One magician demanded I show him an image of the love of his life. I rustled up a mirror.

I had a chance at him now. Things were a bit more even. He knew my name, I knew his. He had six years' experience, I had five thousand and ten. That was the kind of odds that you could do something with.

Hey, we've all got problems, chum. I'm overly talkative. You look like a field of buttercups in a suit.

One magician demanded I show him an image of the love of his life. I rustled up a mirror.

Despite his crimped shirts and flowing mane (or perhaps because of them) I had seen no evidence as yet that Nathaniel even knew what a girl was. If he'd ever met one, chances are they'd both have run screaming in opposite directions.

Most traditional ghost stories feature rather hapless protagonists, who have nasty things happen to them.

"I warn you," the boy went on. "I am a magician of great power. I control many terrifying entities. This being you see before you" - here I rolled my shoulders back and puffed my chest up menacingly - "is but the meanest and least impressive of my slaves." Here I slumped my shoulders and stuck my stomach out.