Merlin the wizard. Ran a comedy club. Here in New York.
Rosario felt dizzy. She'd asked for specifics, and here it was, no maybes or possiblys or nobody really knows, a singular concrete fact – Merlin, the wizard from the stories, was a real guy and he ran a comedy venue – and somehow that one detail threw her off balance almost as bad as the whole rest of the conversation.
Belief shaping reality was craziness, but it was mostly theoretical craziness. Merlin had a mailing address. Rosario shared a wide-eyed glance with Lyra. "What about healing? You can't all do that, right? What kinda person could heal a broken arm?"