“You have ten seconds,” I said.

  He blinked. “Uh… okay. So first off—”

  “Two.”

  “What happened to one?!” he sputtered.

  “Fuck you. That’s what happened to one.”

  He flinched. “Okay! Wow! Aggressive!”

  “Three.”

  “Alright, alright, I just need a witch, and I saw—”

  “Four.”

  “My name is Vasil, I’m—”

  “Five.”

  He was shaking now. And sweating, maybe. Then again, frogs always look like they’re sweating. Maybe he was just being a frog. Hard to tell.

  “Six.”

  “Wait! Please! There was an incident—”

  “And seven, eight, nine,” I added sweetly. “In case you were wondering what happened to nine as well.”

  …Shit. Did that come out try-hard? Was that lame? I think I just ruined my cool intimidating countdown with an accidental kindergarten joke.

  No. It was fine. It was cool. You’re cool. He’s still scared. You’re still terrifying. It’s fine.

  “TWO GOLD! I WILL PAY YOU TWO GOLD!”

  Two gold? From a frog? Not even a potion to “turn a wand into a staff” is worth two gold. Gods, that’s a lot. What the hell could a frog need that’s worth that much? Nothing I could think of. This was obviously a trap. But also… two gold.

  I paused. “You have my attention.”

  “Alright, thank you!” Vasil said, trying to hop past me into the hut.

  “Whoa, whoa, no.” I stuck out a foot, blocking him. “Two gold for what, exactly?”

  He cleared his throat. “My name is Vasil, former ruler of Silesia. I was turned into a frog by an evil sorceress, and I will pay you two gold to turn me back into a human.”

  I stared at him for a long moment. Silesia. Sure, buddy.

  “Sounds made up,” I snorted, and started to close the door.

  ”Brek,” Vasil croaked, wedging himself in the gap again. “I’ll prove it!”

  I shook my head “Ruler of Silesia. Right. And I'm the goddess Mēnē herself. I’m just slumming it here for fun.”

  “I’ll pay you another two gold if you steal my crown back!”

  This frog must be loaded. Where would a frog even get all that gold? Maybe he really did rule this place.

  "Prove you even have two gold," I said.

  He opened his mouth, and sitting on his tongue were two shiny gold coins. I stared. Disgusting. Frog drool all over perfectly good money. But also... he wasn't lying.

  I narrowed my eyes. “Where is it?”

  He hesitated. “Well. It was stolen.”

  “Of course it was.”

  “By a bwotnik.”

  Okay. He’s just making up words now. I knew this had to be too good to be true. Still, I asked, “What the hell is a bwotnik?”

  “What do you mean ‘what the hell is a bwotnik?’ A swamp spirit. Kind of. It’s a fat thing with frog eyes that sits at the bottom of the swamp.”

  “So you’re a bwotnik?”

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  “Hey! You didn’t let me finish. It’s got long hair, a mossy beard, and it’s basically a walking compost heap made of fish scales.”

  His story was getting stranger by the minute.

  Sure, turning someone into a frog was possible. I’d grown up surrounded by powerful witches who could hex your bloodline into extinction if they didn’t like your tone. Was birthed by one, even. So yeah, I believed someone could do it.

  But permanently transforming someone? That was something else. That kind of magic takes insane power. Massive mana reserves. Constant maintenance. Most witches wouldn’t bother. It’s inefficient, unstable, and a complete logistical nightmare. You’d have to be high level, unhinged, and holding one hell of a grudge.

  So if someone really did curse this guy, they didn’t just want him punished. They wanted him humiliated. He must have really pissed someone off. Someone a lot more powerful than me.

  And now he was claiming a swamp spirit stole his crown?

  Right.

  And why would a swamp spirit want a crown? Does it rule the algae now? Was this a trap? Some kind of bait scheme to lure in a wandering witch, drag her into the swamp, and drown her? Was this some kind of witch-hunter frog? Because that’s what it was starting to sound like.

  "You know," Vasil said, "you could just use [Inspect] on me. See for yourself that I'm telling the truth."

  I shrugged. "I don't have that skill."

  He stared at me like I'd just admitted I didn't know how to breathe. "You don't have an inspect skill? Why not? That's one of the most powerful utility skills out there!"

  "I've been busy."

  "Doing what?"

  "Surviving," I said flatly.

