Samantha ate quietly in the café, dipping blueberry scones in tea and half-listening to Chaucer as he sat across from her. He was talking quite rapidly, such the lawyer. She watched him push up his glasses and blow auburn locks of hair out of his face as he prattled on. The tightly curled horns atop his head looked like quivering pale seashells. Samantha sniggered.
“It’s a simple case — why are you laughing?”
Samantha checked herself and said, “Oh nothing.”
“Please pay attention, Sam. This is important.”
“I know,” snapped Samantha. “I’m dreadfully aware of the situation. If they take away my wand, I’ll die.”
“Don’t be dramatic. We just need to prepare ahead of time. You’re an upstanding citizen, you passed your Mythic & Magical Practice exams with flying colors, and you have plenty of approved Cases of the Misfortunate under your belt. You just have … unusual charges on your record.”
“They exaggerate, every one of them,” Samantha muttered, hovering her wand tip above the rim of her teacup to stir her Earl Grey. “Have I ever once killed any of my clients? Never. Poppycock. I don’t know what that Paragraph Four-Hundred and whatnot nonsense was today; I always have my clients’ best interests in mind.”
“Your methods are unorthodox …”
“You think they should break my wand in two, do you?”
“No. Now, now,” Chaucer said, holding up a long-fingered Druid hand. “That’s not going to happen. We just need to find you a simple CM — an easy Case of the Misfortunate to show that you’re capable of good deeds without risks.”
Samantha stood, tired of advice and warnings and claptrap. She folded in her dragonfly wings and wrapped her coat tightly about herself.
“Where are you going?”
“To a human pub,” she said. “Magic is so stifling sometimes.”