One Thousand Kisses (23 page)

The mind-voice wasn’t Master Fey, which left the red cat. The tabby hopped onto the stone too. Her ears swiveled toward Ani.

“What does that mean?” Ani asked her.

I’m here to save the day
, she replied smugly.
Fey girl, you know this. You know it always comes down to the females.

Master Fey growled.
Females are a nuisance.

Females save your hide.
The cat said something odd and unpronounceable that sounded like music before continuing.
Fiertag’s too. Talk about hoisted by his own petard. Funny phrase, that. It’s all about farts. For two-legs, everything revolves around the bowels.

The lady cat was not taciturn.

“Mistress Fey,” Ani said, “is there a problem with Embor?”

I have to make some guesses
, the female answered.
He can’t tell you, he can’t tell me, he can’t tell a little birdie. But yes. There’s a problem. You’re needed.

Fey cats weren’t often together. The fact these two were was odd enough. Now they stared each other down in a way that didn’t feel friendly. An ululating growl came from them as they crouched on the standing stone, as if battling over who got to eat the flower in the pot.

Ani skipped an arm’s length away. “How can I help?”

The floor began to shake. More specifically, the stone began to shake. Master Fey yowled and swatted the tabby, who leapt toward the couch. The stone jittered so fast its outline blurred before a great rush of magic pounded through the house.

The stone exploded into dust.

The flower pot crashed to the floor. Ani coughed and sputtered. Sparkles coated her, the cats, the floor, the furniture, the ceiling fan. Prickly sensations spidered over her body.

“What just happened?”

The problem got worse.
Master Fey began to say something else and his mind-voice whispered away.

Dog bones! Remind him he owes me
, the tabby said, her own voice fading.
Follow my…

“Follow your what?”

“Mew,” responded the tabby. Though it was hard to tell on feline features, Ani thought a look of disgust crossed her face.

Master Fey ran out of the living room, leaving kitty prints in the dust. Ani and the tabby followed him upstairs, where they found him rolling on a throw rug in the short hallway. Glittery dust smeared the creamy fabric. Off the hallway were two bedrooms, a bathroom and the office with the globe-filled armoire.

The tabby trotted into a bedroom and headbutted at the closet. Ani opened the door, and the cat scratched on a metal safe tucked beneath Skythia’s hanging dresses and jackets.

She could get used to a cat this direct. Perhaps Mistress Fey would rub off on Embor and Master Fey. Unfortunately, the safe was locked. She and the tabby stared at the metal box for a long moment.

“Miaooooow,” the cat said. “Fffffft!”

Cat curses?

“I have an idea.” Ani returned to the armoire where she’d seen transportation globes. It wasn’t a magic that came naturally to her, but most fairies could use most globes. Boxes upon boxes stuffed the armoire to the brim. She found what she wanted and latched the doors.

Back in the closet she brandished the sphere. “If whatever you want in there isn’t alive, I can shift the contents out of the box with this.”

Mistress Fey began to clean her fur. Ani squeezed the globe, concentrated, and out of the safe came a disorganized tangle of papers, cloth bags, videos, computer disks, money, jewelry, magazines full of naked people, dried plants, a box of chocolates and three electronic devices.

One was a phone with an attached charger. Mistress Fey nuzzled it, so Ani picked it up.

“Mew mew mew,” Mistress Fey said. “Mew mew.” She scampered out of the closet, tail waving.

Master Fey had disappeared. Ani’s guide bounded down the stairs. When Ani caught up, the tabby was perched on the counter next to the car keys. She batted them with her paw.

“Oh, uh.” Ani blushed. “I can’t drive. Can I transport us?”

“Mew mew mew.” The tabby batted at the phone cord. “Mew.”

Ani plugged the phone next to the microwave. “Who shall I call?”

“Mew mew,” Mistress Fey said.

“My sister? The police?” Interacting with humans for anything Fey-related was prohibited, but what was she supposed to do? What could have disintegrated the repository besides a huge magical drain? The most likely explanation was Embor—or something to do with him. The Torvals. The other Torvals. The ring agents. A security detail from the Realm.

By the spirits, so much could go wrong. How could he have left her like this?

“Should I have Talista tell Skythia we need her?”

Mistress Fey yowled, and her tail fuzzed up like a bottle brush.

“I’m sorry.” Ani hustled out of paw range. “I don’t know anyone else to ask for help.”

