"You know." Except no, he doesn't. What a strange lad this has turned out to be. "Having a good time," she says, slow and clear and just this side of are-you-simple-or-what. "Playing. Laughing. You know how to laugh, don't you?"

Maybe he doesn't. He hasn't laughed, yet. Not even when he was teasing her by picking apart her crown. Greta scrutinizes him for a few moments, mouth drawn to one side in a considering pucker.

"Are you really an angel?" she asks. "Angels are supposed to have wings and halos."