Page 30 of Minnie: Double, Double, Toil and Trouble

Natty looks up from the toy race car he’s wheeling up and down the sides of the wagon. “Why?”

“Because grown-ups need jobs.”

“Why?”

Ah, to be three years old, without the weight of the world on your shoulders. And it’s not just the world—it’s the magic, and all my other problems, too.

Formula M, the curse, and all the potions I use feel heavy now that I’m outside the freeing confines of the prison. And my problems pile on, swirling in my mind, over and over again.

Zachariah thinks I’ve got everything under control with Natty, when we’re barely getting by.

Amber expects me to pay for cruise tickets there’s no way I could ever afford.

Formula M sends a wave of calm through me. “A job will help me earn money,” I tell Natty. “And I know just the place to start. The library.”

I pull Natty’s wagon towards Silver Springs Public Library, which the locals have affectionately nicknamed Spell. And the name fits, since there is a huge collection of spell books hidden in the basement. Spell books I may need to look through if Julian doesn’t get the collar off Tiptoe by tonight.

As we approach the front doors, a pigeon swoops down from the sky and lands next to Natty’s wagon.

“Birdie!” Natty cries.

My heart leaps, but Formula M keeps my expression neutral and my tone bored. “Have you found him?”

I don’t feel the urge to flap my arms like wings, which means Formula M is dampening my powers, and I can’t fully communicate with my winged friend.

I do catch one word when the bird speaks. “Car.”

“What kind of car? Where did it go?”

“Drive,” the pigeon says, which is completely unhelpful.

Natty squeals, startling the pigeon, which results in some frantic wing flapping that only seems to excite the boy further. “What’s birdie saying?”

“Nothing useful,” I tell him, which is not the way to endear oneself to a bird offering to help.

Natty pouts. “I wanna talk to birdie!”

“Later,” I tell him. “Who did he shift into? What did he look like?”

“He isn’t,” the pidgeon coos. I can’t quite interpret the next word, especially with Formula M making a conversation near impossible.

“What?”

The pigeon coos. I can’t be sure, but I think it translates to ‘wolf.’

“Supernatural,” the pigeon adds.

“Can you say that again?”

The pigeon coos and I try my best to focus. “Not.” “Wolf.” “Supernatural.”

“Not a… werewolf?” I groan internally. “I already knew he wasn’t a werewolf. He’s a chameleon shifter. Can you tell me anything else?”

The pigeon flies away.

“Birds are so useless!” I tell Natty.

“How dare you?” a raven caws from a nearby branch.