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384 pages, Hardcover
First published April 21, 2015
“You may experiment on your minions or kick them or even eat them when the pantry runs low—but you do not sell them.”This book. It’s despicably cute. It’s horrifically charming. It features one of the most scrumptious casts of characters ever. And it’s funny as fish. So read it and stuff.
“Didn’t Mad King Harold cut your head off?”
“Well, yes, but he didn’t mean anything by it.”
“I don’t think fish can get shingles,” said Molly. “I think you have to be a mammal.”
“I shall be the first,” said the fish. “They shall write articles in veterinary journals about me.” This prospect seemed to cheer her up. “I shall be remembered forever in the annals of medical history.”
"I've got loads of silver jewelry. And i like snakes. And toads. I had a pet toad back home."
"A familiar?" asked the guardian hopefully.
"...sure," said Molly. "A familiar. Definitely."
"I don't suppose he's here now?"
"Well, no," said Molly. He had a family and a nice pond in the backyard and I didn't want to make him unhappy. Mom promised to feed him mealworms every other day, though."
Just as writing an easy-to-follow recipe requires an orderly sort of mind, so too does writing a good spell. Unfortunately, many Wizards and Witches and Sorcerers and so forth do not have orderly minds. Reading their spellbooks is rather like reading the recipe cards for a gifted but erratic cook - lots of scribbled notes to themselves and not much use to other people.
There's not anything wrong with being a White Witch, of course. It's just that once people figure out you're not going to turn them into a toad, that you will cure their earache and make their cow give extra milk, you become part of the service industry, like the pharamacist or the mailman. [...] White Witches are much nicer people, but Wicked Witches have more fun.
She knew - and Eudaimonia didn't - that you can't kill a plant with deep roots merely by freezing the green bits. The rosinweed would grow back twice as big once the ice melted. The mint was even less impressed.
In order to never again have that horrific experience where I find myself running in slow motion across a library crying “Noooooooooo…!” as the well-meaning librarian hands a seven-year-old boy a copy of The One Book With The Torture Scene, I write for adults these days under the pen-name T. Kingfisher. It’s just easier for everybody, particularly for my nerves.
This does mean that some short stories previously published as Ursula Vernon will pop up in T. Kingfisher anthologies. It’s cool. I’m not plagiarizing me, I swear.
Pins lived in a small room over the laundry with a talking goldfish. The goldfish was intensely neurotic and convinced that she was always sickening for something. Pins took very tender care of the fish and was currently knitting her a very small waterproof scarf.