Bodram couldn’t find the last potential coven member on his list. The homeless man was supposed to be here somewhere and time was running out. He’d just started his finding spell when the staff caught him under the ribs.
“Looking for me?” Abel was lean, pale-haired, stank and carried a big stick.
“We can help you.”
“Do what? I eat, sleep and avoid all you lot because I’m a sensible wizard.”
“You’re a wizard?” Bodram laughed.
“I got an owl,” there was a nearby double hoot, “and a staff. ‘Course I am.”
“An unenchanted staff? What good’s that?”
“I hit you with it, you don’t cast spells at me.”