At the sound of Ethan Gray’s sharp question, Blanche’s tiny frame jolted as if she’d been struck by a static spark. She reflexively shoved her small, yogurt-sticky hands behind her back, her face twisting into a mask of guilty, awkward laughter. She shook her head so vigorously her pigtails whipped through the air, but the evidence was glowing twelve feet wide on the apartment wall.
“I’m sorry, Mister!” she squeaked, her voice thick with the accent of Brocade City. “I... I only gave it a tiny little poke, I did!”
Ethan hadn't expected his casual remark to send the child into such a state of panic. To Blanche, "Mister Gray" was an authority figure, a man of magic who owned a house full of Little Bear Yogurt drinks and wall-sized movies. The thought that she might have broken his "magic" c
