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extreme. I immediately raised the alarm, and security searched the Hall from top to bottom, but there was no trace to be found of Miss Melissa.”
    I looked at him for a long moment. “Are you saying,” I managed finally, “that not only did Melissa’s kidnappers remove her from this Hall without anyone noticing, but that they walked off with all her belongings as well? And no-one saw anything? Is that what you’re saying?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “I have a major slap with your name on it in my pocket, Hobbes.”
    “I feel I should also point out that no magics will function in Griffin Hall unless authorised by a member of the Griffin family, sir. So Miss Melissa could not have been magicked out of her room…”
    “Not without her cooperation or that of someone in her family.”
    “Which is of course quite impossible, sir.”
    “No, Hobbes, nailing a live octopus to a wall is impossible, everything else is merely difficult.”
    “I bow to your superior knowledge, sir.”
    I was still thinking Inside job , but I wasn’t ready to say it out loud.
    I peered into the empty room again and tried to call up my gift, hoping for at least a glimpse of what happened, but my inner eye wouldn’t open. Someone with a hell of a lot of power really didn’t want me using my gift in this case. I was beginning to wonder if perhaps Someone was playing games with me…
    Footsteps sounded in the corridor behind me. I looked round just in time to see a uniformed maid come to a halt before Hobbes and curtsy respectfully. Damn, the servants moved quietly around here. She bobbed a quick curtsy to me, too, as an afterthought.
    “Pardon me, Mr. Hobbes, sir,” said the maid, in a voice that was little more than a whisper. “But the Mistress said to tell you she wants a word with Mr. Taylor before he leaves.”
    Hobbes looked at me and raised an eyebrow.
    “Oh please teach me how to do that,” I said. “I’ve always wanted to be able to raise a single eyebrow like that.”
    The maid got the giggles and had to turn away. Hobbes just looked at me.
    “Oh what the hell,” I said. “Might as well talk to the Mistress. She might know something.”
    “I wouldn’t bank on it, sir,” said Hobbes.
     
    The maid hurried off on business of her own, and Hobbes led me all the way back up the corridor to Mariah Griffin’s room. I was curious as to why she would want to see me and what she might be prepared to tell me about her grand-daughter that Jeremiah wouldn’t, or couldn’t. Women often share secrets within a family that the men know nothing about. We finally came to a stop before another anonymous door.
    “Mariah Griffin’s room, sir,” said Hobbes.
    I looked at him thoughtfully. “Not Jeremiah and Mariah’s room? They have separate bedrooms?”
    “Indeed, sir.”
    I didn’t ask. He wouldn’t have told me anyway.
    I nodded to him, and he knocked very politely on the door. A loud female voice said Enter! and Hobbes pushed the door open and stepped back so I could enter first. I sauntered in as though I was thinking of renting the place, then trashing it. Even though it was what passed for midafternoon in the Nightside, Mariah Griffin was still in bed. She was sitting up in a filmy white silk nightdress, propped up and supported by a whole bunch of puffy pink pillows. The walls were pink, too. In fact, the whole oversized room had a kind of pink ambience, like walking into a nursery. The bed was big enough for several people, if they were of a friendly inclination, and Mariah Griffin was surrounded by a small army of maids, advisors, and social secretaries. Some of them grudgingly made way as I took up a position at the foot of the bed.
    The elaborate and no doubt very expensive counterpane was covered with the remains of several half-eaten meals, even more half-consumed boxes of chocolates, and dozens of scattered glossy gossip magazines. An open bottle of champagne stood chilling in an ice bucket, conveniently near at hand.