’tis a jurdan temple

“How is your son? Cat, is it?” “Kit. He’s a good boy. Growing like a sprout. Quick hands, very useful in my line of work.” “You have your child picking pockets?” “Some of that. Some passing on trifles like keys. Some sleight of hand. All sorts. He’s multitalented.” “Isn’t he about ten years old?” Magnus asked. Johnny shrugged. “He’s very advanced.” “Clearly.”

if there was one thing he had learned from the past few months, it was that reneging on promises made to supernatural creatures was a bad idea.

It was a brisk night, and the wind was blowing leaves across Second Avenue like handfuls of thrown confetti.

and that’s what foreshadowing looks like, right?

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