I glanced at the cover, which showed an idealized painting of North Korea’s supreme leader. There was no title, not that I could have read it anyway. Nor did I need to. I did my best to sound bored. “Because it describes various weapons the North Korean military could use to guarantee the supremacy of their nation, including a kind of supersoldier serum, long-range assassination drones with cloaking technology, and an implantable spy chip for monitoring their own people and anyone else they feel like snooping on. One of our libriomancers intercepted a South Korean spy, a gwisin, who filled us in. How do you think your boss at DHS found out about it?”

Potts was a tall, narrow-faced man with a thick brown mustache who always wore suits and ties, even in the desert heat. He pursed his lips, clearly reevaluating what he’d been intending to say. “A gwisin?”

“A kind of ghost.”

“What is your team doing about it?”

“Charles is monitoring their progress. North Korea has a population of twenty-five million. Not all those people are literate, of course. He’s estimating an upper limit of ten million who are actually reading the novel as ordered. We’re trying to chart how quickly they can empower a book for libriomancy, and comparing it to the data for other novels. Charles believes since the population knows this book was deliberately crafted not for story, but for the weaponization of magic, that this will reduce the effectiveness of reader belief. It’s also just flat-out bad prose, but that could be problems with the translation, or our cultural filters affecting how—”

“That’s it? You’re standing around watching while North Korea builds magical superweapons?”

“You want me to fly to North Korea and tell them to stop reading? I’m a librarian, Mister Potts. I don’t believe in banning books.”

“Do you believe in letting a madman terrorize the international community?” He started to say more, then caught himself. He pressed his lips together and looked me up and down. “You’re baiting me.”

“A little.” I made a show of checking the time on the wall clock behind me. “I’ll fill you in next week. Right now, I’m late for another meeting.”

“With your niece, I know.” He folded his arms and waited, knowing perfectly well I wouldn’t use magic to evict him from my doorway. I could try to physically shove him aside, but Potts had spent fifteen years in the Army, and he’d played college football before that. I’d have better luck climbing out a window and flying away, and from the smirk on his face, he knew it.