Django Wexler

“I still say they’re creepy,” Ashes said.

“I don’t think you get to decide what’s creepy,” Alice said. “You’re a talking cat. You’re creepy. This whole place is creepy.”

Michael cleared his throat. “You’ve never had a dog, Alice?”

Alice shook her head. “My father didn’t like them.”

“They’re not like cats,” the boy said. “You give them commands.”

“Because they lack all dignity,” said Ashes under his breath.

Of course, where magic is involved, appearances don’t mean much.

“There’s this thing called dignity that some cats have been known to have. You might want to look into it.”

“A cat is always dignified, no matter what position he finds himself in,” Ashes said. “A half-cat even more so.”

Some things are more important than following the rules.

Aren’t they?

I must say, you are the least unintelligent human I have ever met.

The truth can be useful, sometimes. Assuming you can convince people.

“We’re doomed,” one of the sprites said, turning wildly in a circle as though excited at the prospect. “Doomed! Doomed!”

“What do you see here?”

“Books?”

“Indeed, books. They are the ocean in which magic swims.”

“Don’t tell me this is about protecting humanity,” Alice said. “None of you cares one bit about the people in the real world. This is about power, just as it always has been. You’re afraid of losing a little bit of power.”

In desperation, she slid her fingers in the cracks between blocks, looking for some kind of catch or hidden mechanism. Which was ridiculous, she thought, because how complicated could a secret door be if a cat figured it out?

They have servants. I’d rather have friends.