Nobody’s home. She knows that even before the door swings open. The background stench of elves doesn’t confuse that recognition, no more than a profusion of potted plants might fool her into thinking that she’s stepped into a forest somewhere. Live bodies give off fresh scents that are unmistakably distinct from the stamp of smells impressed on a place over time, and the smells here are all old. Exactly how old she isn’t sure: a few days or so. Her human-shaped nose isn’t quite as acute as the real thing.