Ignoring a cat-headed knocker, green with verdigris, Juno pounded on the door in a way that made Phil hunch his shoulders and duck his head, keeping an apprehensive eye on the ceiling. But the house didn't collapse.
After a time a peephole opened above the knocker and a watery gray eye surveyed Juno.
"I want to see that no-good husband of mine," she shouted, but it didn't seem her usual self-confident roar.
"Now Juno, you're all upset," came the response in a voice Phil recognized as that of Sacheverell Akeley. "Your aura's all muddy; I can hardly see you through it."
"Listen here," Juno bellowed, "you let me in or I'll bust your lousy house down."
Phil thought that, even granting some lack of certainty in Juno, this was not a threat to be taken lightly, but it didn't faze Sacheverell. "No, Juno," he said firmly. "I can't let you in when your vibrations are like that, and when hate hormones are streaming off you. Later perhaps—then we may even be able to help you achieve inward tranquility—but not now."
"But look," Juno complained in surprisingly docile tones, "I got a friend with me that's got business with you." She stepped aside.
"What business?" Sacheverell asked skeptically.
Phil looked straight at the oysterish eye and said, "The green cat."
The door swung back and Sacheverell, now no longer in orange beret and pants, but a robe of bronze embroidered green, waved Phil in with an arm that swished emerald silk. His sunburn now seemed the exotically dark complexion of an Asian mystic. "All doors must open to him who speaks that name," he said simply. "Do you vouch for your companion's peacefulness?"