“No!” she yipped. “Do not pet me! I am not to be petted—ever again! It’s my turn, Mr. Wizard—or whatever you are. Wave your magic wand in my direction. Or aren’t you up to it?”

Henry had seen many of Brianna’s outbursts in the past, but he’d never witnessed the kind of venom she spat at Coralis just now. He wondered if the moonbeam had affected more than just her physical appearance. “Brianna!” he hissed in warning.

But Coralis surprised them all. “The girl has a point,” he said slowly. He stroked his chin in thought as he paced to the door and back. “Her situation is more … complex.”

He reached down to pick her up. To Henry’s surprise, she let him. “There are powerful forces at work here, the likes of which have not been seen for hundreds of years. In order to undo what has been done to you, I will need to understand all the forces that were involved. Otherwise, I could make things worse.”

“How could it be worse?” She whimpered sadly.

“I once saw a young man changed from a box turtle into an ordinary rock. No longer able to speak, he will spend eternity alone, forever encased in stone. Think of this the next time you toss a stone into a lake.”

“Was there nothing you could do to help him?” Henry gulped.

“Nothing. By the time I got involved, the forces that were responsible had been twisted beyond recognition.” He turned back to Brianna. “Sometimes we should leave well enough alone.”

“You mean I might stay like this forever?”

“I mean we gain nothing from rushing the matter.” Unexpectedly, he smiled. “Besides, judging by your quills, I can see you are a remarkable little princess in any form.”

Brianna ran a paw over her face, accepting the compliment, yet slightly embarrassed.

“Don’t worry, young lady. We’ll get you straightened out.”

Chapter Sixteen

Henry had heard the word “ransacked” before, but it wasn’t until he stepped through the front door of his home that he could appreciate what it meant. What started with a few pieces of overturned furniture in the living room rapidly escalated. Cabinet doors in the kitchen had been yanked off their hinges and their contents tossed violently onto the floor. Very few pieces of his mother’s china had survived the onslaught. Herbs and spices, their bottles shattered, dusted the mess with a fragrance Henry would forever think of as the scent of anger.

“Wow! Somebody hated this kitchen worse than Mom did!” said Brianna.

It was true that their mother could never have been accused of loving to cook, but what they witnessed here went beyond a mere dislike.