Well, where to look for potatoes? - Rubbing his palms, Korneev asks a question, like a kite, pacing near my bags and packages.

- Is it your room.

I'm not asking, I'm confirming. What the hell are potatoes if he dragged my things into his night lair? Of course, I didn’t think anything bad, although our understanding of the bad is clearly different. But still. I am only softened by the fact that Korneev has become my obsessive fairy godmother. Appears where needed and not needed. And it is unlikely that an aunt with wings and a magic wand will want to share a bed with her ward.

Lord, what...