Shadows on the Border by AL Lester
That cloud of gold around Fenn and Mira ... that was what Lew experienced all the time? It was both marvelous and terrifying. He knew, intellectually, that the only reason Mira was alive after being savaged by the Creature when it escaped in the winter was because she had been able, in some way, to Pull magic from the Border to heal herself enough to survive. It was completely another thing to actually watch it happening.
Her skin had changed under his eyes from an unhealthy grayish tinge to the radiant brown of a healthy woman. That was the thing that had been the most amazing and terrifying to watch. He was sure that other things had happened as well -- it was supposed to be a healing for her damaged voice, after all -- but that was the visual marker he had taken away.
Alec was terrified.
If Fenn could do that, if Lew and Grant could do that, what else could they do? Over the last few months, Alec’s main fear had become losing Lew. But over the last week, he had also had moments of being scared of him as well as for him. His emotions were all mixed up and it wasn’t a comfortable feeling.
It seemed to Alec as if all the Workers surrounding him were in the dark about the limits and boundaries of the magic they used so blithely. Alec felt like a man trapped in a darkened room with dangerous things moving around him that he was unable to see to protect himself from. And the people he cared about could see the danger. But they didn’t perceive it as the danger it was.
Alec couldn’t convince them there even was a danger. They saw it as a formula ... so long as you didn’t Pull too much from The Border, you were safe. So long as you didn’t attract a Creature, you were safe. So long as you didn’t put a foot outside the complex and vague rules you had been taught by rote so long ago that you didn’t even remember what they were for, you were safe.
Alec was angry. He was angry with himself, for not being able to see what the others could see. Were their lives always lit up like the hospital room had been downstairs just now? Why wasn’t Alec’s world lit up like that all the time? How come none of them had told him how beautiful it could be? Why should Alec be missing out on that when the people he cared about could share it? Just with each other. Not with him.
And he was angry with Lew. Lew had all this power. All these abilities. Why should he want to stay with Alec? When he could use all that beautiful golden magic to travel back to his own time, to a place where he wouldn’t have to hide that he wanted to be with a man?
Alec was angry with Grant. Grant had been his friend since Alec had come home from France in ‘18. They’d had an immediate bond. But Grant had failed to tell him that this other, ephemeral world of magic existed. And now Grant seemed to be obsessed with Fenn ... this fey, liminal creature who was able to act as a focus for all this power that flowed through the people Alec loved. And whose motives Alec didn’t understand and didn’t trust.
He allowed Max to steer him out of Miss Fonteyne’s room and to his office upstairs. It was a largish, comfortable room that doubled as a consulting room. Max guided him all the way with a hand in the small of his back, not allowing him to stop, opening the door with one hand whilst the other grasped Alec’s elbow and then steered him to one of the armchairs around a low table.
The room smelled of smoke -- Max had a predilection for obnoxious cigars -- and there was a brandy decanter and cut-crystal glasses on the table. As Alec sank in to the low chair, Max let go of him and reached for the brandy bottle. He didn’t bother to ask who wanted any, just filled five glasses with two fingers each and passed them out.
Alec watched as Fenn slumped into the armchair she had chosen. She tilted her head back and closed her eyes. Alec’s perception shifted. One minute there was the woman Alec usually saw Fenn as, sprawled in the chair, at rest. The next, a tall, elegant man with strong features and long lashes that fell against his cheek sat in the seat opposite. Alec blinked and the feminine Fenn he recognized was back again. He turned his gaze away and looked at Lew.
The Fantastic Fluke by Sam Burns
It took about three seconds after I got back to the sidewalk to realize I was being followed. Not by the drunk guys or any other people, but by the distinctive click-click-click of dog toenails on sidewalk.
Dammit.
I kept walking. Maybe it would lose interest or focus, get distracted by the smell of food or a squirrel. But no. In fact, as I tried to pretend it wasn’t there, it drew closer, its steps gaining in confidence.
“I don’t have any food,” I told it. Like it was possible to have a rational conversation with a dog.
Maybe I was alone among humans, but I had never wanted a dog. They were sweet and cute, and who didn’t like petting them? But I didn’t want that kind of responsibility. Maybe it was the single thing I inherited from my father: his aversion to responsibility.
Besides, what was I supposed to do with a dog all day? I couldn’t leave it alone in my house—it would probably pee in there. My backyard wasn’t fenced off, so I couldn’t leave it outside. I sure as hell couldn’t take it to work with me. I could just imagine the complaints I’d get for bringing a dog to the shop.
Mr. Ashwell, who came in twice a week and probably spent a sum total of fifteen dollars a month, would throw a fit. He was very particular. He once berated me for allowing a woman to carry a tiny little purse dog around in the shop with her.
Called a two-pound yorkie a dangerous menace.
Yeah. It’d be a tragedy of epic proportions if I lost that customer. One of Dad’s favorites, of course.
But dammit, I didn’t have time for a dog. Or money. They required food and veterinarians and grooming and constant walks to keep them from crapping everywhere.
I stopped and turned to confront the thing, but . . . but it wasn’t a dog at all.
It was a fox.
Just a plain old red fox, with orangey fur that turned dark on its paws, black tipped ears, and a white underbelly and fluffy white tail tip. Just like the ones all over the woods outside of town, but this one was staring up at me like I’d hung the goddamn moon.
The Mysterious and Amazing Blue Billings by Lily Morton
His audience are raptly hanging onto his every word, but attention is disrupted when a large group approaches. At its lead is a thin man with long black hair pulled back into a ponytail. He’s handsome, but his expression is discontented and his mouth is sharp. He’s dressed in similar clothes to Blue, and he carries a large wooden box.
The group moves past us, coming to a stop a few yards away. The man places his box on the ground with a rather dramatic precision. My mouth twitches as he climbs on with a great deal of dignity.
“I’ve brought you here,” he says in a ghoulish tone, “to talk about plague and death and a terrible end in solitary confinement locked away in a small house.”
“Excuse me.” Blue’s loud voice cuts straight through the man’s dramatic spiel.
The man stops talking with an impatient sigh. “Can I help you?” he asks.
“I’ll say you can,” Blue says sharply. “This is my pitch for the next ten minutes. That’s the agreement if I keep off the York Devil bit until last thing.”
“Well, Frank changed the route. Sorry if you didn’t get the memo,” Box Boy says in a bored voice.
“You don’t sound sorry,” Blue says calmly. “You sound quite cross.” He pauses. “Or constipated. I never could tell the difference.” He looks him up and down. “Both ways were a build-up of shit.”
