The steady flow of brain-exploding new things was hammering at her. When she was little, a wave had knocked her over at the seaside, and every time she’d tried to get up the next wave had knocked her down again. This was worse. Her mum had come and picked her up back then. Who was going to help this time?
Ever since the unfortunate events of the French Revolution, Magnus had nursed a slight prejudice against vampires. The undead were always killing one’s servants and endangering one’s pet monkey. The vampire clan in Paris was still sending Magnus rude messages about their small misunderstanding. Vampires bore a grudge longer than any technically living creatures, and whenever they were in a bad temper, they expressed themselves through murder. Magnus generally wished his companions to be somewhat less -no pun intended- blood-thirsty.