“What can I do for you, Miss Harker? I’m afraid I don’t have long—there’s apparently a glaistig sleeping under my desk, getting wet goat everywhere—but I’m yours until we get there.” “I’d like to put in for the Paris case,” Sam said at once, not even bothering to ask why he might have a half woman, half goat in his office. “As a field agent.” Mr. Wright choked on his crumpet. “The Beast attacks?” Sam could sympathize: the Paris case wasn’t exactly breakfast fare.
