The Modern Fae's Guide to Surviving Humanity (25 page)

“Oh. Oh, hi, Wes,” she gasped. “Um, it's Rika.”

High hopes.

“No, it's not that. I'm coming in, but we've got a situation here in the park. You need to send somebody to help Mrs. Saar.”

“If I ever find the idiot who approved that adoption, I'm going to strangle them with a choke collar and throw the body to the ferrets!” Wes bawled loud enough for Jack to hear.

Rika jerked the phone away from her ear and giggled. “Relax. We got off easy this time: no police dogs. But there is a cat.”

She scooped him up one-handed and cuddled him between her jacket and the nubbly sweater underneath. Jack was in heaven, and he hadn't even died.

“Has the vet been there yet?”

Vet! The only place nearby she'd find help with a dog
and
a vet was the Madeleine Humphrey Animal Shelter. Jack's hind paws shoved against her thigh, but his front end went nowhere. His left arm was caught between her fingers, and her thumb pressed behind his right shoulder. Time for claws or teeth, but he couldn't. He just couldn't.

“Great. I think he's okay, but he needs to be checked out. I'm bringing him in now.”

It could be worse, he told himself, as Rika hurried toward the cinderblock building at the intersection between the bike path and the overpass. Madeleine Humphrey had the longest “hold time” in the area—one of the reasons he picked Holcomb to rough it. They wouldn't try anything right away, and it'd be nice to have a warm bunk for a change. There'd be food in the break rooms, aspirin, showers with real soap. He might even get online. With a pathetic mew, he rubbed his head against a sweet-smelling breast. She laughed a little breathlessly. He could play along for a couple of days; beyond that, well, they hadn't invented the cage that could hold Jack Tibbert, with or without thumbs.

Wes was the biggest vet tech Jack had ever seen—as in defensive lineman big. He escorted them to a gray room lined with a row of elevated steel cages he called the “Isolation Ward.” As far as Jack was concerned, it wasn't isolated enough. The cage next to his held a pair of motor-mouthed kittens with enormous ears and even bigger egos. The other cats moped over their paws like
they hadn't napped in hours. To add insult to injury, his nose told him the little monsters were the only ones who rated canned food, and he was hungry enough to eat a squirrel. He stared reproachfully at Rika while Wes secured the door to his cell.

“Don't look at me like that,” she pleaded. “It's not that bad.”

It wasn't. Jack had inherited his human mother's immunity to iron, and the cage was large enough to hold his human form—if he positioned himself right. He didn't think he'd need to shapeshift, though. The lock was a simple drop-handled latch. Not that he planned to let her off the hook. The guiltier she felt, the more petting he'd get.

“It's only for a couple days, until we're sure you're okay, then we'll move you into the big room. The cages are seven feet tall, and you can climb all the way to the top.”

Wes shook a finger the size of a sausage in front of her nose. “Don't you fall for that pitiful act. He's just softening you up so you'll be easier to train once you get him home.”

Rika crouched next to the cage, stroking the bars. Jack inched toward her.

“Uh huh,” Wes said knowingly.

She shook her head and straightened. “My parents'll never let me have a cat. Besides, he's somebody's pet: he wasn't wary at all. And his fur's so soft, like a bunny. Somebody out there is going crazy looking for this little guy.”

Not that little
, Jack bristled.

Wes snorted. “You'd think, especially considering he looks like a purebred Snowshoe. Do you know what they cost?”

“Wes!”

Wes raised his hands in surrender. “All right, all right, I'll check him for microchips and post his picture in all the usual places. That'll give you ten days to wear your folks down.”

“It's not that simple.”

“Sure it is. Tell them we'll give you a good deal on fixing him, too. He should get it done soon. He'll be healthier, happier, have fewer behavioral problems. He'll never miss it.”

Like hell!
Spitting, ears flat, hair spiked, Jack leapt back, kicking his water bowl and splashing the kittens. They shrieked. Cats all down the line hissed and snarled. The humans gaped. Then Wes sputtered, “Hee. Hee. Hee,” like an asthmatic bird. Rika, the traitor, doubled over and howled until her face turned red.

“That must've been some joke.”

