Page 24 of A Beastly Court

I caught him without reservation this time, cuddling him close. Inside, that hollow piece inside my heart began to close.

He roughly nuzzled his head under my chin, and my fingers kneaded into his loose baby fur. It was such a familiar exchange of affection, yet it felt so new.

“Ame said something like this might happen,” he said, purring so loudly it vibrated through my skin and into my bones. “I didn’t want to believe her. To hope. I was so lost—”

Scooping him up under the armpits, I yanked him away and up to eye level. “Tell me everything,” I said.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

At the end of Sawyer’s story, two things happened: the night ended, and not much more was revealed to either of us other than something hinky was going on. Apparently Grandmother had cast the same memory-locking curse on Sawyer as she had on me, and that meant only one thing.

I’d committed the Hawthorne cardinal sin of bonding a familiar.

Sort of. There wasn’t the traditional bond I should feel with him. Neither of us could communicate telepathically, we couldn’t share large amounts of magic, I couldn’t see through his eyes. And yet, there was something irrevocable between us. We decided to take the win and move forward instead of losing ourselves in the what-ifs of the past.

The tabby tomcat knew more about the outside world than I did, about the hobgoblin raids, the disappearances of magical folk, and how to resuscitate the Hawthorne hearth ember. Well, that last tidbit of information he’d gotten from Ame, but he trusted her completely, so that made me willing to give the elusive caliby a chance.

“Go to the farmhouse by the apple orchard to recharge the ember.”

I’d tsked when Sawyer had recited Ame’s words. What farmhouse? What apple orchard? Such like a cat to be elusive with information.

Well, it was a good thing I had a fieldtrip planned for today, and it was an even better thing that Sawyer knew the way there. The ember had been weak before I’d even gotten my literal hands on it, but it had freed so much of my curse. If we could revive it to its full strength, there was a possibility I could free myself from my curse today. Ossian would be thrilled!

“Hurry now,” I told the tomcat presently, retrieving the moonstone collar from where I’d flung it. “Breakfast is shortly after dawn and we’re going to need every daylight hour we can get to go that far and get back in time before dark.” My magic might be unlocked enough to fuel the Rabbit Step Spell, but I could probably only do it once and not for very long.

Sawyer wrinkled his nose at the sight of the collar but dutifully lowered his head. Both of us understood—somehow—that it would make him dumb but that our physical touch could revive him. It was essential that he wear it, for if he was ever discovered, it might be his saving grace. First, because a moonstone collar proved a cat was simply a cat and not a glamoured fairy or something more nefarious, and second, because it had my name on it. As mate to the fae king, I was sure to be granted some leniency there.

Biting my lower lip, I slipped the collar over his head, running my fingers under the gold wire to flatten his fur beneath it. He blinked amber eyes up at me and said, “I don’t feel any different.”

The breath I’d held trapped in my throat exited in a rush. “That’s good! You didn’t seem ‘dumb’ to me when you first showed up wearing it, so maybe Grandmother’s curse hadn’t been as thorough as we thought. Whatever we have between us must’ve protected you. Still is.” I stole a moment for a reassuring scratch behind his ears then glanced out the window at the lightening sky. “Okay, now in you go.”

Sawyer’s ears flattened as I opened my foraging bag. “Déjà vu says I didn’t enjoy this before. Something about having a sticky bottom.”

“It doesn’t have a sticky bottom,” I argued, a little offended. “I spelled it to remain clean and to keep everything fresh like the… moonflower pods.” I clutched my head, swaying slightly on my feet.

“Another flashback?” the cat asked gently. They’d been coming in droves since we first touched. Sawyer pouted. “Seems you’re getting more than me.”

“I am older than you, you know. Got more of them rattling away up there.”

“Do you want to tell Ossian? I’m not thrilled about his anti-cat decrees, but he sounds like he really cares about you. Maybe—”

“No!” I slapped a hand over my mouth, startled at my own vehemence. Swallowing, I dropped my hand. “No, he already treats me like I’m made of glass. This would only add to his overprotectiveness. He’ll think it’ll make me vulnerable and he’ll want to fix it. Then it’s good-bye courtyard, good-bye friends, and hello solitary confinement. Or worse, training with his assistance.” I shuddered at the memory of those striking copper tentacles. “Absolutely not. You, and these resurfacing memories, are our little secret. I’ll… just hide it better. Or something.”

“Or something,” Sawyer echoed. “What about the owl? It’s obviously his minion.”

The owl had been hit pretty hard on the head. It hadn’t even twitched when I’d gently scooped it up and laid it in the overstuffed chair by the eastern window. I figured it would be warmer there than on the floor, and with it braced against the back of the chair, it wouldn’t roll off and hurt itself when it woke. Whenever that was.

“I’ll tell Ossian its services are no longer required. But, just in case, we’ll keep you in the bag until we’re sure it’s gone tonight.”

Nodding, the cat finally wormed himself into the foraging bag. He batted this and that out of the way and made himself comfortable. “Okay, seal it up, but leave me an air hole. I’m not usually claustrophobic, but sneaking around in the walls and ceiling has made me a little more antsy.”

I zippered the bag until a hole the size of two half dollars remained. If I braced my hand on the base of the strap where it met the bag, I could stick my pinky and ring fingers inside and touch his head. Even gently pinch one of his triangular ears between them. The contact was reassuring, for both of us, and the cat hummed with happiness.

“Keep it down,” I whispered from the corner of my mouth as I strode down the hallway of the east wing to the foyer. Sawyer’s purrs emanating from the gap in the bag seemed to echo against the arched ceiling and were only getting louder. Or maybe it was my own paranoia amplifying their effects.

“I haven’t had anyone scratch behind my ears in forever,” he moaned.

I stilled my fingers then, but Sawyer only scooched around, trying to scratch himself.