A MONSTER NAMED FOX The first thing Quicksilver noticed about being a witch was that it would have been much easier without a monster getting in the way. Or perhaps simply with a monster who wasn’t so completely impossible. Anastazia had taken them to a clearing some distance from town. It butted up against a pasture of cows, and thick clusters of trees shielded them from the road. Here, she said, they would practice the most basic of magical tasks—communication. “Before you can try any actual spells,” said Anastazia, “you must learn how to speak to each other—not as girl and dog, but as witch and monster. You’ll read each other’s thoughts, and know how to use your magic based on what you’re thinking.” Anastazia paused to rifle through a bag of mint-and-chocolate star-shaped candies she’d purchased in town. “Do you have to practice here?” Sly Boots complained from his perch on the pasture fence, waving his hand about. “These cows stink.”
