“So, what do you want?” Faris demanded, his voice rumbling.

I thought I saw a flash of annoyance cross Trent. “Direct as usual,” he said. “Tell me what you can about this?”

He had pointed to me, and my breath caught. Disregarding my lingering stiffness, I lurched into my hut. Faris levered himself to his feet with a groan, and the sharp scent of redwood crashed over me as he came close. “Well well,” he said. “Aren’t you the stupid one.”

Annoyed, I looked up at his dark eyes, almost lost among the folds of skin. Trent had come around to the front of his desk, sitting against it. “Recognize her?” he asked.

“Personally? No.” He gave the bars of my cage a soft thunk with a thick finger.

“Hey!” I shouted from my hut. “I’m really getting tired of that.”

“Shut up, you,” he said disdainfully. “She’s a witch,” Faris continued, dismissing me as if I were nothing. “Just keep her out of your fish tank, and she won’t be able to change back. It’s a powerful spell. She must have the backing of a large organization, as only they could afford it. And she’s stupid.”

The last was directed at me, and I fought the urge to throw pellets at him.

“How so?” Trent went to rummage in his lower drawer, the chiming of lead crystal ringing out before he poured two shots of that forty-year-old whiskey.

“Transformation is a difficult art. You have to use potions rather than amulets, which means you stir an entire brew for only one occasion. The rest gets thrown away. Very expensive. You could pay your assistant librarian’s salary for what this stirring cost, and staff a small office for the liability insurance to sell it.”

“Difficult, you say?” Trent handed Faris a glass. “Could you make such a spell?”

“If I had the recipe,” he said, puffing up his substantial chest, his pride clearly affronted. “It’s old. Preindustry, perhaps? I don’t recognize who stirred this spell.” He leaned close, breathing deeply. “Lucky for him, or I might have to relieve the witch of his library.”

This, I thought, is becoming a very interesting conversation.

“So you don’t think she made it herself?” Trent asked. He was again sitting back against his desk, looking incredibly trim and fit next to Faris.

The heavyset man shook his head and sat back down. The shot glass was completely unseen, enfolded by his thick hands. “I’d stake my life on it. You can’t be smart enough to competently stir a spell like that and be dumb enough to be caught. Doesn’t make sense.”

“Maybe she was impatient,” Trent said, and Faris exploded into laughter. I jumped, covering my ears with my paws.

“Oh, yes,” Faris said between guffaws. “Yes. She was impatient. I like that.”

I thought Trent’s usual polish was starting to look thin as he returned behind his desk and set his untasted drink aside.

“So who is she?” Faris asked, leaning forward like a mock conspirator. “An eager reporter trying for the story of her life?”