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She was arguing with a werewolf about the price of saffron when the veiled woman wandered in.

Veils were presently having one of those small renaissances that the fashion features of bygone years sometimes experience, so the shoulder-length sweep of dark gauze by itself wasn’t enough to seriously distract Annabelle from the ongoing disagreement. She turned back to Harl and said, “Look, you can't expect to pay supermarket prices for this stuff, especially since this is not a supermarket! In case you haven't noticed. When you consider what my saffron goes through before it gets here – “

“I know what you say it goes through,” Harl said, leaning on his elbows on the counter and absently twirling one side of his mustache, “but the prices you’re discussing are insane! Only the fact that you're the extremely nice lady that I know you are – for a one-skinner – has kept me from complaining about the markup until now…”

Oh boy, Annabelle thought, here we go, the Witch With A Heart of Gold ploy. Why is it we’re all either Good Mommies or Crone Mothers and never anything in between? And next, I bet, comes the not-so-thinly-veiled request for a discount. How many seconds will it take?...