The man seems to lose his grasp on his temper. “You don’t own York,” he says loudly.
“Obviously not,” my guide says patiently. “Or I wouldn’t be doing ghost tours.” He clearly remembers his audience and turns back with a charming smile. “I would, of course, still be doing ghost tours for wonderful groups like this even if I owned the city of York, because I live to impart spectral knowledge.” The other man snorts slightly, and Blue smiles at us kindly and winks. “You’ll have to excuse us,” he says. “We used to date. Can I just say there is no correlation at all between box size and penis size?”
I snort out a laugh despite myself and watch as the other man picks up his box and gestures to his group in a bad-tempered way. I watch him go, smiling. The grin drops away as I suddenly become aware that the group is staring at me and our guide is talking to me.
“Sorry,” I say quickly. “I wasn’t paying attention.”
“Obviously,” he says. “Because you missed the bit where I said I wasn’t a resident charity.”
“I think I’ve missed something,” I say slowly.
The other members of the group shift slightly, obviously enjoying the entertainment, but not wanting to draw too much attention to themselves in case his laser gaze turns on them.
“You have missed something,” he says. “You’ve missed the part where you pay for the tour.”
“Oh fuck, sorry.” I edge forwards and dig in my pocket for my wallet. “Of course I’ll pay. How much is it?”
“Well, usually it’s six pounds.” I open my wallet, and he stares at me. “But that’s for people who are on time. You, however, are late, so it’s a tenner.”
I’m about to argue with this logic when a big man stirs at the back of the group. “Can we get a move on? It’s fucking freezing.”
“Could you watch your language?” another man says crossly.
“I can. I just might not want to,” the big man says.
My guide sighs and glares at me. “See what you’ve done now? This was a very well-behaved group before you turned up. You’re like a human grenade.”
I open my mouth to refute this unfair observation, but he shakes his head.
“Okay, people,” he calls out to the group. “Let’s be off to our next stop on the ghost tour led by the Mysterious and Amazing Blue Billings.”
Cat Escort by Melissa E Costa
Butterflies fluttered in Seth’s stomach. He planned on meeting his friend, Nat at Punky Brewsters—a bar they loved to frequent. Only this time, Nao would be there, too.
“Whataya think, buddy?” Seth held up his nicest pair of slacks for Bruno’s approval.
The cat swished his tail in a sharp motion.
“Aw, come on, buddy? You can at least act a little excited?” Seth put on the slacks and tucked in his shirt. “Wait a sec? Too formal?” He freed his shirt, only to tuck it back. “Yeah…too formal.” Quickly, he untucked it again.
Because Seth was Seth, he showed up half an hour early. Nat always hated that, but he was a creature of habit. He hoped he hadn’t put on too much cologne. Sarah used to wrinkle her nose in disgust, claiming he always overdid it. But this time was different. He and Nao had hung out before, but never with Nat present.
What if she didn’t like him? Worse yet, what if she recognized him as the escort she’d set him up with? Maybe she’d think Nao was using him for another trick?
Maybe that’s true. Maybe Nao is…
Seth shook his head and tried to stop his spiraling thoughts.
“Figured my boy would be early.” Nat squeezed his shoulders, and Seth almost choked on his drink. “Hope you didn’t get started?”
“Nah.” He’d never been much of a drinker. “Still on my first one.”
“So, where is this prince charming?”
“Shh…he could be here already. And I told you, we’re just friends.”
“Whatever, babe.” She nodded to the bartender. “Strawberry mojito, please.”
Seth didn’t recognize the new guy.
“Gotcha covered, sweetheart.” The new bartender winked at Nat, shaking two fingers like he shot a pistol. Seth inwardly cringed at the cheesy gesture. Bet he thinks that was suave…
Surprisingly, it worked. Nat returned his smirk, her eyes trailing the man’s tattoo sleeves. She took out her cigarettes and scooted a nearby ashtray in front of her.
When the bartender was out of earshot, she said, “He’s kinda cute.”
“Someone’s getting married in a month?”
“Married,” Nat laughed. “Not dead.”
“Hi.” Nao’s voice came from behind them.
Immediately, Seth swiveled in his seat. Then he jumped up. “Hey, Nao.” He hadn’t intended to hug him, but when Nao initiated, he couldn’t resist. When Nao pulled away, his cologne lingered on Seth’s shirt, the floral-lemon scent he now associated with Nao. If only it would never fade, then he’d feel like he always had Nao in his arms. Seth turned to Nat. “Nat, this is Nao. Nao, Nat.”
“From Sandy’s housewarming, right?” Nat held out her hand. “She didn’t introduce us.”
“That’s her, always running around.” Nao smiled. “Nice to officially meet you.”
“Likewise. You were at my New Year’s party, too, right?”
Nao nodded.
A thought sprang up in Seth’s mind. “I never realized how close your names sound,” he interjected. Their names being so similar was quite amusing. They only had one letter difference.
Nao leaned closer to be heard over the heavy thud of the base. “We kinda look alike, too,” he said, full of sass. That wasn’t true. Other than their heights, they didn’t share many commonalities. Nat had nothing on Nao. While she’d always been pretty, it was apparent she’d eventually be a middle-aged woman with weather-worn skin trying to look twenty-five again. Smoking was speeding up her aging process. She had tried and failed to quit. At work, she always looked professional. It was only when she went out that she completely cut loose. Seth loved her to death though, cigarettes and classiness aside.
“Swiped at birth?” Nat laughed and took a puff of her cigarette, trying to angle it away from them.
“If you're a cat lover?”
“A close second, but dogs for me.” The club lights emphasized Nat’s blonde hair. Her brunette roots had started to show.
Nao pouted playfully. “So much potential, only to lose to a dog…”
“Aww, sorry, kitty cat.” She patted his head with her free hand. “Seth’s a major cat lover, though. You should see him at the clinic. We call him the Cat Whisperer.”
“Oh?” Nao’s smile squinted his eyes. “I’d like to see that.”
Nat took another sip of her mojito. “Come by, and we’ll give you a tour.”
“I take it you guys work together?”
“Yup,” Nat said. “We met in vet school.”
Seth shifted in his seat. “Come on, Nat, like he wants to go to the vet.”
Nao crinkled his nose. “Well…when you put it that way, maybe not.”
The bartender placed another drink in front of Nat before he looked at Nao and gave him a wink. “Whatcha having?”
“Got any Sip-nip?”
Sip-nip? Seth hadn’t heard of that.
“You’re one lucky kitty. I’ll have it right up.” He gave Nao a flirty smirk and left to fix the drink.
Nat licked her lips, ogling the man from behind. “Hot, isn’t he? Amirite?”