On the other counter, the yellow purse seemed to have swollen to twice its size. The insides heaved, and Master Fey’s head popped out.

“I thought you didn’t like bags,” she said, thinking of the carrier.

He swatted some paper to the floor and shot Mistress Tabby a triumphant look. Ani picked it up. Crazy Merryl’s Charter Service.

Hm. Ani did know one person here. “Do we need to go somewhere in the ocean?”

“Mew mew mew,” the tabby said.

“Meh.” Master Fey rotated his ears. He batted a transport globe out of her purse, hopped to the floor and sent it under the fridge. His tail shot up like a flag as he walked away.

So she didn’t need a transport globe, and Crazy Merryl had a boat.

After that, things moved quickly. The cats tried to outdo one another with who could help more. Master Fey had an edge because he’d worked out a nonmagical method of communication, and the tabby seemed incapable of anything besides, “Mew mew mew.”

Chapter Seventeen

Aside from the headache, Embor had never felt this splendid in his entire life.

He lifted the whiskey bottle and toasted his friends. “To killing gnomes!”

“To killing!” The Drakhmores roared their approval and drank from an assortment of bottles. There was hardly any light in the rubbishy disaster of the bar, but there were bags upon bags of tasty, crunchy things Embor didn’t recognize.

Whatever they were, he was importing them to the Realm. Court menus had too few salty snacks. Along with this beverage by a human named Jim, it would make Court sessions much more bearable.

Every so often, the building produced an ominous groan. The back hallway that led to the necessaries had collapsed. He’d gone outside and urinated on a mangrove tree a while ago. The front door crooked so far to one side it formed a parallelogram, and the red rays of the setting sun blazed across the threshold.

Embor swigged his bottle and dabbed his lips with a napkin. The human intoxicant burned his tongue and throat. At first he hadn’t liked it, but now the oaky flavor satisfied a craving he hadn’t known he had. Mixed with the crunchies, the balance was indescribably good. The more he drank, the less his headache troubled him.

Across the table, he’d restrained Milshadred with a telephone cord. He didn’t trust that lady. She was mean. Her flunkies had fled like rats after that boy had failed to do whatever it was Milshadred wanted. Something about a bender.

Well, he wasn’t bent. His team had taught them a lesson. They’d whipped the scurvy dogs and emerged triumphant. Before dark too. With Milshadred in custody, it was time to celebrate their achievement.

Several Drakhmores clambered through a front window. They dripped seawater from head to toe. A wash of brine-scented air accompanied them.

“Water’s warm as piss!” Burly threw his shirt onto a chair. “This place has got it all over Cragen.”

“No gnomes, either.” Lara collapsed into a chair with a happy sigh. She’d removed most of her clothing, and her hair was wet. “What happened to my pork rinds?”

What were pork rinds? They sounded grotesque. Embor munched another of the salty things and chased it with whiskey.

Across the table, Milshadred glared at him. Every time his gaze snagged on her, he felt better and better. He couldn’t wait to prove to Skythia and the Court how wrong they’d been. One of Jake’s spells would make Milshadred sing like a turtle. Then he’d use more spells on those bedamned Torval Elders after he punched Warran in the face.

Wait, did turtles sing? Whales were the singers. He’d never met a whale. They lived in the water, and he hated water.

Why did he hate water again? Anisette loved water. Must be nice if she loved it.

Horace had obtained more provisions. Embor recognized them. Peanuts.

“My main man.” Horace clapped him on the back. “How’s it hanging?”

Embor glanced up. Most of the light fixtures had fallen, and several cracks rent the ceiling. As the sun disappeared beneath the horizon, he could see stars against the indigo sky. The beams of the ceiling looked a bit precarious, but they were lateral.

Embor rubbed his eyes. “I don’t see anything hanging.”

Gret leaned against him and purred something in his ear.

Too hard to hear her over the boisterous yelling and laughter. “What?”

“He means your cock.”

Why in the Realm would Horace want to know about Embor’s privates? “My cock is fine.” Underused, but perfectly functional.

“I bet it is.” Gret walked her fingers up his arm. “Do you want to go outside and see where we landed?”

“We’re on a deserted key. Milshadred picked it out for us. Wasn’t that splendid of her?”

“I love it here.” Gret raised a silver shaker brimming with liquid. “To Milshadred.”

“To Milshadred!” everyone agreed at top volume, even Burly, whom she’d given a lump on the head the size of a chicken’s egg. Corvan howled so vigorously, he fell backward in his chair and remained sprawled in the rubble.

