Wolfgang tilts their head to the side. They turn, the stool spinning with them, and nearly crash over themselves from a combination of long stork legs plus still wearing those magnifying lenses. They catch themself just in time, sheepishly take the things off, and root around behind the counter, producing a slightly tarnished antique silver hand mirror, which they hand to Michael expressionlessly.
“I can't change the way they work.” Yet. “I can only make them look different, and someone with more magic than me maybe sees through it.”
They are careful not to mention that there may be only one person in this city with more magic than them. For one thing, because that's way too close to bragging, which they never do; for another, knowing it's not one hundred percent foolproof is a reasonable precaution.