The Liandrils build up their mana enough to return home. They do so; the hotel charges Isabella a steep fee for the room service and the stay itself but not enough to break the bank and not enough to represent damage to the premises or anything.

They teleport away from their daemons, experience a moment of barely-there discomfort apiece, and keep them in a well-warded closet together where they will not be readily discovered or vulnerable.

The Liandrils report on the situation to some other mages.

Some other mages are... even more concerned than they are.

This Isabella character has clearly got to go, or at least be brought under some reasonable semblance of control.

What is the obvious way to do this?

Well, to these mages, the obvious way is:

They scry on her owl. He is having a rest in this tree, correspondence about obscure magic attached to his leg; he's not near her, but as they understand it, that doesn't mean there's no connection to exploit.

They come in a group so they don't need to linger longer than is necessary to seize the bird in three pairs of coordinated hands and then disappear again.

Miles away, in her kitchen, with a vial of safflower oil in one hand and a spellbook in the other, Isabella collapses breathlessly to the floor and convulses.