It’s me isn’t very reassuring, nor is dropping down on a rope like a giant spider or having a blood red helmet on one’s head.

Nico’s hand is on the grip of his sword. The ghosts aren’t necessarily lemures, unfriendly and angry, and wouldn’t be able to do much to protect him even if ordered. “This is Andrew’s place. Find your own place to camp.”

Not for the first time, Nico missed the Mist. There’s nothing to hide how weird this must look. Ghosts are normal here, and magic, but people don’t like darker powers. He’s had to stop summoning skeletal forest creatures when he’s bored.

“It’s not my place,” Andrew says in a voice that crackles like a dusty old book. “It’s the clown’s.”