He would not be Barney Skeeter if he welcomed her with open arms, and yet still, Maeve felt herself rather crestfallen at his reaction. It was as though something in reality were slightly off, though that could well have been the peculiar odour of the room (Maeve was quite certain the smell was not Mr. Skeeter himself, for there was no way for the wizard to smell anything shy of heavenly).

“Have they found proper occupation for you yet?” the redhead inquired. Only after the words—intended to highlight how wasted his immesurable skills were in his current post—left her lips did Maeve realize they might seem mocking, and she blushed in horror at the thought.