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"No, I was almost seven, but even when I was little I went places with my mom more than my dad, and when she didn't have me it was just as often my grandmother or my great-grandmother or an aunt or one of my mom's clan friends, and they fly. I've been in a bus, more than that," she adds. "I went to human school sometimes until I was partway through tenth grade, and before I knew how to fly there I took the bus."

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"Huh," says Tony. "That's pretty weird. I mean, it's not actually all that weird, I just have trouble wrapping my head around the idea of growing up on no cars."

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"I can take a passenger on this thing," Isabella says, "if you wanna see why witches don't spend much time in ground vehicles."

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"...Tempted," says Tony. "Veeeeery tempted."

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"Only tempted?" laughs Isabella.

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"Well, flying is intrinsically awesome, but the thought of going up there with nothing between me and the ground but your goodwill and a tree branch makes my inner control freak scream like a five-year-old watching Jurassic Park for the first time."

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"Well, I'd want to tuck a few bayleaves into your collar and say a verse first."

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He cocks his head as though listening for a change.

"Stiiill screaming," he reports.
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"Suit yourself." She continues to drift along the corridor.

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"But I mean, if I could fly, I'd drive way less," he says. "Not never. But less."

And at last, down a flight of stairs: the garage.

It's big enough to make the row of cars at the other end look small.
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"Cool," says Isabella.

She opens up the cloud-pine a bit, zooms and turns and flies over the cars peering at them curiously.
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...Tony laughs.

The cars are pretty, and when not pretty, interesting! Many are brightly coloured. There's the obligatory bright red Dodge Viper, the equally obligatory silver Audi, something attractively sleek with three front seats instead of the usual two... quite the selection for someone this young.
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"They're pretty," says Isabella, flying back to within easy hearing distance. "Why does this one have three front seats?"

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"'Cause that way the driver's seat goes in the middle, I guess? Better symmetry?"

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"Huh. Neat." She does a bit of a loop, idly, snugly in the small space.

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"Hey Jarvis, where are my pretty lights?"

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"How remiss of me," Jarvis says dryly.

The air fills with complex geometric patterns of multicoloured glowing lines that twirl and interweave and collapse into one another and fan out again a moment later.
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"Ooh," says Isabella, dropping a few feet and tilting backwards to get a good look. "Nifty."

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"Tony is very proud of his pretty lights," says Jarvis.

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"Are they for something, or just decoration?"

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The lightshow folds in on itself until all that's left is a blue wireframe of the car with the three front seats, which splits apart into all its component pieces and then slowly reassembles.

"He finds it very convenient for working on schematics," says Jarvis.
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"Oh, nifty. If I had one of these things I'd use it for working out runes instead of writing on the walls and stuff," says Isabella. "It's always easier to work life-sized, fond as I am of notebooks..."

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"You could have one of these," says Tony. "I mean, technically. You'd need some serious scratch just to get all the parts together, though, never mind installing 'em. And it wouldn't work nearly as well without Jarvis behind the scenes."

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"And I'd need a permanent residence, I imagine. I live in my teacher's house for now, and it's a rental of sorts, we'll move when the owner no longer wants to trade a house for magical diabetes treatments instead of the standard injecty kind. Or when he dies."

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"Yeah, that too," Tony agrees. "Of course, I could always stick one in the Bell Tower, if Bar lets me..."

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