Eliot was not, as a rule, much of a reader. He preferred his media to come with audio and visuals, thank you. But Margo was doing some sort of . . . retail thing at the town's answer to Lush, and there was little else to do in this place before the bars opened.

And he'd already spent far too much time this week handwavily harassing the portal gnomes. If he did any more, they were bound to portal him to Outer Mongolia in revenge, which would play havoc with his coiffure.

So he was at the coffee shop. With a book. One on plants he'd picked up in an attempt to make sure he and Margo didn't accidentally poison themselves while they looked for more appropriate lodgings and/or a way back to Fillory.

"Khat, huh?" he mused to himself as he read. "Ooo, induces a state of clear-headed euphoria. I'll just . . . bookmark that one. . . ."

[open!]