That frank glare is met with raised eyebrows. Marcus has stared down the very forces of hell, and knows fine well it's nothing compared to the ire of a teenager. Effy's got a good impenetrable stare, and it makes him glad even while it frustrates him.

When she moves away from the counter, Marcus starts filling the kettle. Back turned, he says, "Can't just drop in for a chat? Been a little while. I wanted to know how you are."

When the kettle is on, he sits down opposite her, scraping chair legs along the floor. With one hand he tugs at the beads on his wrist. There are stick and poke tattoos on his hands. "I don't know how much you remember. How much you figured out. About what happened last year."

Last year: Charlotte Eze, tied to the bottom bunk of a children's bunk bed, calling Marcus a blasphemer in Aramaic. Bad stuff. It took him a whole month before the demon finally screamed and left. Early on in the process had he managed to snag conversations with a few people from Charlotte's school: Effy had been one of them, after Charlotte (quiet, sweet Charlotte) had erupted in a fit of violence during class and gone for Effy with her nails.