Page 38 of An Espresso Machine’s Guide to Love & Mischief

The queen raises an eyebrow. “We art to take thou at thy word?”

As if on cue, my Rataphone begins to ring. I’m not an overly religious rat, but surely the goddess is smiling upon me. “Allow me to demonstrate,” I tell Queen Lettuce. I flip open the Rataphone and touch the plexiglass screen with a claw to answer the call. “Cheerio!”

“Oh!” the rat on the other line gasps. “I did not expect you, sire.”

I hate to put her on the spot, but we need to show the Union-Andrews how this works. “You shall be on ratspeaker in a moment,” I tell her and tap the icon with the rat holding a megaphone. “What news have you for us?” This time, I mean us as a Mischief—not us as in the royal we—thank heavens.

She swallows audibly. She knows where I am and must guess the Union-Andrews are here. “Sire, we have witnessed a kidnapping on King—a clown in a car… not a clown car, sire, a minivan, driven by a clown… kidnapped an espresso machine.”

My insides lurch. “Was she red?”

“The espresso machine? I don’t know, my liege. A pony and a skunk tried to rescue her. And she appeared to speak and be possessed.”

“A pony and a skunk?” Princess Kale pouts. “I miss all the cool stuff.”

“Daughter,” Queen Lettuce gasps. “You shall go to bed without berries—”

“Me, my liege?” a rat says from somewhere behind her.

“No, Berries, not thou. We speaketh of the food.”

Princess Kale lowers her head as her ears press flat. Poor thing. But then she whispers, “Perhaps the espresso machine is a Bayan…”

“A what?” Queen Lettuce demands.

No one else replies, so Princess Kale raises her head slightly. “A shifter from Shifter Bay. They shift into objects, not animals. My witch fr… um, that is… maybe the espresso machine was targeted by the Roadkill Killer. Maybe they kidnap the shifters before they… you know…”

I suddenly feel sick.

I should be reminding Queen Lettuce that this is a most splendid demonstration of the Rataphone. Instead, my heart races and my stomach flutters like moths around a bulb.

It must be the same coffee machine I was drawn to earlier. I know it is one and the same. I am not certain how I know it, but I do. Call it instinct, call it fate, but I know it like I know my own name or the feel of my own whiskers.

I hold the Rataphone closer to my mouth and demand, “Which direction did they go?”

“They turned south off King, sire.”

They’re heading this way. I can head them off and save the espresso machine shifter! But to do that, I shall have to end the summit with Queen Lettuce. If I snub her this day, she will never agree to another meeting. She’ll lose any trust we might have begun to build between our Mischiefs.

I glance at Aero, who eyes the Union-Andrews as though he expects an attack at any moment. Glosette stands by his side, waving our flag above our heads as a reminder to the Union-Andrews of who we are.

I think of little Smartie, who stared at me with such trusting eyes. He believes I will keep him safe—even after I failed to protect his father.

If this alliance fails and the city sprays our stations, we will have nowhere to run. My people will die, choking on the very air around them. I need to stay here and convince Queen Lettuce to work together.

I squeeze my eyes shut. I can’t abandon my sweet espresso machine. But that’s crazy talk. Even if she’s a shifter, not just a simple coffeemaker, she is a stranger. She is not family. My Mischief is. They are my priority.

If I am so desperate for coffee, I can raid a Tim’s after hours and brew myself a fresh pot.

“Thank you for your prompt report,” I tell my rat, then turn to the queen. “You see how quickly and easily information and warnings can be shared? Your Applepeel would not have needed to run here to inform you about the dead penguin. You would have known the moment he saw the new victim.”

The princess glances at her mother hopefully, but the queen harrumphs. “We shall discuss this with our Mischief.”

She turns her back to us, and her delegation gathers around her in a tight circle. They start to whisper, but I can’t make out any words.

Finally, she turns back to us. “We have tookth a vote and shall accept some of thy mechanical squeak talkers for sharing warnings of poisons and traps.”

I feel some of the tension leaving my shoulders as the heavy burden of protecting my Mischief begins to lighten.