#Elle’s sole mission is to consume whatever a mr whippy is

[sentient-stove]

“I grew up without parental supervision in a mansion filled with stolen magical artifacts right next to the mundane not magic ones. Of course I was gonna develop my own magical signature.” He popped the lock, and Elle watched as Tim spit into his hand, using it to smudge the charcoal wards on the window frame. “I want a Mr. Whippy.”

She’s starting to see why Mr. Constantine is supposed to be watching them. Tim was clearly hyper independent, and didn’t seem to be worried about falling to his death, clambering out of the window to perch delicately on the fire escape. Elle also considered herself to be decently hyper independent but Danny had said to ‘trust Constantine and lay low’. Heading out to find whatever a Mr. Whippy was seemed like the opposite of laying low.

“What’s a Mr. Whippy?”

“Cheap ice cream with a Cadbury Flake. Best London’s got to offer. Want to help me find a place that sells them?”

“Did you really use necromancy? More than once? And try to clone someone?”

“I’ll tell you about the first guy I brought back if you help me annoy Constantine by breaking out. Never cloned anyone though. Like, I mean,” Tim trailed off and pulled his hoodie sleeves over his fingers, nervously fidgeting. “I looked into the schematics of possibly doing so. But cloning him wouldn’t have brought my friend back. So I never followed through.”

…

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