Nao’s eyes fixed on the bartender. “Not bad.”
A sour feeling came over Seth.
“See, Nao agrees with me!”
“What’s Sip-nip?” He needed to change topics fast. He already felt peeved at the bartender, and Nat continuing to swoon made him angry at her, too.
“The cat equivalent of a mixed vodka drink, with a heartier flavor.”
The bartender set the drink in front of Nao.
“Interesting,” Seth said. “I never knew they carried that.”
“‘Guess you’ve never been here with a cat?” Nao took a sip. “Want some?” He held it out to Seth.
“Uh.” Seth bunched his brows in hesitation. “I don’t know…”
“It’s not bad, promise.”
Seth glanced at Nao’s lips, remembering their petal-soft feel. If only he could kiss them again. If it meant putting his mouth where Nao’s had been, then it was worth it—no matter how awful it tasted.
Bravely, he took a sip. The thickened substance coated his tongue, and the earthy flavor almost had him gagging. His lips puckered, and his face scrunched up. God, this is bitter! He’d once sampled his foster mother’s wheatgrass, and the awful stuff even tasted better than this.
Nao’s smile grew. “Wait for it…”
Seth swallowed. A new taste came from the lingering bitterness. Broth? The veggie flavor gave it a hint of greens while otherwise tasting like beef stew.
“Woah…you weren’t kidding?”
“Told yah, if you can get through the initial bitterness, it’s pretty awesome.” He offered the drink to Nat. “Wanna try too?”
“Sure, why the hell not?” Nat laughed, her second mojito making her a bit tipsy. She sipped the drink. Immediately, she grimaced, her brows bunching.
“Wait for it…” Nao’s voice filled with more excitement, sparking the yellow tint in his black eyes.
Nat swished the liquid in her mouth. Then her expression melted into one of enjoyment. “Hot damn! Never’ve guessed it, but holy shit, that’s good!”
“Exactly!” Nao took his drink back.
They settled on another round of drinks, when Nat said, “Okay, do tell? Did you two know each other before the party?”
Seth didn’t know what to say. He had never lied to her before. Nao seemed to wait for him to take the lead. “Uh, sort of. We met once.”
Nao nodded.
“I kinda had a hunch on that.” Nat took another sip of her mojito.
“Oh, yeah? How?” Nao asked.
“Guess it was how you guys walked like you were already familiar with each other.”
Nao’s smile held approval. “You’re pretty good at analyzing a situation.”
“And that means a lot coming from Nao,” Seth interjected. “He’s like Sherlock the cat.”
Nao laughed at that.
Nat’s cheeks flamed, and Seth probably should stop her from having any more, otherwise work tomorrow would suck. “So, where did you meet?”
Seth wracked his brain to come up with something that wasn’t an outright lie.
“Just sorta happened.” Nao took a sip of his drink. “Kind of a one-night stand, so to speak.”
“Oh, my God, Seth!” Nat laughed. “I’m so proud of you.”
“Uh, yeah. I guess.” Seth’s burning cheeks hadn’t anything to do with his beer.
“He was so adorable, I couldn’t resist.” Nao grinned.
“Sooo? You two a thing now?”
Seth and Nao looked at each other. Was Nao thinking the same thing he was? “Um….”
“Taking it slow,” Nao answered.
“Really?” Seth couldn’t hide his hope, the alcohol making his words slip freely. Nao smiled at him, but there was something in his eyes, an almost pitying look, and it made Seth turn away. “Something like that.”
They stayed for another fifteen minutes talking when Nat had to head out. “Talk to you later, babe.” She kissed Seth from cheek to cheek. Then did the same to Nao. “Really great to meet you, let’s totally do this again.”
Nao gave her another squinty-eyed smile. “Of course.”
When it was only him and Nao, Seth suddenly felt shy. Wasn’t beer supposed to lower inhibitions? Maybe he should’ve had a second one?
Nao rolled his head from shoulder to shoulder, stretching before he swayed to the music. “Love this song.”
Seth hoped Nao didn’t ask him to dance. Not that he didn’t enjoy Nao’s lithe body moving sensually to the music—his shirt rode up and revealed his toned abdomen.
“I suppose.” He couldn’t take his eyes off Nao.
“I’m kinda tired.” Nao laid his head on Seth’s shoulder. “Zeth?” His S sounded more like a drawled-out Z.
“Hm?” Every nerve on his body stood on edge. He wanted to touch Nao, but he couldn’t move, too afraid that if he did, Nao would push away.
“I like you.” Nao rubbed his nose against Seth’s shirt before he was back resting his head on his shoulder.
“Yeah?”
Sitting up, he smiled, shyly at Seth. Then he groaned and squeezed the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes. “Zomething’z wr-r-r-rong,” Nao slurred, his R’s rolled deep from his throat. His O came out strangled like Nao was fighting to keep from making a different noise. “I feel a bit lightheaded…it’z hard to think.”
“The drink?”
“If it is…that’z strange. I’ve alwayz drunk Zip-Nip, and this hasn’t happened before...”
“Oh? You wanna head out?”
Nao breathed deeply and shook his head. His fingers trembled, and he ran them through his hair to move it out of his face. His smile grew sensual, flirty. “I wanna dance.”
“You certainly bounce back quick.”
“Par-r-r-tender?” Nao waved the bartender over.
“Uh, maybe you should call it?”
The bartender’s grin widened. “Nah, let the little kitty have another.”
Seth narrowed his brow. “Thanks, but he’s had enough. Come on, Nao, let’s call it a night.”
Nao leaned against Seth. Purring, he nuzzled Seth’s shoulder. “I wanna stay here with Zeth….” Seth’s stomach tingled. He liked his name spoken in Nao’s rich, adorable accent. Still, this wasn’t Nao. He didn’t want to take advantage of him in this state. Maybe that asshole bartender slipped him something? It made sense. No one else could’ve gotten a chance to mess with their drinks.
The bartender set down another glass. “The little kitty is cute when he’s drunk.”
Nao took a gulp before he giggled. “What’z in this thing?” He clutched his head. “World’z spinning…”
“Aaaaand, you’ve had enough.” Seth took a five from his wallet to leave a tip, but only because it was etiquette. He’d rather punch this guy in the face. “I’m closing my tab. Just put his on mine.”
“But the little kitty still needs to finish his drink.” He pushed the drink forward. “Don’tcha, kitty? It’s tasty to little kitty cats, isn’t it?”
Nao hummed, and rested his head on his arms; he still nodded. “Yesss…tasty.” He reached for the drink, but Seth stopped his hand.
