In the witch's empty den, there was only ever one cauldron and one spellbook. The cauldron bubbled low with sickly green light, casting dancing shadows across the bare stone walls, while the heavy black spellbook rested on the rough table above. Beneath that table, curled in darkness, a black cat watched with impossibly green eyes. When the book shuddered and slid toward the edge — pages fluttering, silver clasp catching the glow — the cat moved. Not as a cat. He burst upward in a silent cloud of dark smoke, fur becoming shaggy black hair, paws becoming hands, and two black neko ears twitching atop his head. The same green eyes, now wide in a boy's face, tracked the fall. In a single, desperate dive he snatched the spellbook inches from the floor, landing hard in a crouch in his black hoodie and jeans, hugging it to his chest. Breathing hard, he looked up at the empty house and grinned. "Phew! Got it now."