"If you'd finish working out a spell to do the same thing, the buckets wouldn't be necessary," Morwen pointed out.

Telemain flushed. "I've designed a prototype, but it requires the immediate accessibility of a target. It has therefore been impossible for me to run the necessary tests to ascertain its effectiveness."

"What?" said Fiddlesticks.

"He's invented a spell for melting wizards, but he can't tell whether it works because there aren't any wizards around to try it on," Miss Eliza said.

"Oh. Why couldn't he just say that?"

"Because that's how he is," said Aunt Ophelia.

"We still need the buckets," Morwen said to Telemain. "I haven't the slightest objection to your testing your new wizard-melting spell on any wizards we run across, but I want to bring something that I know works, in case your spell needs some adjusting."

"Reasonable." Telemain rubbed his chin thoughtfrilly. "But I still categorically refuse to travel on that broomstick of yours."

"Morwen?" Even muffled by the front door, Trouble's tone was clearly far too casual, and when he strolled out onto the porch Morwen felt a strong twinge of misgiving. Every whisker dripped the kind of deliberate unconcern that usually meant he'd been living up to his name.

"Excuse me a moment, Telemain," Morwen said. "What is it, Trouble?"

"You know that rabbit you wanted us to watch?"

Morwen's misgivings deepened. "Yes?"

"Well, he's kind of upset," Trouble said. "Murgatroyd thought I'd better come tell you."

If Murgatroyd thought Morwen should be told about it, it was probably serious. Not urgent, though, or he'd have come himself, at a dead run.

And he didn't expect Morwen to be happy about it, or he wouldn't have sent Trouble. Morwen sighed. "What is Killer upset about?"

"Oh, things. I wouldn't have bothered you if Murgatroyd hadn't insisted."

"Such a fuss about a rabbit." Aunt Ophelia sniffed.

Trouble studied the porch roof, as if he were hoping to spot a fly.

"Not exactly ."

"I see." Morwen turned to Telemain. "I appear to be needed in the garden. You're welcome to come along."

"Certainly."

All of the cats followed them, except Jasmine, who had fallen asleep on the window ledge, and Jasper, who was presumably still napping under the porch. When they reached the garden, they found the grass inside the gate trampled flat and a six-foot donkey with a blotchy brown-and-white coat standing next to the vegetable patch. The donkey wore a mournful expression, and half a cabbage leaf was stuck to the side of his muzzle. The green cabbage directly in front of him was missing a large chunk from its left side.

"Hello, Killer," Morwen said to the donkey.

"I thought Killer was a rabbit," Telemain said, frowning in mild puzzlement.

"He was, until he started eating my cabbage." Morwen eyed the donkey reprovingly.

"He ate a cabbage?" Fiddlesticks said, horrified. "Why would he do that?"

"I was hungry," said the donkey. His tail switched and he jumped, startled .

"Hmph," said Aunt Ophelia. "Just what I'd expect from a rabbit."

"Yes, you'd think anyone would have more sense than to nibble on plants in a witch's garden," Miss Eliza said.

"I thought the gray cat said it was all right. And it tasted very nice.

Almost spicy. And the crunch-" The donkey stopped as all the cats glared, and his ears drooped. "I must have misunderstood."

Morwen glanced around. Trouble was nowhere in sight. "I don't think you misunderstood him at all." She looked sternly at Chaos and Murgatroyd.

"Why didn't you stop him?"

"You've got plenty of donkey-cabbages," Chaos said. "And donkeys are nearly as stupid as rabbits, so it's not as if Killer lost anything by it."

"I think it's a definite improvement," Murgatroyd said, nodding.

"A six foot donkey doesn't look nearly as silly as a six-foot rabbit," Aunt Ophelia put in.

"Seven feet, eleven inches, counting the ears," said the donkey, twitching them. "I always know how big I am."

"That is not the point," Morwen told the cats. "You were left here to prevent any untoward happenings. This is an extremely untoward happening.

I am seriously displeased."

"And you know what that means," Scorn said. "No fish in the food bowl tonight."

"No fish?" Fiddlesticks looked up at Morwen with large, distressed eyes. "Not even for me?"

"I'm sorry about this, Killer," Morwen said. "Those cabbages aren't supposed to work on rabbits." She paused, considering. The red cabbages on the other side of the row were an antidote, but she wasn't sure she wanted to mention that. It was entirely possible that they wouldn't work, or that Killer would end up turning into a twelve-foot-tall rabbit or something even more inconvenient.

"Can't you do anything?" the donkey said. "It's not that I mind being a donkey, exactly, but I don't like what it did to my coat."

"He is awfully blotchy," Scorn said. "Is it supposed to work on rabbits, Morwen? And this rabbit was already under the influence of a magnifying enchantment. So the layered interaction of the two magical energies produces a synergistic effect…"

Killer looked at Telemain, and his ears twitched forward. "Is that why my coat is all funny?"

"Highly unlikely," Telemain said. "The two spells seem to affect primarily the parameters of form and stature, rather than coloration."

Morwen stared at the donkey. Suddenly her eyes narrowed. "Killer, do you dye your fur?"

"I, um-well, actually…"

"I thought so. That's what your problem is. Spells are hard on cosmetic changes. The dye job lasted through one spell, but now that you've been enchanted twice it's wearing off."

"Oh no," said Killer. "You mean if you turn me back into a rabbit, I'll look even worse?"

"Probably," Morwen said. "And you won't be able to redye it until the residue of the spell wears off. That usually takes about six weeks."

"How do you know all this?" Telemain asked her.

Morwen gave him a look. "Why do you think witches never color their hair?"

"This is terrible." Killer's ears waggled in distress, and several of the cats snickered. "I won't be able to hold up my head. This is awful. Can't you do anything?"

"Not right now," Morwen said. "We have some wizard hunting to do.

And if you're willing to help, you may have solved a little problem for us."

"I don't mind being helpful," said Killer. "What problem?"

Morwen turned to Telemain. "You can ride him instead of the broomstick.

He knows how to find the clover patch, and at that size he ought to move fairly quickly. I'll take the broomstick and a bucket and meet you there. And you can study the interaction of the size– and shape-changing spells on the way."

Less than ten minutes later, Morwen, Telemain, and Killer met at the half-eaten patch of clover. As Morwen landed her broomstick-with some care, so as not to spill the bucket she had hung on the front end-Scorn and Fiddlesticks slid out of the bushes and sat down at the foot of the nearest tree. The two cats wore identical smug expressions.

"What are you doing here?" Morwen said.

"We all discussed it and decided you might need help," Scorn replied.

"Aunt Ophelia and Miss Eliza came last time, Trouble and Murgatroyd and Chaos are in disgrace because of the cabbages, and Jasmine didn't want to be bothered. So it came down to the three of us."

"Three of you?"

'Jasper's around somewhere."

"I came because I'm very brave," Fiddlesticks announced. He rose and sauntered over to the clover patch. "Don't you think I'm brave, Morwen? What's all this prickly stuff?" He sniffed at the bare stalks on the eaten portion of the patch.

"That's Killer's clover patch," Morwen said. "Don't eat any of it."

'Eat it?" Fiddlesticks looked up, green-gold eyes wide. "Why would I eat it? It's some kind of plant."