His lips thinned as he pressed them together. “You are being a bitch.”

“I’m being a boss,” I said with a tight smile. “Though I doubt you’d see the difference.”

He bent and grabbed a copy of Charlotte’s Web off the bottom shelf, handed it to me. I took it.

“How hard was that?”

“That’ll be 3.99,” he growled.

I pulled a five-dollar bill from my purse, using the motion to pull my long shirt up just enough for him to see the knives strapped to my thighs.

He cleared his throat. “I’ll get you change.”

“Keep it.” I brushed past him, stopping at his desk. I scooped one of the pens off the surface and handed it to the shop keeper. “Sign this for me.”

“What?”

“Sign as if you were the author.” I pushed the pen and book at him and watched as he scrawled “EB White” onto the title page.

“You are crazy,” he muttered.

“And dangerous, don’t forget that,” I said as I took the book and the pen, stuffing them both into my bag and then backing my bike out. Several of the customers were watching me. I waved at them and then yelled, “Look out, crazy old lady on the loose!”

I pedaled the bike along the cobblestone street, to the far end, as far away as I could get from a certain address on Factors Row. That was the problem with the two streets running parallel to each other. The last thing I needed was for Crash or Feish to see me.

At the end, I turned and peeked into the alley between the two streets. I grimaced. “Jinx. I need to hire you for a job.”

There was a scuttling above me, and the big spider jumped down but didn’t advance on me. In fact, she was still favoring one of her eight legs.

“You have nothing I want,” she said, but she didn’t walk away. I held up a hand.

“I think I do.” I pulled out the battered-up copy of Charlotte’s Web. “I have a signed edition of your favorite book.”

She gasped. “Give it to me.”

I tucked it into my bag. “I need you to track someone for me. You can change shapes, right? I saw you turn into a person after you stuck me with your hairs, and I tossed you around.”

Her eight feet did a funny tap dance that drummed across the cobblestones. “Yes. I can. For the book, I’ll track something for you. A shape of my choice, though.”

I was hoping for a dog. “You’ll have to act like you’re my pet. To keep the tourists from realizing that you aren’t normal.”

Her feet tapped again, rapidly, and I got the impression it was her version of a nervous tic. “Who are you looking for? Boy toy?”