“Just close my tab, man.”
“I got monies, Zeth.” Nao sprang up before he wobbled in his chair. “Dizzy…”
“Easy there.” Seth prepared to catch him.
“I’m okay.” Nao’s accent swamped his slurred words. Giggling, he reached for his purse and nearly fumbled out of the barstool. He made noises similar to mews, then said softly, something that sounded like “yule-e.” Was Nao still speaking in English?
Seth stabilized him with a hand to his back. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve got it.”
“But I wanna earn my keeps…”
“I know how the little kitty can pay me back?” The bartender leaned closer and squeezed Nao’s hand.
Seth glared at him. “Back off, man.”
“What are you, his dad?” He stroked Nao’s palm before he tugged on his fingers, playing with his claws. “How ‘bout it, kitty cat? Wanna go to the back?”
Nao shook his head and screwed his eyes shut. “Thankz, but I’ll’ve ta pass.” Looking up, he giggled. “Not dis time, I’m with Zeth.”
“Come on, cutie, I’ll make it much better for you than this lame dude.”
Nao shook his head and tried to take his hand away, but the bartender didn’t let go.
Seth shoved him off. “Knock it off, asshole. He already said no, and he doesn’t need anything else to drink.” His mouth formed a thin line. “You put something in it, didn’t you?”
The bartender scowled. “What the hell you implying?”
“You heard me. You put something in his fucking drink, didn’t you?” Seth held his ground, anger stirring up inside him. If this bartender wanted a fight, he would give it to him. He had no intention of letting anyone hurt Nao.
“Okay, okayz.” Nao stood up, his legs wobbling. “I’ll go home,” his M rumbled from within his throat, “wiss Zeth.” He hugged Seth from behind and rubbed his face into the valley between Seth’s shoulders. “Yule-e…zal-knee.” After speaking the words, he slipped into soft mews. Though Seth wasn’t sure if it was a mew or an actual heavily accented word, he thought he heard, “Safe.”
Seth covered one of Nao’s hands that rested on his chest. His eyes locked in a staring contest with the bartender. “You gonna close my tab?”
“Fine. Whatever, man.” The bartender frowned at him but went to get his card. Seth watched him the entire time as the guy printed out the receipt before he signed.
He put an arm around Nao and walked them to the door.
Nao pivoted to face him and draped his arms around Seth’s neck. With feline finesse, he moved to the music, swaying his hips and rolling his stomach. “Dance with me?”
Seth chuckled and shook his head. “You’re drunk.”
Nao leaned closer and whispered into his ear. “Zeth?”
“Yeah?” Seth steadied him.
“I like you, Zeth,” he purred. He rubbed his nose against Seth’s ear, then pressed their cheeks together. He rumbled out a series of words Seth couldn’t make out, but they didn’t sound like English. Seth managed to catch the word yule-e, again. Perhaps that word meant happy? Fun, maybe? Nao beamed like a giddy kitten whenever he said it.
A faint fragrance emanated from Nao. It wasn’t his cologne—although that was still present. This scent was different, more primal, and highly arousing. Seth’s heartbeat grew louder, blood pumping through his veins. He inhaled deeply and leaned into Nao until their bodies pressed together.
“Zeth,” Nao purred. In between mews, he spoke strongly accented words. “Yule-lee, cha-rar. Happy…alive, zal-knee…horny.” Had Nao just said he was horny? Then again, with his heavy accent, perhaps Seth had misheard. Nao rubbed against him, and goosebumps pricked Seth’s skin. “I like you,” he whispered.
“I like you, too. Now come on, let’s get you home.” Seth tried to take Nao’s arms off him. God, how he didn’t want to. He’d rather shove Nao up against the wall and kiss him breathless. But he couldn’t. Nao was clearly under the influence of something, and Seth wasn’t about to take advantage of the situation.
“No, no,” he whined and held Seth tighter. “I wanna dance.” The scent clinging to Nao practically screamed sex. His firm body—all tight muscles on a slender physique—molded against Seth’s, who instinctively grabbed his hips, grinding into him. “Dance with me, Zeth.” Nao purred low. He nosed Seth’s neck and uttered something softly like a prayer. “Cha-rar, zal-knee…horny.”
Seth realized Nao was slipping in and out of his native tongue in an attempt to express his emotions.
He took a deep breath. Stop it. I can’t do this. He can’t consent; it’s wrong. Drawing from a reserve of self-control Seth didn’t know he had, he released Nao, and this time he succeeded in getting Nao to let go.
“You’re intoxicating,” Nao drawled, sounding like one long hiss.
“Nope, that would be the drug.” Seth guided Nao to the door, pulling him when he tried to stop.
“Such a meanie,” Nao whined. “Meanie, Zeth.” He made a low rroaw before muttering more foreign words. Seth didn’t understand them, but he got a general idea. Anger, frustration. Annoyance. Nao trilled Seth’s name and sounded even more like a frustrated feline.
“Yup, I’m a meanie, but you’ll thank me tomorrow.”
“But Zeth?” Nao’s voice grew small. He uttered a soft mew, before speaking in a hushed tone. Even though the words sounded a mixture of meows and gibberish to Seth, the emotions behind them stabbed his heart. He could hear the notes of fear, sorrow, and loneliness. “Don’t you like me? Coo-lay… zal-knee.” His voice trembled.
Seth stopped and faced Nao properly. “Yeah. I do. A lot, actually.”
Nao stepped into his space. “Then have me,” he moaned against Seth’s neck. The sound reverberated and tickled the soft hairs there. His scent practically begged Seth to give in, drowning him in arousal. Nao’s rough tongue licked from his throat to his cheek and sent tingles dancing down his spine. Claw tipped fingernails trailed his chest and abdomen before he grabbed Seth’s groin. Thankfully, he had worn his slacks. Otherwise, he’d be visibly hard.
Seth sucked in a breath. His body ached. He was slowly losing the battle, craving Nao’s warm hand around his shaft. Pulling Nao close, he whispered into his ear. “Tomorrow, come to me then, and I’ll do anything you want.”
“Tomo-r-r-r-ow? I want it neow,” he grumbled, pouting. He rubbed up on Seth, purring, brushing his cheek against Seth’s before hiding his nose in the crook of Seth’s neck.
Seth continued to guide them to his car. He focused on his breathing, trying to calm his racing heart. His erection throbbed. “I’m gonna drive you home, okay?”
Nao shook his head. “No, let’s take my car-r-r.”
“If I do that, you’ll definitely kill me when you’re sober. In your current state, you’re gonna wreck.”
