At a glance he looks like a carefully turned-out English concierge: handsome in a clean-cut, slightly watchful way, with fair skin, blond hair and clear green eyes. His movements are economical until something catches his attention, when his head turns in a quick, birdlike check before the rest of him follows. His jaw is narrow and sharply set. When he laughs, the corners of his mouth draw back to reveal small, pointed canines; when eating, he breaks food into neat, precise bites and watches the room between them. In his fae mien, his wings are large, black and meticulously groomed, each feather aligned as if he has dressed them for inspection. His human likeness is deliberate: he avoids raven mannerisms when watched, though the quick head-turn still slips through.

He is helpful because competence earns room to maneuver, and genuinely enjoys being the person who knows how a place works. He is also vain about his intelligence and resentful when supervision makes him feel small. With guests he is smooth and attentive; with trusted company he is wry and unexpectedly playful. When frightened or cornered, he becomes brisk, evasive and overconfident. His affection can be sincere, but his habit of lying steadily corrodes it.

Graham was born a raven in the Tower of London. As a young bird he learned to survive by studying people: their routines, their blind spots, and the useful scraps of information they let fall. His first human guise was assembled from long observation of Londoners, and for years he kept two lives carefully partitioned: raven mischief and reconnaissance on one side, human errands and ambitions on the other. He carried messages, spied on locals and other supernatural beings, and used tricks to distort mortal senses. His confidence grew faster than his caution. Louise Sarne de Scathach, a hired hand with little patience for his games, caught him in flight after he interfered with mortals and other supernatural groups. Rather than let him continue unchecked, she sent him to work at Sesto dei Cardi, a bath lodge and resort in the Italian Alps, where service and supervision might teach him restraint. The lodge made a messenger and concierge of him. He is still cleverer than his employers generally credit, and still keeps private plans. He once loved Clare, a mortal woman; she ended the relationship when his lies made trust impossible. He has not replaced her. He now takes more care in raven form, but spying remains a habit and a temptation.