“You can’t be worse than old Owain Binks. Every time he summoned Wunder, people came running because they thought someone was being murdered.

“Sweet Street!” announced Hawthorne, throwing his arms wide as if he’d just welcomed Morrigan into his spiritual home. Sweet Street encompassed three whole blocks and was packed with chocolatiers and toffee makers, people stirring huge metal pots full of popping caramel corn, cake stands and crêperies, tables piled high with rock candy and bonbons,

a… a Grand Crusty Caledonia thing.”

It was becoming clear that “cagey and irritable” might just be her default expression. Morrigan could sympathize.

“How does that work?” “I have absolutely no idea. It’s a system my mate Tommy invented so he could cheat on tests, although why he needs to cheat on tests when he’s clever enough to invent stuff like this, I’ll never know.”

A curly, bulb-shaped cloud of black hair was tied back from her face with a yellow-gold scarf.

Was this typical Wundrous Society mystery, she wondered, or typical Jupiter North vagueness?

He happened to be a Wundersmith and a psychopath. Unfortunate combination,

If anyone else had talked about her “good heart” and “brave spirit” with a look of such glowing approval, Morrigan might have made gagging noises. But there was something about Miss Cheery that made her want to simply sit quietly and listen closely to every word she said.