High heels clicked against the cement floor as the newcomer stalked into the room. Tall and slender, with the face of an aging supermodel, the woman wore a fur hat and belted wool coat even Jack could tell were expensive.

Wes gulped, “Dr. Kellas!”

“It was more of a visual,” Rika burbled, “We were talking about …”

“Not now, dear. Where is everyone?”

Without waiting for an answer or removing her gloves, the doctor grabbed a clipboard from the rack next to the door and began a slow circuit of the cages, comparing notes to cats. She moved like a model, too. But something smelled off. Jack couldn't say what, only that it didn't jibe with the normal stew of people, animals, disinfectant, and soap.

“We've got three volunteer dog walkers working the
kennel—soon to be four.” Wes waggled his eyebrows at Rika. His big hands made little shooing motions where the vet couldn't see them. Rika smiled and stayed put. “Enid's car broke down while she was at her sister's, so she won't be in this weekend. Flo and Bobby Ray ought to be along soon. They're in the park with Mrs. Saar. Bitsy slipped her leash again and managed to get herself tangled in the only briar patch between here and Library Bridge.”

“You'd think she'd learn from the vet bills,” Dr. Kellas said softly. “Obviously, she needs more.”

It should've been an observation, but it sounded like a threat. The atmosphere in the room changed, like a wind shift in the savannah carrying the scent of lion to a herd of unsuspecting gazelle. Suddenly Jack was very aware of the songbirds tweeting in the cages at the front of the building and the dogs complaining in the other wing. Even the kittens shut up, pressing their bodies to the wet plastic floor of their cage.

A chill brushed his spine, lifting fur that had just begun to relax. Jack's ability to sense magic was no better than human. The difference was he knew it existed and taught himself to read the warning signs in other animals. This one was lit up in neon. He hunkered down and tried to think cat thoughts; the last thing he wanted was to attract any kind of magical attention.

“Amen, sister—I mean, doctor,” Wes corrected himself. “I told the adoption counselors Bitsy was too much dog for a little woman like that, but did they listen?”

Dr. Kellas didn't answer. Black wool replaced Rika's jeans in Jack's field of view. Paper snapped beneath leather-gloved fingers.
Not good.
“Where are the notes on this one?”

“Oh, he just arrived. That's the boy Bitsy got herself all worked up about. I've asked Rika to write him up.” His hands clapped Rika's shoulders. “It was love at first sight. I think our little volunteer's about to become a mother.”

Rika started to object but Dr. Kellas cut her off. “Did the dog bite it? Is it injured?”

“We don't know that he is,” Wes said. “We'll run the usual tests, but he seems fine. Well, he scraped his paws, but a little ointment'll take care of that.”

“No,” Dr. Kellas growled. This close, her odor was inescapable. Beneath layers of perfume, peppermint, and coffee, her breath stank of blood and spoiled meat.

Cat instinct screamed at him to hide. He didn't need magic to know he was chum in a shark cage, and she was a Great White
Something That Wasn't Human
. Shockwaves of magical energy pounded his senses, stretching his nerves until he thought he was going to shake apart.

“Just as I thought,” she said. “Prepare this animal for surgery. I need to operate immediately.”

His head shot upward. Backed against the steel bars, he couldn't help seeing past her glamour. The lines scoring her forehead and bracketing the corners of her wide, lipsticked mouth floated like a painted veil over a pale, ageless face as perfect as a marble Madonna. Black eyebrows and lashes set off eyes the color of green apples. Cat eyes as hard as jade, with oval slits peeping through round human pupils. She was a true cat sidhe, one of the Celtic fae who could work magic as well as shapeshift. And every feature of her terrible, beautiful face twisted in loathing.

“
Mrow
!”
No!
He turned somersaults in his cage. There wasn't anything wrong with him! He was fine! Perfect!

Rika's gaze darted from the cage to the vet. Her shoulders pulled back as if she was trying to distance herself. He yowled in frustration.

Wes pressed a hand to his cheek. “With all due respect, Dr. Kellas, I don't think you can. Flo wants you to look at Oscar's abscess first thing. Then there's the K-9 clinic. How about this: I'll see he gets into X-ray as soon as Bobby Ray gets back. If things are as bad as you say, I'm sure Flo'll find a way to work him in.”

