There may be some kind of death goddess in Mortimer Halliwell's basement. Ari has a new priority in this situation, and its name is damage control.

Ari makes a brutally efficient gesture with his feet, and Mortimer is swallowed up to his waist in the bedrock. He opens his mouth to complain, but it's shut and covered by a flying strip of clay, which rapidly bakes itself solid.

He takes a folding chair off the wall and sits opposite the administrator, his face neutral. "What do you mean by... "admistrator"? Is this related to the fact that you aren't meaningfully restrained by this circle?"