Evening, 27th February, 1894 — Blott residence, Bartonburg
“Argh,” he muttered to himself, when it became clear all hope was lost. He had been leaning over the fireplace for the last five minutes, stubbornly sprinkling Floo Powder onto the flames and praying for the faintest wisp of green to appear. No such luck. She had probably broken his fireplace’s bloody connection on her way in.
So much for her going home. (Of course she didn’t know anything about planets; she didn’t even know how to use the Floo network.) Nick would have booted her out the front door by now, if the storm hadn’t kept raging – all he could see through the darkened windows now were gusts of swirling snow.
“Don’t touch anything,” he shot out as he glanced back and swore he saw her moving. There were books on most surfaces, and clutter practically everywhere, so there were far too many (precious, personal, or potentially incriminating) things in her reach. And the gall she had to be here, in his space!
So much for her going home. (Of course she didn’t know anything about planets; she didn’t even know how to use the Floo network.) Nick would have booted her out the front door by now, if the storm hadn’t kept raging – all he could see through the darkened windows now were gusts of swirling snow.
“Don’t touch anything,” he shot out as he glanced back and swore he saw her moving. There were books on most surfaces, and clutter practically everywhere, so there were far too many (precious, personal, or potentially incriminating) things in her reach. And the gall she had to be here, in his space!
