And so the Hayle sisters rode into battle, our demon cat between us.

Dad met us in the hall outside his own quarters, on the same level as the dressing room we'd been shunted off to. Even he had changed completely this time, into what looked like a very old-fashioned version of a tuxedo-if tuxedos were made of odd fabric eddying with movement as though a living organism flowed around inside and if spikes from every joint were ever de rigueur.

He looked about as unhappy ...