“Mum!” Nova sounded exasperated. “Hugo won’t stop it!”

Before Brody could speak, Hugo had marched into the room. He was seven and adamant to look seventeen, his hair stuck up in all directions, for the purpose of looking ‘awesome.’

“Hiiiss,” he said. “I’m a pazaltung!”

“You are not!” Nova insisted, as Hugo waved around a rubber snake.

Fyo would, for once, have liked to understand right away, what his children were talking about. “Does he mean parseltongue?” He asked Brody.

“Probably,” Brody said cheerfully. She wasn’t really worried. Last week, Hugo had been a duck. It would pass. It always did.