“How did she get by us? I do not want to have to climb a tree after her like Jay did last week.” Luca moves to go out the side doors toward Doodle’s favorite escape location, the big trees along the back of the property.
Nix has often thought she has dreams of scaling the wall and escaping into the world at large, unlike her brother, who prefers Tsuki’s company and hates the “big sky.”
“Worse. She’s in Tommy’s car.”
Luca glitches with that information, mouth opening and closing in shock, brain engaged in replaying their interaction with Nix’s not-so-secret admirer.
“You’re saying Gideon’s baby is in the car of your stalker, who was insidethe gates while they weren’t home, when we ordered food we weren’t supposed to be ordering?”
“Yup.” This had suddenly become less of a technicality and more of a disaster.
“We are so fucked. I am not going to get to come for a month—a year.” Luca puts his hands in his hair, pulling at the fluff strands.”Baby, we have to get that cat backyesterday.”
“I know, but how? Tommy is logged out. I suppose we could send athere’s-a-problem-with-our-orderhelp request to Uber Eats.”
Pale, with a sheen of anxious sweat on his face, Luca starts pacing.
“No, that takes forever. We do not have twenty-four hours! Okay, we have to think about this logically. He drove here. What was his license plate? He invited you somewhere tonight…do you remember any of it?”
“A cleansing of my colon…er…aura…wait…his license plate! It was…” Nix closes his eyes, pictures the hot pink Civic again, and Doodle’s sweet face in the back window.
Under it is a bumper sticker that saysFruit of the Moon: Where we cleanse your karma and your colon.
But below that is the license number H1C 0LN with a frame that saysEnergyBoy.
“It’s H1C 0LN,” Nix mutters and heads into the kitchen for the tablet and Gideon’s illegal access to the Department of Motor Vehicles. “Cross your fingers we can get an address before he locks the car with her in it.”
“Shit, stop! We can’t access that stuff without tipping Sentinel off. They’ll call Gideon.” Luca hops up on the counter and pulls his rapidly cooling calzone out of its box. He bites into it with a moan, offering Nix a bite right after.
“Fuck, that’s good.” It’s not a meatball sub with extra onions and pepper jack cheese, but itisdelicious, and the bean is momentarily satisfied. “What are we going to do?”
Luca has his phone in his hand, cheeks still full of food. “Look. EnergyBoyisn’t at home.” He shows Nix the screen. “He’s livestreaming.”
“What? How do you know that? Youfollow Tommy?”
“Fuck no, but EnergyBoy has to be a handle, you know? Figured I’d check to see if there was anything we could use on socials. The algorithm uses proximity to geo-tag, plus there are micro-interactions and app-crossovers and shit. Margot was explaining it last week…”
Nix’s baby is so smart. “You’re amazing!” Nix grins and kisses him hard on his lips; the taste of pizza sauce and pure Luca is addictive. Never let it be said that Nix didn’t have a competency kink a mile wide.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, and if you’re allowed to come after this, I am so going to blow your mind.”
“Consider me motivated…if I weren’t already. Okay, where is he?” Luca holds the phone so they can both watch Tommy.
“Hey Energy-Thems, Theys, and Gays, I’m beaming good vibes from Fruit of the Moon, Smoothie Bar and Crystal Palace. We’ve been blessed. Fate has sent us the emissary of the most perfect being on the planet.”
The camera pans away from the wide shots of several people in a restaurant to the regal Doodle sitting on the counter, drinking a smoothie from a tall glass. She’s been adorned with a bright rainbow collar of crystals, content to be in a strange place with strangers. Beside her on the bar is a blurring eight-by-ten photo of Nix dressed in Rowan’sY’all Means Allsweatshirt in front of Edgar Allen Eats two weeks ago.
“She came to me unexpectedly as I worshiped at the altar of my one true love, Ni—”
Tommy’s words are cut off by Luca’s loud growl. “That little fucking—fucking—” he pauses, at a loss for words.
This is serious if Luca Wilde can’t get a decent expletive out or call an idiot an idiot.
“He’s a bloody purr-loiner! A cat burglar! This is a feline-ony!”
“There we go…” Nix whispers under his breath with relief that his pun-tastic mate hasn’t been broken by the sheer bad luck of an ill-timed calzone and an open door. And that he hadn’t noticed the photo.
