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He turned and plucked the paper I’d left for him there, a neatly typed list of possible spells that I thought likely to appeal to our clientele. I braced myself for an argument, but he only looked at me askance and said, “That’s it?”

“Are they doable?” I said. “Obviously I’m not an expert—”

He waved a hand. “I have a few similar enchantments on hand,” he said. “I’ll need to modify them. And transfer them to your beasts, of course.” He began rummaging through the notebooks piled on the table.

“You can do that?”

He gave me an amused look, but before he could reply I quickly added, “Yes, of course you can. Witch King and all that. World’s most powerful dark magician.”

I said it to annoy him, but he merely replied, still rummaging about, “And what should I call you, I wonder? Renowned mistress of moggies? Professional herder of cats?”

“You can call me Agnes,” I said. “I’m nowhere near important enough for titles.”

He took another sip of his tea, paused, then downed the rest. “Doctor to dark magicians? This is helping, thank you. That’s the second time you’ve healed me. I’d recommend against making a habit of it—my enemies won’t thank you.”

He disappeared into the back of the shop and reappeared a few moments later with his hands full of an assemblage of curios: a silver dip pen, several Roman coins, a pill box dotted with tiny emeralds shaped into leaves, a ceramic figurine of a stag made from gold and lapis lazuli. He placed these on his worktable, after absently sweeping his arm across it to send a stack of papers and books tumbling to the floor (I winced), and went to one of the cabinets. From this he fetched an armillary sphere that looked as if it should occupy pride of place in a museum display, with intricate rings of silver and gold.

“Are most Artefacts beautiful?” I couldn’t help asking.

“Beautiful or rare,” he said. “Or ancient, or some combination. Magicians are vain; we don’t like to put our enchantments into just any object, unless we have to—defensive spells, for example, are best hidden. The most common Artefacts are jewelry, clothes—anything that can be worn or easily carried. Many museums over the centuries have found their collections mysteriously depleted by invisible thieves.”

I shook my head. It didn’t surprise me that magicians felt entitled to hoard rare antiquities and works of art simply because they had the power to take them. The thought made me more weary than angry.

“What?” he said. “I can see you preparing your lecture. I didn’t say I agreed with the practice.”

I didn’t believe him for a moment, but I also didn’t see much point in arguing about it. “What are you doing in Montréal?” I said, turning back to the cabinet. “Everyone seems to think you’re in New York.”

“I was in New York. I move every few years, for obvious reasons. Before that I was in Paris.”

“Paris,” I echoed.

He glanced up at me, seeming to notice something in my voice. “You’ve seen it?”

“Naturally I haven’t.” In fact, I had always harboured a secret desire to visit Paris, and New York too, among a dozen other places. But it was a wistful sort of desire, not one based in anything so fertile as hope.

“Why not?”

I gave a short laugh. “It takes weeks to reach France. I haven’t spent more than a day or two away from the shelter since we opened.”

He turned back to his worktable. “I can’t say I’m surprised.”

“Where have you been, anyway?” I said, wanting to change the subject. “Off blighting some poor farmer’s crops? Enchanting small children to have nightmares about you?”

“I only blight crops on Saturdays. And children do that without my assistance. Here.”

I turned to find that he was coming towards me with the silver pen. “What are you doing?” I demanded, holding up the clipboard as if it might ward him off.

He stopped. “The pen will allow you to identify the enchantments contained within each Artefact. It’s quite easy: only hold it to a piece of paper, and speak the word—”

“No,” I said, taking a step away from him.

He gazed at me, uncertainty clouding his expression. “It won’t harm you. I’ve woven the enchantment carefully.”

“It’s a—” I remembered the coin he had offered me. “First-order enchantment?”

“Yes.”

I frowned at this. “What happens if a human tries to cast a second-order one?”