The similarities between Birch and her offspring were unnerving at times. When she cocked her head to listen, exactly the same way Cypress did, Jacopo caught himself wondering who he’d noticed it in first. Had he recognised Birch in Cypress, or was he only now noticing Cypress in Birch? Unblurring their identities was more complicated than it should have been: while Birch had once been his lover, technically he’d spent more time around Cy and probably knew her better.

Another thing Birch and her children shared was a non-judgemental nature. Was it nature, or was it nurture? Whether there was a forgiveness gene or whether she’d simply raised her children to be this way, it was this uncritical manner which made them all simultaneously so safe and so frustrating. On the one hand, no one else could have welcomed him into their home with any less inclination to judge, pity, or reprimand him for his past. On the other hand, Cy and Olive’s tendency to adopt strays of every species cost them in more ways than one.

Jacopo didn’t answer Birch immediately, rubbing his forehead at the hairline while he thought about what to say. Openness didn’t come naturally, even now that he’d spent the last few years living amongst people who called him family. For the last decade or so of his life, upfront honesty was stupid at best, and downright dangerous at worst. You kept yourself to yourself in the criminal world on either side of the bars if you wanted to survive.

“I was born Jacopo Agani, in Reggio Calabria in southern Italy.” He began with a hint of uncertainty, not sure if this is what she meant. Had she only wanted him to explain about his prison experience, rather than giving his life story? Probably. But he couldn’t do himself justice by talking about any part of his life in isolation. “That’s a city. We didn’t even have a garden.” A brief, ghostlike smile passed over his face. “I was raised Gwythrian. My parents were educated but not rich, and they eventually separated. I had an older sister. I did well in school. Finished up with decent grades and joined the Divine Scribes, where I trained and eventually became an archivist for the Council of Originals.”

There was a pause, indicating the end of a chapter. Up to this point, the factual statements felt distant, almost as if he was describing someone else’s life.

“Listen,” he sighed. “There’s no sob story here. I had a normal life up to that point and no reason to turn to crime. I can’t even really explain why I did what I did, other than…” he shrugged helplessly, “it was easy money and I was young and stupid. There was an organisation that a mutual friend put me in touch with and I sold them secrets. Handling sensitive information was part of my job, so it wasn’t hard. I kept it going for a while before I was caught, tried and sent to the fairy prison in Etna. I did four years there and then got sent back to Reggio Calabria.”

Another pause. Frowning, Jacopo picked up a green stick from the ground and prodded at the fire, turning one of the sticks so that the flames could get underneath it.

“I’m not making excuses,” his voice was somewhat more hollow as he continued, “but no one tells you how much one prison sentence ruins the rest of your life. I lost my job, my home, my family, all my friends. I came out and no one would hire me. All I could get was low-skilled temporary work, either minimum wage or reliant on tips. I was homeless a few times. Every home or job I had during those two years was unstable.” There was more he could say – about the hunger, the cold, the indignity, the dehumanisation – but he bit it back. None of it was an excuse for what came next. “So when the organisation got back in touch… well, they didn’t have to sell it that hard. A new life on another planet, a guaranteed job and a stable home, and all I had to do was something I already knew how to do: sell information.” He shook his head. “I was just supposed to keep an eye on this kid and send along any information I liked. Nothing I felt uncomfortable with, they said. Just… hobbies, habits. That kind of thing.

“I guess,” he gave a grim, brief smile, “there’s a kind of blessing in the fact that I got the wrong fucking kid from the start. I thought they wanted me to watch Tristan, when it was supposed to be Thoth.” Thoth, who would go on to become his step-daughter’s boyfriend and haunt the corridors of his home.

“Then…” The words caught in his throat for a split second and came out even more gruffly than usual. “You and Bethany came into my life and completely turned it around. When I got the message from the organisation telling me to go pick the kid up, I told them to stuff it. I tried to pull out.” He pressed the heel of his hand against his forehead, staring into the fire. “Woke up the next day and Bethany was gone. The next message I got from them was a simple exchange: Bethany for the kid. So I went and picked Tristan up, but I got cold feet before I got him to the drop-off point and brought him back.”

The words hung in the air for a few moments.

“I know I should have asked you for help.” He closed his eyes. “I wish I’d asked you for help. But no one had helped me with anything for so long and it just never occurred to me.”