“Noes, I won’t.” Nao smiled flirtily. “Catz are graceful.” He hung on Seth, running his hand into Seth’s pants. “Zeth, I want you.”
“Feeling’s completely mutual. But not like this, Nao.” Seth took Nao’s hand out. “You’re drunk.”
“Am not,” Nao said, giggling.
When they got to Seth’s car, he helped Nao lean against it. He cursed himself for not trading it in. Damn student loans. Who didn’t have automatic locks nowadays? Without a clicker, he had to unlock it manually, all the while keeping Nao from falling on his face.
“I’ve got thiz! I’mma cat. Catz...zee?” He pushed off of the car and lost his footing.
Seth caught him just in time. Thankfully, he’d stuck the key in the lock beforehand, so it hadn’t fallen on the ground.
“Don’t understand? I’mma cat…and catz ar-r-re graceful.” He sprung up onto his tiptoes, spreading out his arms as if he could leap right off the ground. “Zeeee? Graceful!” Seth hugged Nao’s waist to stop him from falling.
“Not tonight, you aren’t, buddy.” Seth helped him into the passenger seat.
“Ummm... Zeth? Zeth, come back... pleeeease? Zal-knee, coo-lay…” Given the soft mew-like timbre of Nao’s next few words, if he had to guess what Nao said, it would be sad, lonely.
“Will do, buddy. But, I’m gonna sit in the driver’s seat, okay?” Seth closed the door while Nao continued speaking in his native language and a mixture of cat sounds.
When he got in, he expected Nao to jump him, but instead, Nao leaned his head against the seat.
“I don’t feel so good,” he groaned, finally sounding normal. “I hurt all over.”
“Don’t worry, you’re gonna sleep this off, okay?”
“Sorry, Zeth.” Nao cupped his forehead and massaged his temples. His thick accent returned, as his hands transformed into paws. “Zor-r-r-ry.”
“Sorry?”
“For r-r-ruining your night.” With his tiny meows, Nao sounded like he was about to cry. “Sad…coo-lay, zal-knee.”
“Hey?” Seth patted his thigh. “You didn’t ruin anything, okay?”
“I’m all over za place.”
“Yeah, but you can’t help it, okay? That asshole probably spiked your drink.”
Nao snorted, before laughing uncontrollably. “Z-Zome escor-r-rt I am.” He hiccupped. “Sh-Shoulda read him better-r-r-r.”
“Nah, you’re good. That guy’s the asshole.”
“Humanz hurt catz.” His speech slurred, before he laughed, and was bouncing in his seat. “Datz why catz must take care a catz.”
“Well, I’ll tell you what. You don’t have to fear humans while I’m around ‘cause there’s no way I’ll let any of them hurt you.”
Nao went silent, and Seth glanced to see if he’d fallen asleep. Instead, wide yellow eyes stared at him. When had Nao’s black eyes turned yellow? His cat ears were out, and his face looked more feline.
“Zeth’z not mean,” he whispered. “Zeth’z trusted, nice.” He cuddled up against Seth’s shoulder, then nuzzled his shirt and kneaded it with his paws. “Yule-e…zal-knee. Cha-rar.” That scent invaded Seth’s nose again, stronger than before, making his body feel heavy with arousal. “Zeth’z hot.”
“Okay, now I officially know you’re drunk or high or whatever that drug’s doing to you.”
“Why? It’z how I feel.” He nibbled Seth’s ear, his sharp, pointy fangs both hurt and tickled.
Since he didn’t know the route to Nao’s place, he drove to his own apartment.
When they got out of his car, Seth supported Nao with an arm around his waist, and they walked to the door.
“Zeth…” Nao said, the word low and husky. He nuzzled Seth’s neck. “I want Zeth.” He kept trying to invade Seth’s jeans, all the while sending hot pants against his neck, kissing him, and sucking on his skin. Seth groaned at the sensations. He didn’t think he could get any harder than he already was. If there were a way to die from blue balls, he’d found it.
Every taunt muscle on Nao’s slender body, from his firm chest to his nicely defined abs, pressed against Seth’s side. That night, Nao’s naked skin had been smooth and soft. He remembered Nao’s thighs clenching as he rode his cock. His shapely ass fitted in Seth’s palms.
Seth moaned with need, wanting to take Nao right there on the driveway. “Fuck…” He reached for his keys, still trying to keep Nao from falling. Nao stopped ravishing him and bopped the jingling metal keychain with his paw. “Nao, stop it.” Seth couldn’t hold in his laugh. “I can’t unlock it when you’re playing with it like that.”
Nao bopped it again, giggling; his pupils blown. “Put it’z funz!”
“You’re like a kitten, do you know that?”
Nao giggled again, making a chirping sound in the back of his throat.
It became a game where Seth tried to get the key in the keyhole before Nao swatted it. So far, Nao was winning. A moth fluttered by the hanging light in the doorway, and Nao got distracted.
When he swiped, Seth quickly took the opening, turning the key in the lock. “Okay, in we go.” Nao seemed preoccupied with the pesky insect. “Come on, buddy. We’re just a door away.” As Nao prepared for another pounce, Seth pulled him through the door. The momentum sent them tumbling to the floor.
Nao burst out laughing, Seth right behind him.
When he had laughed himself dry, Seth got to his feet. He held out a hand. Nao reached for it and missed it. Seth shook his head, a smile still on his lips. This time when Nao reached again, Seth caught his hand. “All right, let’s get you standing.”
“World’z spinning! Zpin world! Zpin!” Nao’s tail swished the air. He squirmed out of Seth’s arms, and onto all fours. Crawling, he circled Seth’s legs. With the way he moved, he looked like the cat he was, and not a human clumsily on his hands and knees.
“You really are ridiculous, you know that?” Seth bent down and stroked Nao’s head. He ran his fingers through his dark hair—still human, wavy, and long. Nao leaned into the touch, slowly closing his eyes. The more Seth stroked him, the more he transformed into a cat.
Rra-eow.
“Oh, Bruno.” Seth gestured to the tabby. “Come and meet Nao.”
Nao’s cat ears perked up, and he scooted behind Seth. “He doesn’t like mees…” Nao pouted, his accent lessening.
“What, Bruno?” Seth stood. “He’s the nicest dude in the world. Come on, buddy, show him how awesome you are.”
Bruno twitched his ear and let out a low, long meow.
“Uh, uh…he wantz me to leave.”
Seth shook his head.
“Do you speak catz?”
“Hm…guess I didn’t think of that.” Seth helped Nao stand. “Well, you guys can meet again tomorrow. I’m sure he’ll be much friendlier when you’re your normal charming self.”
