Wolfgang smiles and kisses the top of his head. “Yes. Come on. I take you home.”
Still holding his hand, they walk along the edge of the cliffside — it's very wide, easily hikeable, or else they would have picked a better spot, it's a hassle to use magic to get everywhere — until they find the hole they came in from. It's easy to find; there's a blank spot with an outline drawn around it in brightly-coloured chalk, surrounded by strange circular runes and childish cartoon drawings. Wolfgang climbs through the hole.
At least they got him out of New York, if only for a few minutes — they thought for a while it might never happen. There was the moon, yeah, but that doesn't count, it was more like a dream than anything else.
They emerge into the shoebox of their shoebox apartment through the inside of the refrigerator. “Sorry,” they say, helping him out of it and in the process knocking over all of their condiments. “I kept trying to make it the bathroom door but it kept wanting to be the refrigerator. I don't know why.”