“Um, sure.”
“Do you like me better in a dress or in trousers?”
“I haven’t really thought about it. . . .” mumbled Susan, who had thought about it.
Merlin smiled wickedly and ran his left hand over the paving stones that demarked the end of the lawn, with the shed on the other side.
“The wards are intact.”
“What does that mean?”
“The wards are magical lines of protection, boundaries that something inimical cannot cross. This house and the gardens are strongly warded and, as far as I can tell, no one has tried to interfere with them.”
“As far as you can tell?”
“It’s more of a right-handed thing,” said Merlin. “But they haven’t been obviously broken. You look good in overalls, by the way.”
“Uh . . . thank you,” replied Susan.
“I look good in overalls, too,” mused Merlin. “When I can get some that fit.”
Susan found herself nodding, and stopped.
“Fancy a drink later? Or a movie?” asked Merlin.
“Are you asking me out?”
“Yes,” said Merlin. He sounded a little surprised himself, as if he hadn’t meant to ask her at all.
“I hardly know you,” said Susan as dismissively as she could manage. She was attracted to Merlin—who wouldn’t be—but she didn’t like that he was all too aware of it. He seemed to be the sort of beautiful person who had to test their charms on everyone they came in contact with, and she wasn’t going to fall for it.
“We have saved each other’s lives,” said Merlin. “That’s a real icebreaker. Tell me—”
“What about this creature on the shed?” interrupted Susan, keen to get the conversation back on track. “And you taking me to your bookshop . . . and anyway, I have someone back home.”
“Really? But you broke up when you left, right? It wouldn’t be fair, otherwise. What’s her name? Or his? Anyway, with the boundary wards intact, the Kexa couldn’t get closer than the shed.”
“The what? And his name’s Lenny. He plays the French horn.”
Even as she spoke, Susan regretted offering up this detail, though Merlin restrained himself from more than the faintest lift of one eyebrow.
“Kexa. Or hemlock cat, if you prefer. A cat beast of the darkest hours of the night, whose breath is poison. Sent by someone to have a poke around, or maybe breathe on someone. I suppose this confirms it.”
“Confirms what?” asked Susan. She was feeling both slightly flustered and a little bit annoyed. Merlin had no right to be so attractive, mysterious, and annoying all at once.
“It confirms that Great-Uncle Thurston is right, which to be fair does happen occasionally when he stirs himself. The Greats do need to see you. Come on, the cab’s waiting.”
He turned about and started to walk back along the lawn, but stopped as Susan grabbed his shoulder.
“Ow!”
“Oh, I’m sorry! Does it still hurt?”
“Of course it does,” replied Merlin. “I’m on light duties for two weeks. No unpacking books, no tidying shelves. Marvelous.”
He started to turn away again, but Susan spoke very sharply and sternly, and he stopped.
“Merlin! Why do your relatives want to see me? And who sent the . . . the—”
“Kexa.”
“Kexa. Inspector Greene warned me I was at risk from the Old World if I stayed in London—”
“Yes,” said Merlin. “Far more so than we thought initially, if a hemlock cat is prowling about the place. That’s why you need to come in to the shop.”
“Greene told me not to have any more to do with you and the booksellers, either.”
“That was good advice. Then.”
“What do you mean ‘then’ and why are you interested now?”
“Well, personally I like you and—”
“Merlin—”
“There’s a Kexa after you, but that aside, my esteemed elder relative has got the idea that the Raud Alfar warden in the wood wasn’t shooting at me. Admittedly, I gave him that notion, after I’d had time to think about what happened.”
“What do you mean? You were the one who got hit!”
“Yes. I put myself in the way. But the warden was aiming at you.”
“Me?!”
“And the Raud Alfar don’t shoot regular mortals. Not usually. So my sainted great-uncle—technically great-great-great-times-something-great—has consulted with my sainted great-aunt, likewise times whatever, and they have asked themselves, What does that make you?”
“It doesn’t make me anything,” protested Susan.
“Your mum was friends with a Sipper,” pointed out Merlin. “Who else did she know, back then?”
“That’s what I’m trying to find out,” said Susan. “And how can you be sure the Raud Alfar warden was shooting at me?”
“I am sure. But Great-Uncle Thurston checked; he had Cousin Norman look back.”
Susan opened her mouth to ask another question, but Merlin took pity and answered before she had to speak.
“Norman’s one of the right-handed, and a seer, of sorts. A reverse oracle, you might say. He can look back at things that have already happened. And yes, before you ask, there are other right-handed who can look forward, but it’s much more difficult to make sense of what they see. So no fortune-telling, as such.”
“I wasn’t going to ask about my future,” said Susan indignantly. “Only . . . if Norman can look into the past, maybe he could see my dad, which would make everything so much easier.”
“Hmm. The further back it is, the more difficult it is to discern anything in particular,” said Merlin. “Particularly for Norman, who’s a bit dim, to be honest. Come on, like I said, cab’s waiting.”
“Really?” asked Susan, following him back inside. “You are extravagant. I can’t afford to even catch a taxi, let alone leave one waiting.”
“Oh, I’m not paying!” exclaimed Merlin. “I work in a bookshop, remember? The pay is execrable. I never have any money to speak of. All my clothes, wonderful as they are, are from Oxfam. Or nicked from relatives. No, we’ve got three cabs; Aunt Audrey and Uncle Jerome drive two, and various cousins take turns with the third. They won’t let me drive, worse luck, because I crashed Emilia’s Jensen that time, taking no account of the fact I did it on purpose to stop a . . . well, never mind. Great-Aunt Merrihew got the idea to use cabs from that old TV show, the spy one. You know, with the swinging light bulb that gets shot, da-da-dum, da-da-da-dum, da-da-dum, da-da-da-dum, pow!”
“Callan,” said Susan. “I’ve seen it. I suppose it makes sense, to blend in. Though I’d have thought it was quicker to take the Tube most of the time.”
“We can’t take the Tube,” said Merlin. He went out the front door but paused on the bottom step, resting one hand on the low iron gate. Susan shut the door behind them and stood on the next step up from Merlin, waiting for him to go on. But he didn’t move, instead looking up and down the square.
“The mythic palimpsest concept I mentioned to you—well, the layers are very thick and close throughout London in general, but particularly below. There are lots of things under us that are bound or forgotten, and best left undisturbed. And others, wakeful, but not roused to action. Our presence disturbs them. We only take the Tube when we absolutely have to.”