Eric Wroth collapsed in an overstuffed maroon wingback with a sigh. He stripped off a pair of gloves as he stretched his legs toward the fire set in a hearth a couple yards away.
Seven hours on his feet running between four different parts of the Library had taken their toll.
“It’s not the walking or running,” he said, “it’s the changes in climate and temperature that wipe you out.”
A couple feet away, on a patterned love seat, Maryam Clifford nodded in sympathy.
“I got lucky today. Had Magic and Magical Community, different continents, but same hemisphere at least.”
“Mansion, Visitor Hall, Restricted, and Magic.”
“Oof. Both Americas, Asia, and . . . Australia? Whose shitlist did you get on?”
“No idea. Or what I did.”
He stretched with a groan before inspecting his hands.
“New materials for Restricted . . . No clue what, but it had a ‘no skin contact’ warning, even in a box and carry bag.”
“Wow. Haven’t seen one of those in a while. Never carried one.”
“I don’t recommend it. Two transfers, three sections from triage to mansion to Restricted. Sweated bolts the whole way, just imagining what could happen if the wards failed or the bag ripped.”
“You sound like a perfect Mundane candidate. Nothing to worry about there, no pressure.”