He opens a door. Pushes me into a pitch-black room. A snap of his fingers, and a light flares to life, floating above our heads. It looks like a tiny octopus made of golden dust, moving steadily in place, tiny glittering tentacles dangling. By its light I can see that this small room is lined with shelves and supplies. “That’s beautiful,” I breathe, staring up at the glimmering golden light-creature. “How do you—” He presses a thick finger to my mouth. “An illusion of sorts. Don’t talk about my magic and my deals in the common room.” I shove his hand aside. “No one heard.” “But they could
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