“She seemed to know a lot about rats,” I said.
“Sure, sure. Very knowledgeable.” He set the cage top in place with a metallic clunk-clunk. “Especially for someone who doesn’t own rats herself.”
Well, there was that. Also, as much as she insisted that plenty of people owned both rats and cats, there couldn’t be that many people who had their rat cage in a room with ten cats. And not the same ten cats all the time—I rotated cats in and out as they were adopted.
“Let’s hope for the best, shall we?” I opened the double doors and began strewing the bedding material around the cage.
“I always hope for the best.” Horst helped me add the various rat accoutrements—the litter box, a hammock, the food bowl, and the water bottle. When the cage was ready, I carefully opened the two boxes, let the rats into their new home, and closed the doors behind them, making a mental note to pick up a lock that would work on the cage door.
Emma might have assured me that cats and rats could coexist peacefully, but they definitely wouldn’t if some overeager café patron opened the door and the rats escaped.
“What are you going to name them?” Horst asked.
“Since this is a café, I thought they should have bakery-inspired names. So the first one is Cookie, and the new one is Cupcake.” As we watched, Cookie began exploring, climbing the first wall she came to, her little paws scrabbling up the wire bars of the cage. It was a two-level cage, with a little ramp providing access to the second floor, though Cookie made it to the upper floor just by climbing the cage wall.
Cupcake, though, made it only as far as the litter box, where she immediately curled into a hunched-up ball and...sat there.
“Huh.” I peered closer at this newest addition. “Does she still seem sad to you?”
“I’m sure she’s just processing her change in circumstances.”
I twisted a strand of hair around one finger. “I wonder if I should—”
He stopped me by grabbing my shoulders and turning me to face him. “You’re doing everything humanly possible to give those two rats a good life. They’re probably the luckiest rats in Gallows Bay. And while I totally support you in whatever you feel you need to do to help our new rodent friends, I don’t want you fretting over whether or not they fully appreciate what you’re doing for them.”
Horst insisted he didn’t have any magical abilities beyond his pipe-playing skills, but there was something about being this close to him that made little prickles of awareness dance over my skin. Even if I wanted to focus on my new arrivals, I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the warm honey of his eyes. Reaching up, I linked my arms behind his neck. “You can’t stop me from fretting,” I said.
His lips curved up in the barest hint of a smile. “I can distract you.”
“I’d like to see you try,” I said.
Because I would. I really, really would like to see that.
Turning his head, he pressed a ghost of a kiss against the inside of one wrist, my pulse quickening beneath his lips. Then he ducked his head to capture my mouth with his own, and if Cookie hadn’t started using her new wheel—which squeaked to high heaven—I would have forgotten about the rats entirely.
I would have forgotten about everything entirely.
Until, that is, I heard a door close and someone huffed out an exasperated sigh.
“Of all the things you mortals put your undiscerning mouths on, that has to be the most disgusting,” a voice said.
A very unwelcome voice.
Horst raised his head languidly, though I could tell his whole body had gone on alert. Casually, as though nothing he did was intentional, he turned and put himself between me and Quill.
“To what do we owe the honor of this visit, your highness?” he asked.
She barked out a laugh, the weasel curled around her neck offering an echoing chortle. “So formal this evening, puppy. You must really be rattled.”
“I have no idea what you’re speaking of.”
When she smiled, the overhead lights made her sharp teeth gleam like poisoned pearls. “Oh? You have no recollection of the message you received earlier?”
Horst shoved his hands in his pockets. “I’m not worried about that.”
“No, of course not. Why would you be?” Quill said, tapping one pale index finger on her chin.
The cat section of my café was designed to be warm and cozy, full of natural light and cat trees and couches where you could sit with a cat on your lap, imagining how much better your life would be if you took your new best friend home with you. But with Quill standing there, the temperature seemed to drop ten degrees. Even the cats picked up on the change in atmosphere, skulking off to hide themselves away from her glittery eyes.