Milshadred rolled her eyes.

“Cease this poor sportsmanship,” Embor told her. “We won fair…” What was that adage? His headache prevented him from thought. “Fair and square.”

“You’re an idiot,” Milshadred said.

Gret leaned across the table. “He is not.”

“I caught you, didn’t I?” Embor nodded vigorously. Without warning, the bar swooped. “I say, what was that?”

“What was what?” Gret eased back in her chair.

The movement stopped. “Earthquake, I expect.”

“Hope the island doesn’t sink,” Horace said.

“Likewise. I can’t swim.” Embor’s stomach glowed, and he felt as relaxed as after a satisfying night of uninterrupted sleep. He couldn’t wait to go to bed and sleep, sleep, sleep. A notion puzzled at him for a moment, something about bed, but he discarded it when it didn’t come easily.

Horace pulled his chair next to Embor. “Let’s discuss something.”

“Certainly.” On his other side, Gret cuddled him. Her breast mashed against his arm. It felt nice. It reminded him of Anisette.

“There comes a time in a man’s life when he hash to look to the future.” Horace scooted closer, speaking into Embor’s face. “He wants to shee his offspring settled and happy.”

Horace’s voice hurt his ears. Embor tilted away, against Gret’s bosom. “I don’t have offspring.”

“Thash what I wanted to talk to you about.” Horace continued in a lower voice. Unfortunately it was too low.

“Speak up. I’m half deaf in one ear and can’t hear out of the other.” Gangee hadn’t been able to repair all the depredations Milshadred had wrought on him. Embor jabbed a finger across the table. “It’s her fault.”

“You’re not married,” Horace said. “Neither is my Gret.”

“Daa-ad.” Gret reached around and poked her father’s shoulder. “You promised.”

“Let an old man shpeak. Em, I tell you. What’s a father to do? Her sibs are married with kids.”

“I’m a warrior.” Gret leaned across Embor’s lap to join the conversation. “I don’t need to be having babies. But I wouldn’t mind a boyfriend.” She smiled at Embor, and he smiled back.

“Her brother Garen even bonded.” Horace crammed a handful of peanuts into his mouth and then several swallows of whiskey, finishing a bottle. “If one sib bonds, it’s more likely the others will.”

“I’m going to bond, but Skythia’s not.” Embor helped himself to his own bottle and sloshed the last inch in its square bottom. “The Seers said so.”

Horace and Gret stared at him. “Seers?”

“Yes. Well. Erm.” The Seers were secret. He filled his big mouth with whiskey, and Gret helpfully dried his chin with her thumb. “Forget I said that.”

“Idiot,” Milshadred said. The man who’d been on the other side of her had repaired to a quiet corner of the bar to vomit.

“I told you, he’s not an idiot.” Gret threw the basket of crunchies in Milshadred’s face. “If you say it one more time, I’m going to bash out your teeth.”

“She doesn’t have any teeth,” Embor said. “Show them that trick.”

“Fuck you.” Milshadred squeezed her eyes shut. “I can’t believe they left me. I’m going to kill them all.”

“You can’t kill people who annoy you,” Embor corrected her regally. That was why she was evil and he was a force for truth and justice. “What is wrong with you Torvals? Your cousins are even…worsh.”

Milshadred snorted. “You don’t know the half of it.”

“What’s the other half?” How could it be worse than what they’d done to Anisette? His Anisette. Lovely Anisette. Sexy Anisette. “Justice will be served. The weak protected by the…the shtrong.” His tongue had something wrong with it.

“You’ve never been drunk before, have you, Elder?”

Drunk? No, he had a headache, and there was a humanspace virus in his mouth. He rubbed his tongue, surprised to find it normal-sized.

“He’s not drunk. You take that back.” Gret menaced Milshadred with a broken bottle.

“Fine, none of you are drunk, none of you are headed straight for alcohol poisoning, and none of you should hurry up and pass out so I can get my ass out of here.”

“You’re not going anywhere except to shtand trial,” Embor told her. His tongue was frustratingly poufy. He’d have to enunciate better.

“That’s right. Watch your mouth, Torval.” Gret sat back down, this time in Embor’s lap.

He rearranged himself to make room for her and slid an arm around her waist. He appreciated her defense of him and gave her a squeeze.

“Horace, you have a nice daughter,” he told his friend.

