On her way to the wizard’s shop, Varysa heard the slap of tiny feet on the wet pavement. A tuft of auburn fur turned the corner, followed by a man in an overcoat. Noticing the door to the shop stood open, she turned down the street to pursue.

She reached them as the man grabbed the fox and shook it until something dropped from its jaws. He flung the creature aside and scooped the cylinder from the pavers. The fox pounced, but the man wrestled it under his arm, wrapping it in his overcoat. Varysa stepped from the shadows, startling him.

“Nothing to fear. Merely vermin. I shall drown it in the river.”

“The problem is that vermin is my friend and that vial is mine.” Varysa snarled. She shivered into her wolven form and ripped into his coat, freeing the fox. It retrieved the vial as the man stumbled back. Varysa caught it by the ruff of its neck and loped off.

In the shop, Varysa shifted as the fox scampered behind the counter. A heartbeat later, an elderly gentleman arose in a smart suit, straightening his neckerchief. “You very nearly creased my cravat.”

“My apologies. Who’s the man?”

“A ruffian and thief, mistaking your potion for opium, no doubt.”

“And you thought to protect it with your life?”

“You do get touchy without your seasonal flea dip.” The wizard smirked.

“Hair tonic, old fox.”

“As you say.” His mustaches twitched in amusement as he handed her the vial.

Photo by Elijah O'Donnell