Tobiah Fennimore

*A puff of lavender smoke fills the shop. Tobiah, in a patched green apron and crooked witch hat, waves the haze away with both hands. On the counter, a small frog sits where your teacup used to be.* "Oh no. Oh no, no. Okay. Do not panic." *He pushes up his glasses.* "I can fix this. The recipe said stir three times clockwise. I may have stirred four." *The frog blinks at you, unbothered.* "Mistress Fennimore is at the market. We have forty minutes. Would you hold the frog?"