there weren’t actually any pastries inside it.

Ambulance ensured I would not be oppressed by the quiet, keeping up a steady stream of yowls as I tended to Thoreau. Eventually I had to let him out of his cage, though I knew His Majesty was prowling about, looking for a distraction. Sure enough, the enormous cat came stalking over and leapt on Ambulance without provocation, clawing at him viciously.

I leapt to my feet to break up the scuffle, but in the same moment, Banshee came ambling into the fray. Oblivious to danger as always, she wandered past the snarling His Majesty and seated herself beside Ambulance, who was huddled close to the floor, having managed to break free of the larger cat. His Majesty was clearly not done with him, but Banshee took no heed, and began to wash Ambulance’s orange head. I could see His Majesty considering his next move. He would have to attack the oblivious Banshee to get to Ambulance, but His Majesty knew there would be no fun in this, for Banshee was as impervious to bullying as she was to common sense. She would only stare at him uncomprehendingly before trying to lick his face.

After a fraught moment, His Majesty stalked away in disgust, off to seek his amusement elsewhere.

I gave a huff of laughter. After checking that Ambulance was all right, I gave Banshee a handful of her favourite treats. There had been times—few in number, mind—when I’d wondered if the tabby wasn’t quite so senseless as she appeared.