“Exactly what I was saying.” Horace’s eyes gleamed, and he clapped Embor’s back again.

Why did Horace insist on doing that? Even with this numbing humanspace virus, it stung when Horace smacked him.

“We don’t pay attention to that Ten Thousand Kishes silliness in Cragen,” Horace added. “None of those cards and shite.”

“It’s only a thousand, Dad.” Gret smacked a wet one on Embor’s cheek. “That’s number eight or something.”

“People think I’m a one-hundred man,” Embor told them.

Horace and Gret laughed, as did Milshadred. Eavesdropping traitoress.

Embor scowled. “I don’t see why that’s funny.”

“You’re right, we shouldn’t laugh.” Gret combed her fingers through his long hair. “They don’t know you well enough, handsome.”

“How kind of you.” Overcome by what good friends Horace and Gret had turned out to be, he kissed her in gratitude. She angled her face so he missed her cheek and landed on her lips.

“Excuse me.” He withdrew politely. Mouth kisses were for a lover, a wife, a bondmate. Mouth kisses were for Anisette.

She licked her lips. “Why’d you stop?”

“You’re not my intended.” He smiled, thinking of his princess. She’d be so proud when she discovered he’d caught Milshadred. He could think of many ways she might demonstrate her admiration, and most involved sex.

“I could be.” She widened the opening of his linen shirt. “We could, you know, intend to do some things.”

“That’s not possible.” Gret was pretty and kind, and he liked the way she punched villains. “I have an intended. The Seers told me about her.”

“The Sheers do exist. I knew it.” Horace shoved a fresh bottle of whiskey at him, and Gret began to stroke his chest, inside his shirt.

He’d done it again. Spilled Court secrets like a pitcher of ale. How embarrassing. “Disregard that.”

“Who is she?” Gret curled her fingers over his shoulders. Her whiskey-scented breath washed over his face.

“Oh, you know. Some woman.” Embor’s face heated when he realized the Drakhmores had quieted so they could hear. The remaining Drakhmores. Two couples were having sex again. Several seemed to be ill or napping. Maybe they had headaches too. He hoped the humanspace virus wouldn’t end with him sicking his guts up.

“Is she pretty?” Gret asked.

“She’s beautiful.” Anisette’s silken hair, creamy flesh and navy eyes swam into his vision. Her tender touch and sweet lips, her sparks of passion that took him by surprise. “She’s like…like that beautiful sunset. Red and dark blue and purple embracing you in her beauty and bringing you peace. Anisette is so…so…beautiful.”

“Anisette.” Milshadred cackled. “I’ll be damned.”

“I know that name,” Gret said. “Isn’t she a Serendipity?”

“She is indeed,” Milshadred said.

“This is none of your business,” he told Milshadred. “Your wicked heart wouldn’t understand.”

“Asshole.”

“Have summa eat and shaddup.” Burly shoved a crunchy in Milshadred’s mouth.

“You and this Anisette ain’t bonded yet. What’s the hold up?” Horace asked. “Did your kishing rituals fall short? Maybe the Sheers don’t know what they’re talking about. You could do worse than marry a Drakhmore triplet.”

“Anish…Anish…Anisette and I haven’t had sex,” Embor told them. The world swam in and out of focus. “She doesn’t know we’re fated to be together.”

Milshadred spat out pieces of snack. “Oh, great Liberace. This just gets better.”

“She doesn’t know?” Gret grabbed his hand and pressed their fingers against her heart. “You love her from afar? Silently suffering in, in, silence? That’s so romantic.”

He shook his head. His eyes felt strangely heavy. “I’ve been so preoccupied with the Torval situation, I haven’t had time to court her. She’s so beautiful.”

“I’d love to know if I have a bondmate. Hope it’s not a Drakhmore or a Cragen. I’m sick of all those guys. How’s a girl like me get to visit the Seers?” Gret asked, petting his hair.

“Become Primary. Though I suppose you can’t.” Embor concentrated as dizziness interfered with his ability to sit upright. “Primaries must be twins.”

Horace uncapped another bottle. “Clan primes should have access to the Sheers too.”

“One moment.” Embor tried the new whiskey. It was even better than Jim’s Beam. “You’re something. Banished. That’s bad. I shouldn’t even be friends with you.”

“It’ll be our shecret. Like Jakey and our alliance and how you were going to kill Milshadred,” Horace coaxed.