There was no instant recognition in the illusionists eyes as James stared at the newcomer to his wagon. Even when a name was offered it took a moment for the Professor to realize that Kieran was someone he had seen before...and not another figment of the sorcerer's imagination. Oh it should have been silly to think the Scot an illusion, but Blackstone had a habit of unintentionally creating and conversing with folks that weren't there.
It was a byproduct of his power; constantly being perception and reality to his will, also came at a steep price when it came time to differentiate what was and was not truly real. James wasn't insane exactly. Merely perceptually challenged since his magic grown more potent and powerful over the last two decades. To the point that he could, and did, regularly chat with his wife over a cup of tea. Despite her having been quite deceased for a long while now.
Something sparked in his eyes those at last. Some glimmer of realization when that accent was heard. And with a little nod James closed the book and set it aside. "Of course, Doctor. Please come in and take a seat. I always have time to converse for a bit, and answering questions is another pastime of mine too. Though should I grow long winded, or go tumbling down a tangential rabbit hole, please feel free to let me know." With every word the Professor spoke his accent grew a tad more noticeable until it seemed to mirror Kieran's. As if Blackstone was a fellow Scotsman as well. It was a simple parlor trick to be sure, and one that the sorcerer used without thinking. In truth he held no real accent of his own, but most that heard the man speak would've sworn that James must have grown up in their neck of the woods.