A squirrel’s work is never done, storing nuts beneath the sun.
I checked my current experiment, a crystallization process that required precise temperature control. The dragon scale fragments I’d been analyzing had formed interesting patterns overnight. I made a few notes, adjusted the heat with a small spell, and stepped back.
Before I returned to my regular research, I needed to do something else.
The wolf’s shifting sickness kept surfacing in my mind like an unsolved equation I’d left on the board, and I wanted to see if there was anything I could do to help.
My reasoning for intervening was purely logical. I was here. I was a researcher. It was a problem that needed solving, and I had the skills to at least investigate. Feral had made it clear he didn’t want interference, but gathering information wasn’t even close to that. It was simply a prudent use of available resources.
I pulled out a fresh notebook, asking my enchanted pen to hover over it. The pen would take notes automatically once I started dictating, the text appearing in my own handwriting across the page.
It was time to start asking questions.
I left the room and took the stairs down to the second level.
The kitchen took up the entire floor, a big space that smelled of roasting meat, sweet cakes, and spices. Heat rolled from multiple ovens, and at least a dozen people moved through the room chopping, stirring, and hauling bowls and supplies.
The moment I stepped inside, the noise stopped. Every head turned. Eyes tracked my movement, assessing my shape and probably my reason for arriving in their space. I was an outsider. A witch. That was enough to set even the strongest wolf shifter on edge.
I ignored the stares and approached the woman who appeared to be in charge.
She stood at the central preparation table and was rail-thin with bright red hair pulled back in a severe bun. Her sharp gaze looked me over, her expression giving away nothing.
“Lady Victoria.” Her tone came out neutral. Polite. “I’m Helen, the head chef. May I help you? Would you like a snack perhaps? Or a slice of bread still warm from the oven?”
“Actually, bread sounds yummy.”
Her face only softened a fraction as she grabbed a loaf and cut off a thick wedge, placing it on a plate and putting it in front of me, followed by crocks of butter and jam.
“Thank you,” I said. “This looks amazing.”
“We make the best bread in the realm,” she said with a stiffening of her spine. “I’m sure you’ll agree.”
I slathered it with butter and bangleberry jam and took a big bite, groaning as I chewed because it tasted fantastic. “Wonderful,” I mumbled around the bite. “You’re right. Best in the realm.”
I took that opportunity to get to the matter at hand.
“I’m looking into the shifting sickness,” I said. “I’d like to ask you some questions if you have a moment to spare.”
Her eyebrow rose. “Does the alpha know you’re asking about this?”
“I’m gathering information. I haven’t interfered with anything.”
She studied me for a long moment, then gestured to the bowls covered with towels. “I have work to do. You can talk while I knead.”
While she flipped a towel off a bowl and dumped the dough onto the floured surface, I laid my notebook on the counter beside my now empty plate, eyeing the rest of the loaf. Helen’s eyes tracked my pen, her expression flickering with suspicion.
“When did the sickness start?” I asked.
She smacked the bread and started kneading. “I can’t pin it to an exact date.”
“Approximately how long ago?”
“After the trouble at the northern border.” She didn’t elaborate, and I didn’t push. Not yet.
“What’s the first sign when someone is affected?”
Her hands stilled on the dough. “They stop wanting raw meat. It’s subtle at first. They’ll pick at their portions and claim they’re not hungry. But us wolves always want raw meat. It’s instinct. When that goes, you know something’s wrong.”
