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“Morrigan,” I warn.

She freezes as everyone watches. Slowly, with all the dignity of a queen negotiating land rights, she drags it another inch.

Lazarus whispers, “I respect her courage.”

Edward points at him. “Do not encourage the cat.”

“She is not a cat,” I scold.

“She is on the table stealing bacon. That is cat behavior,” Edward huffs.

Alcott leans back in his chair. “Technically, she is a wild feline, which makes this less cat behavior and more organized crime.”

Morrigan takes the bacon. Edward makes a sound of defeat and I cannot help but laugh. Not the tentative kind that slips out before I can stop it, a true laugh. Lazarus’s face softens so completely that for a moment he looks almost young. Alcott looks down at his coffee as if giving me privacy, while Edward turns back to the eggs, but not before I see his eyes shine.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” I say. “I laughed. I did not perform a miracle.”

“Yes, you did,” Lazarus says.

I throw a napkin at him and it hits his face. He remains perfectly still beneath it.

“Assault at breakfast,” he says gravely. “I shall recover, but only with biscuits.”

“You already ate three.”

“Recovery is complex.” He gestures with a biscuit in his grasp.

Alcott reaches for the biscuit plate. “I prescribe one more.”

Edward frowns. “You are not a real physician.”

Alcott’s smile turns wicked. “Not legally.”

“That is not comforting.”

“Comfort was never my specialty.” Alcott winks.

Morrigan, having secured her stolen bacon, leaps from the table, and pads toward the window. Thanatos taps again.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Morrigan looks at the vulture and he stares back at Morrigan. Some silent animal negotiation takes place, then Morrigan menacingly looks back at me.

“No,” I say.

Tap. Tap.

Lazarus rises. “I shall let him in.”

“You shall not,” Edward says.

“He is cold.” Laz pouts.

“He is covered in feathers.” Edward glowers.

“Emotionally cold.”

Alcott nods thoughtfully, agreeing with Lazarus. “A serious condition.”