She finds the meal doesn't sit well. She's certain at just about every moment that Bartimaeus is off transforming in front of the wrong people, that they're murdering him for his demonic nature as she sits sipping cocoa... She's up from her seat within fifteen minutes, at the frog-and-crossroads within twenty - which leaves her with ten regrettable minutes to shiver and fret.

He is a demon. At the end of the day. Fretting makes no sense. But he's also a good, helpful demon who just saved her life, and not for the first time...

She sighs and runs her hands through her hair.