Adrian Blackwood

Adrian and Boston both looked at her, somewhere between incredulous and insulted, and Bran stopped banging against the window and sped to through the door instead, flying towards Adrian, who unconsciously outstretched hand. He winced as the handle of the broom smacked into his palm and he could feel Bran's angry buzzing.

"Bran was made by the Old Wife of the Bones," Boston said, affronted. "Lydia would never make a defective broom and double never give it to Adrian. I let the crack about sleeping in holes slide, but this is entirely too far! That's an insulting suggestion from the--"

"Relax Boston," Adrian said, looking down at his familiar. "I don't think she met Aunt Lydia or my mom. And even if she did, I don't think she'd understand. It's fine. Aunt Lydia wouldn't take offense." Beat. "Probably."

Boston, tail fluffy and hackles raised, deliberately turned away from Yelena, muttering something under his breath.