“We can't wait that long. He's already showing signs of extreme agitation. If you don't take care of concussions and spinal injuries immediately, there could be permanent damage. You wouldn't want that,” she crooned, lasering the humans with her gaze. “It could lead to intracranial hemorrhage, convulsions, ischemia.”

What the hell was she up to? Jack pressed his face against the bars of his cell. Most fae races had no problems with iron, but for pureblooded Celtic sidhe, it was worse than kryptonite. It burned them on contact, disrupted their spells and let anybody who knew what to look for—human or otherwise—see through their illusions. Even so, most people would've dismissed what he saw as hallucination. The doctor's aura crackled with the green static of rising magic. The kittens in the next cage whimpered, further tainting the air with their piss.

“I'd have to put him down.” She sang, and her crystalline soprano transformed a statement into a spell. “But I can fix him. I'll operate and neuter him for free. When I'm done, he'll be the perfect pet.”

“
No!
” Jack screamed. She wanted to castrate him! Lobotomize him! “
No! No! Noooooo!
”

Rika wrenched her gaze from the fae and slammed both hands against his cage, almost knocking him over.
Her fingers locked around the narrow bars as if she knew their power. He held his breath.

“He doesn't have a concussion,” she panted. “His pupils are the same size.”

The sidhe's nostrils flared, but her tone remained mild. “That's a human marker, dear.”

“Rika, honey, you're upset,” Wes said. “But you got to listen to the doctor. She's only got the cat's best interest at heart.”

“She wants to destroy me!”
he howled, ramming the cage door.

“See, he wasn't acting like that a minute ago,” Wes said. Beneath her concerned-doctor disguise, the sidhe's eyes blazed with triumph. Pureblooded Celtic fae couldn't lie outright, but all her misdirection and medical mumbo jumbo led to a single conclusion—and the harder he protested, the more it looked like she was right.

“He's scared,” Rika objected. “He can tell something's wrong.”

“There is something wrong—with him. Look at him,” Wes said. “How could you live with yourself if something bad happened to that boy because you thought you knew better than the doctor? But that's not going to happen, because the doctor's going to operate, and you're going to be right here waiting for him when she gets done.”

It was a hell of an exit line. Dr. Kellas didn't try to top it; she left. Wes hurried after her. Jack wanted to scratch him. Why'd he have to put that thought in Rika's head? Jack didn't want sympathy; he wanted her to run after them, delay them, not stand in front of his cage chewing her thumb.

“I don't understand. Nobody just goes in and
operates. This isn't a TV show. You need X-rays and blood tests … all that stuff.”

He needed to get out of there. He rolled onto his back and shoved the wire latch with both front paws. White hot pain jolted his arms. “mmOWWW!”

“What're you doing?”

What's it look like?
Damn thing was stuck. He should've expected it with giant vet techs smacking it around all day. He positioned his paws closer to the base of the handle and gritted his teeth. His paws slipped—the handle was too slick. What now? Oh.

“You're bleeding!” she keened. Grown cats covered their ears. Dogs on the other side of the building bayed in response. But nobody came running, not Wes, not the other volunteers. Had the sidhe enthralled them all?
Shit.

He licked blood and lymph off his fore pads. He would've given anything to do a partial shift—thumbs to clench, palms that were only fractionally hamburger. But for half-breeds like him, it was all or nothing—never a good idea with humans around.

“Dr. Kellas should be taking care of your poor paws, not, not—”

Humans always got hysterical. At least he didn't have to worry about iron unmasking him. Shapeshifting was in his DNA; no spells or glamour required. When he was a cat, he was a cat in everything but mind. Unfortunately. More strength would've been a plus. He bellied up to the door, hooked his claws on either side of the handle and pulled. This time he saw red stars, but the hook was free of the bar, and he was pretty sure he still had all his claws.

“You popped the catch,” Rika gasped, dropping to her knees.
Blocking the door.

Snarl later.
Right now he needed to free the bolt. He pushed his muzzle through the bars on the far side of the latch and tried gnawing it. Bad idea. Scratching didn't help, either. He was too close to focus on the bolt, and his human brain couldn't compensate for distance the way it did for color, but from its position relative to his whiskers, it was as warped as the rest of the handle.