Minor Mage

by T. Kingfisher

The baby next door would have been radically improved with claws and a snout, as far as Oliver was concerned.

The armadillo had always been glad that Oliver didn’t snore. His life had just never depended on it before.

“You’re a cynical kid,” said Trebastion. “You make harps out of dead people,” said Oliver. “Yes, but I haven’t allowed it to taint my basic optimism.”