Samantha's voice chirped apologetically through my cell phone as I arrived home.

"It's OK," I assured her. "I'm running late, too. Traffic. Maybe this weekend?"

Receiving an enthusiastic affirmative, I smiled. "Great. It's a date. Let's—"

A haunting hoot startled me. Inside my well-appointed study, a snowy white owl bore into me with big, yellow eyes.

Samantha tried frantically to comprehend my sudden silence.

"Sorry, sweetheart." I apologized. Wordlessly summoned lightning cracked from my fingers and fried the magical messenger like a roasted chicken—dead. "Something minor to take care of."

She continued questioning me.

"No," I explained. "Just annoying telemarketers."