"Oh, you know very well what makes you different, but why are you different? You don't come from my world, yet you feel..." Baba's free hand, the one not placating the behaving, for now, house with constant contact, reached up as if to touch him. She was just within arm's reach, but she never actually let her fingers light upon his person. It was as if she were feeling the air about him.
"You feel old. And magical." Her hand turned over, and finally the back of her fingers brushed along whatever bit of his body were close, all without being too indecent. "Very old magic, just misplaced. It's very intriguing. How did you come to be like this, Sweeney?"
If he knew anything about fairy tales, maybe he'd feel that she was that kind of magic. It was possible there were those like her, old crones, from his own reality. Crones who looked young, felt young, and could do strange things to men, women, and children should they take a notion. Her true origins were unknown exactly, but her name was Slavic. Sometimes it was safer not to say her true name, or any name at all. Names were power after all.