"Hmm, yes, there
has been some upheaval lately. Can't say I mind, actually. Helps us pinpoint
the troublemakers, cut out the rotten elements before they infect the whole, generate
a new generation of rebels, that sort of thing. But I don't countenance our
housecleaning spilling over and hurting our friends outside the Fae Realms."
He snapped his fingers and two easy chairs appeared, with an oval table between
them, loaded with chocolate cookies and pitchers of hot chocolate.
Maurice whistled,
impressed. This was obviously going to be a long conversation, and Asmondius' knowledge
about matters back in the Fae Realms made him ready to take Maurice's concerns
seriously.
"Tell me what
happened with Angela, first," Asmondius said, as they settled down in the
chairs and poured their first cups. "She's been through more than enough trouble
and sorrow down through the centuries, for our sake as well as her own sad
history."
"She has a sad
history? Like what?" Maurice sat up, nearly bobbling his cup before he
took his first sip.
"Later,
lad."
Maurice knew that frown meant business. Asmondius had been a family friend, and he had learned early to gauge the seriousness of the situation by the wrinkles on the elder statesman's forehead. Right now, he wagered he could scrub an entire football team's worth of socks on those ridges. Taking a deep breath, he gathered up his magic and shot it at the Wishing Ball.
Normally by this late in the evening, especially after all the work he had been doing, trying to help solve the mystery of the intruders and stolen books, he wouldn't have more than enough magic to turn on the protective net around the shop before he went to bed. However, the Wishing Ball was as aware as a centuries-old magical object could be, without having a trapped soul inside it, needing the kiss of a prince or princess to break the spell. The Wishing Ball cared about Angela as much as Maurice did, evidenced by its eager cooperation when he wanted to contact Asmondius for a serious conversation.
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