  He shook his head. "How did you plan on surviving if you don’t know what you're dealing with?"

  I mean... he had a point. An inspect skill would be convenient. I could see classes, maybe even levels. Know what I was up against before I had to make any life-or-death decisions. Which, given my track record, happened more often than I'd like.

  “Alright, give me a moment,” I said as I pulled up the System and searched for inspect type skills.

  [Inspect]

  Tells you what someone is. Not why they’re like that.

  Type: Utility

  Displays class information and active status effects. Low mana cost.

  Basic. Gets the job done, but nothing fancy.

  [Analyze]

  Tells you what something is. Doesn’t tell you if you should lick it.

  Type: Utility

  Reveals item details and properties. Low mana cost.

  Lick it? That was one time, and I was six. Fine, sixteen. That sacred gem looked exactly like a honeyed fig. Smelled like one too. You know what? I stand by my decision. I’ll lick what I want!

  [True Sight]

  See through illusions, lies, and suspiciously perfect cheekbones.

  Type: Utility

  Reveals hidden or disguised entities. Toggle on or off. Medium mana upkeep.

  Tempting, but not what I needed right now. Unless Vasil was actually a shapeshifter, then it would be exactly what I needed right now. But he probably wasn’t a shapeshifter, more like a shapeshiftee. Maybe it was what I needed.

  [Soul Index]

  Like [Inspect], but nosier and with a paper trail.

  Type: Utility

  Displays class information and active status effects. Records data to System archive. Medium mana cost.

  Honestly? Worth the extra mana just to avoid having to look twice.

  I selected [Soul Index].

  [Soul Index] acquired.

  With all these skills fighting for my mana, it was probably a good idea to put the three free stat points I had in Attunement. So I did, taking it from 9 to 12.

  Let's check him out.

  I cast [Soul Index] on the frog.

  [Frogbag]

  Status: Indestructible

  …What in Mēnē’s name is a [Frogbag]? And how is he indestructible?

  He looked at me. “And?”

  “Explain.”

  He looked confused. “Explain what?”

  “What’s a [Frogbag], and why are you indestructible?”

  “[Frogbag] is… it’s not what it sounds like. Or, actually… it’s exactly what it sounds like. It’s a cursed utility class. The whole thing was designed to make me suffer. I’m basically a living bag of holding.”

  I squinted. “You were cursed to be a purse and a frog?”

  “Forever,” he said, miserably. “Can’t die. Can’t sleep. People just shove stuff in me.”

  He shuddered. “One guy stored a sack of teeth… another used me for toenail clippings…” he gagged, “and someone… no. I can’t. I don’t want to talk about it.”

  This sounded absolutely ridiculous. I’d never heard of this class in my life. And why would someone have a sack of teeth? Could you even change someone’s class?

  I sighed and called up the System. “Hey System, what’s a [Frogbag]?”

  [Frogbag] - Utility Class

  A cursed containment class. User functions as a living magical storage vessel. Contents are stored extradimensionally and may be retrieved by the user or others with the appropriate permissions.

  “…So he’s a bag,” I muttered. “System, what can be stored in a [Frogbag]?”

  Everything goes in the Frogbag: pork, barrels, Colin Farrels.

  I stared at it for a long time. “…Colin Farrels?”

  The System did not elaborate.

  “Okay,” I said slowly. “So are you trying to get me killed?”

  He threw up his little hands. “No!”

  “So you want your crown back from some swamp monster—”

  “Swamp spirit,” he corrected.

  “—and you’ll pay me two gold.”

  “Yes.”

  I stared at him. “What’s the catch?”

  “It’s a swamp spirit?” he said—or asked.

  Didn’t sound that dangerous. Definitely not worth two gold. Exactly the kind of job I like. Now play it cool, Hecate. Don’t smile. Don’t you dare smile. Don’t—damn it, I’m smiling. I pretended to cough and looked away, hoping he hadn’t noticed.

  “Sounds terrifying,” I said flatly. I felt my grin creeping back and forced another cough to cover it, then nodded like I was weighing the risks. “Alright then. You got yourself a deal.”

  “Phisto, you coming?” I called over my shoulder.

  “No,” he said from the top of the armoire.

  “Why not?”

  “Don’t want to,” he said without looking at me.

  I shrugged. “Fair enough.”

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