"Am I? Are you?" Iestyn hissed back. He bounced on the balls of his toes for a moment, trying to work up the courage to press the buzzer. The name plate next to the button was printed "D. Ceredig" in a neat cursive. The thought struck Iestyn that if their father really was a saint, he would have learned to write with a quill or something, hand-lettering entire books probably. He shook his head slightly.
"Okay. I'm doing it," he said, and pressed the button firmly. There was a moment of silence, and Iestyn stepped back next to Aderyn and gripped her fingers nervously. Then a voice, with a kind, lilting Welsh accent, came through the tinny speaker.
"Come on up, the kettle's just boiled." And the door buzzed open.