"Oh, it's you. What have you found?" Fiona's voice was crisp and impatient, as were her stance. He had caught her in the middle of weeding her herb collection, but Fiona showed no signs of horticultural softness.
"I adore you too, sister dearest," Bleys drawled in greeting. "It seems someone has managed to mess up the Corridor, just as we suspected."
Fiona glared daggers at her brother's image; no mean feat considering that the image rested in her mind alone. "Less swagger, more details--brother!"
"It's full of doors. There isn't a single mirror left in the whole damn place."
"Doors. He swapped the mirrors for doors?" Fiona was incredulous and made no pretenses otherwise. Bleys watched with some amusement as she gathered her hair into a fierce bun, speared it into place with a pair of deadly flower pins and summoned forth her own Trump deck. Cold green eyes locked with his, and he prudently hid all signs of mirth. "I shall have a chat with our nephew about this. Fare well, Bleys."
He winced as the contact was cut off like thief's hand, and shook his head. Merlin was really in for it now, and it was time to settle in and enjoy the fireworks.