“No, noes, Zeth. I wanna play. Bruno-eowzz!” Nao twitched his ears and raised his tail. Bruno’s sharp tail-swipe had Nao pouting. “See? He doesn’t like me.”
“That’s ‘cause you’re drunk off your ass. Come on, I’ll let you take the bed.” Seth draped Nao’s arm around his shoulder and headed into the bedroom. He sat him down on the mattress.
“Zleap with me, Zeth. Zleap with me. Humanz...str-r-r-range. You’re not. You’r-r-re cat, like us.” He continued babbling as Seth removed his shoes. “Can’t trust humanz. Tr-r-r-rust you.”
“All right. Lie down.”
Nao rested his weight on his palms. Smirking, Nao licked his lips. “C’mere you.” He wrapped his leg around Seth’s arm and tugged him downward. “Wanna make you feel good.”
Seth lost his balance and fell onto the bed. His erection throbbed painfully. God, he wanted to.
Nao crawled to him, doing the most feline looking crab walk. He pushed his legs under Seth’s torso until he lay beneath him. “Ever wonder about that night?” He licked up Seth’s ear and ran his fingers through his curls.
Seth shivered. “Um, yeah...”
Nao cupped Seth’s head, bringing them mere breaths apart. “Let’s not wonder...” His R rolled deep from his throat. Seth could practically feel it, “…be with me.”
He kissed Seth hard. His rough tongue delved into Seth’s mouth, scraping his teeth. Nao wrapped his legs around Seth’s waist and ground into his hard dick. “Zee? You want me too,” Nao spoke in a husky voice, each word came from the chest, like a purr.
Tight abs pressed into him, and Seth couldn’t hold back his moan. “God, yeah.” He kissed Nao with equal fervor, licking into his mouth, chewing his bottom lip, grinding into him, stirring up delicious friction that had them both panting. Seth didn’t want to stop. “But…” He had to. Nao probably wouldn’t remember any of this tomorrow. And if he did, would he feel violated? “Can’t.” He separated from Nao, not too gently because he was about to explode.
Sadness filled Nao’s still yellow eyes. “You don’t like me…”
“No, that’s definitely not it.” Seth shook his head. “You’re fucking hot, but—”
“Put I’m dirty, ‘cause I’m an escor-r-r-rt.”
“Nope. Wrong again. I’d fuck you right here if you were sober.”
“Put I am sober.”
“Nope, you’re the exact opposite, buddy. Sleep it off, and tomorrow, I’ll fuck your brains out if you still want me to.” Seth got off the bed before he helped Nao stand.
“Put-Put…” Nao pawed at Seth’s shirt. He hugged Seth, again, nuzzling his neck. “I missed you…”
Was any of this true? Did Nao actually miss him? No, that couldn’t be right. This had to be the drug talking.
Nao flipped their positions and forced Seth to sit on the edge of the bed. He got between his legs and mouthed Seth’s shaft through his pants. “At least, lemme make you feel good?”
Seth groaned.
Nao unbuttoned his pants and breathed over his briefs.
“N-Nao…stop.”
“Please, Zeth? Lemme taste you, please.” He accentuated his words with a nuzzle of his head to Seth’s groin, then tugged Seth’s underwear down enough to free his cock.
Hot breath tickled his sensitive skin, and Seth’s head lulled back. He had to stop this. Regardless of what Nao said, he still couldn’t give consent, not like this. Seth grabbed his head, trying to be gentle, even when he ached with need. “Stop, Nao…. please.”
Nao looked up, eyes wide and teary. “I’m zorry.”
“I want you, Nao. So bad…” Seth trembled with need. Tears of frustration lurked in the corners of his eyes. “But I want you to be here because you want to be, not ‘cause of some drug.”
Nao swallowed. “Put I do want ta be here.” He rested his head on Seth’s knee. “I want dis. Want you.”
Seth wished he could enjoy Nao lying against him, but after all of this, he desperately needed to go and take care of himself. He sucked in a few shaky breaths to regain his composure. “Let’s wait until you’re back to normal, okay?”
Nao stretched, yawning, and it freed Seth to get up. “Zleepy.”
“Exactly.” Seth walked Nao over to the front of the bed and helped him get under the covers. “Get some sleep.” He petted Nao’s hair and ran his fingers down the curve of his face. Nao had shut his eyes, and his breathing evened out. Seth smiled gently before he kissed Nao’s forehead.
I Buried a Witch by Josh Lanyon
Chapter One
SCENE I. A CAVERN. IN THE MIDDLE, A BOILING CAULDRON.
Thunder. Enter the three Witches
First Witch
Thrice the brinded cat hath mew’d.
Second Wit—
Yeah, totally kidding about that. There was no second witch. It was one witch, me, and John, my husband, SFPD’s new Police Commissioner. Oh, and the scene was the breakfast table at our house on Greenwich Street in San Francisco. I was fixing French toast, which, for the record, is not French, and the coffee was just about ready.
“… new report, you need to make just over $343,000 in order to afford a median-priced home in San Francisco,” the bespectacled and solemn news reporter on the TV across the kitchen informed us. “The report was compiled by…”
John and I had arrived home the night before from Scotland, where we had been on our honeymoon for the past two weeks. As a side note, I am very much in favor of honeymoons. I mean, yes, they’re artificial in that getting to spend two weeks doing whatever pleasurable thing you feel like doing is not real life. And, yeah, it’s also true that a luxury vacation in a romantic foreign country is probably not the best way to get to know someone you’ve only known a short time—although it certainly works that way in Hallmark movies. But it is a good way to figure out if you want to spend more time together, and needless to say, I had figured out I wanted to spend as much time as possible with John. Ideally, the rest of my life.
John poured coffee into two mugs. “You’re still okay with hosting this cocktail party on Wednesday?”
“Of course.” His expression was doubtful. “What?” I asked.
He nodded at the wall of cardboard boxes filling half the kitchen. It was pretty much the same situation in every room of the house. Combining our separate households meant John and I had bestowed a lot of worldly goods on each other. And then we’d bought a few new pieces too–like the Victorian black and bronze bed in the master bedroom.
“I’ve got a lot of catching up to do this week. I’m not going to be able to be much help. Presumably it’s going to be the same for you.”
“I can manage. Don’t worry. I’ll have Bridget to help.”
John looked unconvinced, but he poured a generous helping of cream and sugar into my coffee, brought it to me with a kiss.
“I’m going to miss you today,” he murmured.
“Same here.” I kissed him back.
