He did a tidy transportation spell, Morwen had to admit, even if her own taste ran more to flying. The passage hadn’t even ruffled his dark hair. He’d clearly come prepared: The many pockets of his open knee-length black vest were bulging, and so were the pouches that hung from his wide black belt. Seven magic rings glittered on his fingers, three on his left hand, four on his right. His bright blue eyes were alight with anticipation. “Well, it’s about time,” Aunt Ophelia said acidly as he walked up the porch steps. “Hello to you, too,” Telemain said, nodding far more politely than he would have if he’d understood her comment. “There you are, Morwen! Where are these hypothetical wizards of yours?” “I bet he doesn’t even know which one of us you are,” Scorn said from the porch rail. “Hypothetical wizards, indeed!” “What’s that?” Fiddlesticks shouted from inside the house. On the window ledge, Jasmine yawned, curling up her tongue and stretching her head back.
