It could be another wizard or witch. Or the police. And if I go poking around these places I could draw attention from the sort of people who know wha... I’m doing. Who then start to ask questions. And that’s not what I want.Over from the corner where I’m sat there’s a girl who is the definition of a hipster. The way she’s dressed, her absurdly specific drink choice, the fact she’s listening to what appears to be an Armenian band through her Mac while typing out what I’m sure is a thrilling novel. “Both?” she asked more that answered.“Can you tell me the things you know that you enjoy or don’t enjoy?” I wondered aloud.“I want to,” she answered meekly leaving the rest of the statement unsaid.“But you’re still afraid to,” I finished her statement.“Is there anything I can do to make it easier for you to tell me?” I asked. She shook her head timidly.I had a feeling it would be a long, long time before she could admit it to anyone. The little I gleaned about her from Amy last night and from. More

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