That led to another longer kiss, and before I knew it, I was sitting on the quartz counter with my jeans unzipped, the French toast was burning, and the doorbell was ringing.
“Hell,” John exclaimed, hastily tucking his shirt in and zipping up his trousers. “That’s Aloha.”
“Yes, it is,” I sighed. “In more ways than one.”
Aloha Newman was John’s driver. Though she worked for SFPD, she was not actually a police officer and did not carry a gun. That was fine by me. I’d had more than enough of guns on our wedding day.
What Aloha did possess was a ruthless sense of punctuality.
“I’ll see you around six.” John was already heading for the arched doorway leading into dining room.
“We’re having dinner at your mother’s,” I called after him.
He muttered something uncomplimentary to the universe, returned, “Right. See you at five-thirty.” The front door slammed behind him.
I sighed, glanced at the stove and twitched my nose. The dial turned to off, the flame beneath the pan guttered and died. “Down the sink, before you stink,” I muttered.
Two burned slices of egg-coated bread rose from the pan, floated past my face, and dropped down the sink drain.
Across the room, another reporter, also bespectacled and solemn but female, was reciting, “Though friends of the victim say Ms. Starshine was a practicing Wiccan, investigators speculate these “satanic” elements might be intended to divert suspicion from the killer or killers.”
“What the what?” I hopped off the counter and went to turn up the sound on the television—the remote was still MIA—which promptly zapped me. “Ouch!”
The volume blasted up then died away again.
By the time I managed to dial in the sound, the cameras had returned to the studio and the news anchors (recognizable for the lack of spectacles or solemnity) were exchanging cheery banter about the weather forecast. Sunny with a chance of homicide?
I made a mental note to ask John about the Starshine case, turned off the TV and sprinted upstairs to get changed for work.
“How was Scotland?” Andi asked when I stopped by her apartment in Alamo Square to pick up Pyewacket.
Andi—Andromeda Merriweather—has been my best friend since I can remember. Her mother and my mother were chums back in the day and apparently it was a dream come true to be able to share morning sickness and swollen feet with their nearest and dearest. I’m not entirely kidding about the nearest and dearest. By the time I came along, my parents were experiencing a certain lack of enthusiasm, and Andi’s father had crossed over, so Maman and Belinda did rely heavily on each other. Girl Power being a magic that transcends realms.
Anyway, Andi is three months older than me. She’s tall and slim with short, inevitably spiky red hair, freckles, and hazel eyes. She owns and operates the Mad Batter bakery, which has The Best cupcakes in all of San Francisco. And I don’t say that merely because I concoct the recipes for her exclusive line of cocktail cupcakes.
“Bonnie,” I answered, cuddling Pye. Pyewacket is my three-hundred-year-old Russian Familiar. I mean, I haven’t had him for three hundred years–I only turned twenty-nine in May. Pye inhabits the body of a cat. A Russian Blue cat.
I kissed Pye’s nose, which he bore stoically. “Was he any trouble?” I asked Andi.
She shook her head, smiling as she watched us. “He’s good company for Minerva.” Minerva is Andi’s Familiar, a Dwarf Hotot rabbit with a disposition as benign as the carrots she loves to snack on.
“Did you have fun?” I asked Pye.
His meow was loud and scented with liver-flavored Friskies Paté.
“I bet,” I said.
“So everything is…good?” Andi asked–maybe a little tentatively.
“Everything is great.” I guess I was beaming because Andi looked relieved.
“You look happy.”
“I am. I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy before.” To be honest, it was a little unsettling. Obviously, the honeymoon phase couldn’t last forever, and I wasn’t sure how much of John’s and my contentment with each other was the result of a couple of weeks of nothing to do but sight-see and make love.
“I’m glad.”
I didn’t doubt it. If anyone had a vested interest in my relationship with John working out, it was Andi, who was, when you thought about it, inadvertently responsible for the whole thing. “How’s it going with Trace?” I asked.
“Great.”
I hadn’t expected that. Andi’s…well, picky.
“Really? That’s wonderful.” At least I hoped so.
“Is it? I mean, I really, really do like him.” She sounded troubled.
“But that’s good, right?”
“No. Not right. I’m not like you. I can’t—he’s mortal. Being together would mean, well, I’m not even sure what it would mean. A lifetime of living a lie? Or breaking my oath and telling him the truth?”
I considered. “As far as oaths go, don’t you think the not-telling-any-mortals-anything-ever rule is really more of a guideline?”
“No. I don’t.”
I did not want it to end. It was one of the sweetest, saddest (in a lighthearted way, not big, ugly tears-and-snot way), most romantic-without-feeling-faux original tales I’ve read.
“Because some mortals do know.” I was thinking of Ralph Grindelwood. Not that Ralph was a great example given that I now believed he was the sworn enemy of the Craft.
“That can’t be helped. It doesn’t change anything. We cannot contribute to their knowledge.”
In our silence lies our safety.
The final—and some would say the most important—of the Ten Precepts.
Still I persisted, “I understand, but times are changing. Mortals are more accepting now. Of a lot of things.”
She shook her head. “Not really. Fashions change. That’s about it. And even fashion cycles around again.”
Kind of a bleak outlook from a girl who made cupcakes for a living, but Andi’s feelings mirrored those of a lot of our friends—and both of our families.
“Yeah, but even two steps forward and one step back means progress. Incremental maybe, but progress.”
She shook her head. “You’re an idealist, Cos.”
I let it go and changed the subject. “Well, on the topic of fashion, I brought you something frae Bonnie Scotland.” I shifted Pye onto my shoulder, and handed over a small box.
“You didn’t have to.”
“I know.”
Andi unwrapped the box, lifted the lid, and her face changed. “Oh, Cos.” She picked up the necklace inside. A tiny cinnabar carved sacred heart crowned with a flame of raw garnet stone dangled from a vintage rosary made of bogwood.
“It’s lovely.”
“I found it in an antiques shop in Dumbarton. It’s Wiccan, I think.”
“I love it. Thank you.”
“And I’ve been thinking of a Drambuie-based cocktail that might work for cupcakes.”
Her eyes lit. “Perfect timing. We need to shake up our menu for autumn.”
“Autumn? It’s only July.”
“Exactly. Time to start planning.”
We chatted another minute or two and made plans to meet for lunch on Wednesday. I coaxed Pyewacket into his carrier, and headed for the door.
As I was leaving, I asked, “Have you heard anything about Rex?”
Rex was a friend of ours who had been injured in a hit and run accident. When John and I had left for Scotland they had still been in a coma.
Andi shook her head. “Sorry. Nothing. But then I’m not sure I’d hear anything. They’re really more your friend than mine.”
