When I open my eyes this time, Lisa's napping on the couch. Grimoire, in book form, is on the ground before me.
Seeing him in that form, a question comes to my mind—something I'd forgotten to ask him in that strange mental-magical dimension. Why did he send me to Magister Orion and the Fae Ward, if he had little respect for wizards?
That thick cord within me, the new bond linking me with Grimoire, vibrates intensely, seeming almost irritated. Without thinking, I stroke the cover of the book, trying to calm down this dog-like spirit within.
Once my fingers contact the cover, I can hear his voice inside my head, sounding like a sulky child and not a hulking spirit with flames covering his skin. Odd how they didn't burn me, though.
I have respect for wizards, he snaps peevishly. They're just idiots sometimes.
Yeah. So respectful.
Respect comes in many forms.
