1
‘Cordelia Vesper,’ said Valerie, in the resonant tone of a disapproving headmistress. ‘You are bored.’
‘I deny it,’ I said instantly.
Val looked pointedly at my desk, and all the evidence to the contrary strewn across it. I’d adopted an out-of-the-way nook in the library at Home, tucked under one of the big, bright windows overlooking the sun-baked grounds. The window was wide open, letting in all the intense heat of mid-August and an occasional, desultory stir of air. Not enough of a breeze to cool me down. More than enough to cause havoc among the thousand or so sweet wrappers littering my desk top.
‘I got hungry,’ I said, as a faint puff of wind whisked a few more onto the floor.
Val folded her arms. Ordinarily stationed at her enormous desk at the entrance to the library — where