“What about Oliver?”
“Oliver?”
“Oliver Sandhurst.”
Andi only looked more confused. “What about him?”
“I thought I told you this. He disappeared after I tried to—after my visit to the Creaky Attic.”
“Oh. Right. That feels like a million years ago. I haven’t heard anything.” She looked apologetic. Not that Oliver was her responsibility. Technically, he wasn’t my responsibility either.
But I did fear for him. And I did feel responsible.
Confused yet?
Let’s recap. A month ago, I met John Joseph Galbraith, San Francisco’s new police commissioner and my husband-to-be, at Bonhams’ warehouse where we were both interested in bidding on a black and bronze Victorian antique four-poster with crystal bed knobs. I was attracted to John from the minute I laid eyes on him. I don’t know why exactly, because he wasn’t really my type. Not that I think of myself as having a type, but if I did, it wouldn’t be a big, brusque Kennedyesque guy with a military background and political ambitions.
Except, somehow, when I gazed into his amber—yes, brown-gold—eyes, something funny happened to me. I’m not saying it was love at first sight, but I did feel some instant, odd connection. Which is why it sort of smarted that John didn’t feel the same. In fact, he was kind of…well, let’s say pointedly not interested.
Which, come to think of it, maybe is a sign of interest?
Or maybe I’d just like to believe that John caustically brushing me off was the equivalent of Gideon Terwilliker pushing Andi into the swimming pool back when we were in the third grade.
Anyway, Andi did not appreciate that slight to my ego and she, er…cast a spell on John so that the next time he saw me, he, well, fell in love.
Or thought he did.
Which is sometimes the same thing.
And sometimes not.
That explains John’s part of all this. It doesn’t explain why I went ahead and married a man I’d only known two weeks. But you know, you either believe in love at first sight or you don’t. And if you don’t, you’re quite right not to because it will never happen to you.
I don’t say that to be mean. It’s a fact. If you can’t conceive of a thing, how will you recognize it when it happens? Unless we’re talking about an earthquake. Anyway, it’s right there in the Bible. Jesus said unto him, If thou canst believe, all things are possible to him that believeth.
It does happen to some of us. It happened to me.
Granted, part of what—who—I fell so head-over-heels for was the John under the influence of the love spell. The John not under a love spell was a different bloke. Not nearly as romantic—or malleable. Yet it didn’t seem to matter to my heart.
Regardless of the bait, once a fish is hooked, it’s hooked.
I forgot to mention the part where, a couple of days before our wedding, I was suspected of murdering Seamus Reitherman, a fellow witch in the Abracadantès tradition. I was—patently, since I’d just returned from my honeymoon—exonerated, but unfortunately the police had arrested the wrong person.
Or at least, that was my theory before I went to Scotland for two weeks.
After two weeks of Scottish history, Scottish weather, Scottish booze, and an encounter with a Scottish ghost, I was not quite as sure. Scottish women are that rare mix of ruthless pragmatism and blazing idealism. So, yeah, it was possible that Ciara Reitherman had killed her husband. She had tried to kill me.
Then again, Ciara’s attempts to kill me had almost certainly been driven by her belief that I’d killed Seamus.
Or maybe not.
Occam’s razor, as John had pointed out when I’d tried to make a case for Ciara being wrongly arrested. The simplest explanation is the most likely. At least when it comes to police work—according to the police commissioner in the family. It was far more likely Ciara had killed her unfaithful (and generally exasperating) husband than that some shadowy global conspiracy tried to frame me for murder.
Not that I had told John about the shadowy global conspiracy that might or might not really exist.
Just one of the things I hadn’t told John about.
* * * * *
“Welcome home. We missed you.” Blanche greeted me, when I finally arrived at Blue Moon Antiques, cat carrier and peevish occupant, in tow.
“Thank you. It’s good to be home.” I gazed with satisfaction around the spacious and airy downstairs showroom. Light through the protectively tinted windows glanced off gilt curlicues, and silvered glass, warmed the velvets and brocades of aged upholstery, glinted off ivory scrimshaw and ebony trinket boxes.
Blanche asked, “How’s married life?”
“I highly recommend it.”
Blanche Baker has been working for me since I opened Blue Moon Antiques four years ago.
The customers love her. I love her. In fact, everyone loves Blanche. She’s about fifty. Tall and voluptuous with black, curly hair–currently streaked with indigo–one blue eye, one green eye behind a seemingly infinite wardrobe of rhinestone glasses (I’m partial to the ones with butterfly-shaped frames). Her makeup is on the sexy witch side, but she’s not a witch. She’s Wicca. Like most mortals, she’s not aware there’s a difference.
Blanche said cheerfully, “No thank you. I’ve been inoculated against that disease. Twice.”
“So you’re a carrier?”
“Ha.” She took the cat crate from me, set it on the counter, and lifted Pyewacket out. “Oh, you beautiful baby, what has he done to you?”
Pyewacket proceeded to detail his list of grievances into her sympathetic ear.
“Don’t listen to him,” I said. “He’s been living it up on catnip and dried shrimp at Andi’s.” I glanced around the still empty shop. “Where’s Ambrose?”
Blanche sighed. “Another problem with his grandma.”
“Another what problem?”
“I don’t know. He’s being very closed-mouth about it.”
“Uh oh. How long has this been going on?”
“Not long. The Tuesday after you left, he had to leave suddenly, but he was back the next day and he’s been here every day since. Until this morning. There’s a message on the machine. The poor kid is clearly stressed out of his mind.”
“Okay. I’ll deal with it.”
I had hired Ambrose right before the wedding. He’d been recommended by the previously mentioned Ralph Grindlewood. Ralph was a good customer and, once I’d have said, a friend. What exactly Ralph was now, I wasn’t sure. But I had hired Ambrose and agreed to make him my apprentice, so he was most definitely my concern.
“Anything else I should know before I start going through my mail?”
Blanche, still coddling Pyewacket, shook her head. “It’s actually been very quiet since you left.”
“Well, we’ll see what I can do to change that.”
She chuckled. “I don’t doubt it.”
All the same, she looked pretty surprised when she poked her head into my office a few minutes later to whisper, “Pierre Sjoberg is here to see you.”
I put down the catalog for Alexanders Auctioneers. “Who?” The name was vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it.
“The defense attorney.” Blanche was still whispering. She threw a quick, uneasy glance over her shoulder as though she feared Sjoberg was lurking behind her. “I think he’s her attorney.”
“Her who?”
Blanche hissed, “Ciara. Ciara Reitherman. The woman who tried to kill you!”
