Iva and Aley owled yesterday to let me know they’re both comin’ back. Was a right relief, it was. Not that I was worried much, more I missed ‘em. I grab down the schedules for the Maison and WWW and bring the two owls closer to reread ‘em before I construct replies.

( Owls )

She always comes in ‘round three, so I notice. Quiet brown hair, quiet plain face, quiet shy voice, and loud as banshees crush. Thursdays and Fridays, regular as clockwork, she wanders in on ‘er lunchbreak, all alone, cheeks goin’ a tad rosy, and payin’ for a tour of one through the Maison. And Trudes is happy to oblige.

I always see the girl comin’ out of the tour with confetti in ‘er hair. Trudes doesn’t often give the shiny confetti. Usually it’s packin’ peanuts or feathers, if a dunk at all. Yessir, I been observin’ our satirical saleswitch, too, and what sorta pranks she pulls out the play on that quiet little witchling.

( Murphy's Law )

The Princess desires treats. And what Princess Reginald Bartholomew Kneazley wants, Princess Reginald Bartholomew Kneazley almost always gets. Within reason, you understand. No ponies for my princess.

I slip into the back, leaving Fred and Miles up front to wizard the shop, and head for the break room.

I’m just passing Pip’s workroom, when the door springs open and a flash of blonde hair jumps me, squealing ( Gotcha! )