It was hard to keep track of all the questions Whip fired at him one after the other, sometimes not even pausing for breath in between. Flying, shrinking, magic, talismans, the Dean. Kissing, of all things! And again, What are you? That question that, on its surface made no earthly sense. Whip had asked it three times, now. "Why do you keep asking me that?" Anton asked in frustration. "What do you want me to say? I told you: I'm Hungarian. I'm from Ohio. I'm almost eighteen, and I'm probably psychotic. I don't know! I don't know what I am! I don't know what you are! Am I imagining this? My God, I have no idea!"
Anton covered his face with his hands, took deep breaths. He pressed his palms against his eyes until he saw colours. "I came here to get help. I was supposed to get help..." He looked up beseechingly at Whip, human-sized again, mercifully so. "Am I crazy?" he asked.