“… to tell you that you should wrap around your private time because Orro’s head will explode.”
A quick patter of feet announced her running down the hallway. Beast whined at the door, putting extra sadness into her crying just in case I failed to notice it.
Sean patted my back.
I rolled off him. He kissed me again and we got up off the bed.
“One thing,” Sean said. “I’m not wearing a robe.”
“My father wore a robe. All innkeepers wear robes.”
“Not going to happen.”
“Sean Evans, don’t you start with me.”
He bared his teeth at me and bit the air, clicking them.
Tonight was the feast, tomorrow would bring problems, but it didn’t matter. Sean was right.
No matter what the universe threw at me, I wouldn’t have to face it alone.
The Ripper of Souls jumped on the empty bed and regarded us with his witchy cat eyes. Great. We’d had an audience all along. It was probably absurd to be scandalized by a cat, but I was still embarrassed.
Sean frowned. “Where did you get this cat?”
“He was trapped in a glass box in a PetSmart.”
“Did you notice he has a collar?”
“I noticed. I thought about taking it off, but he seemed to like it, so I let him have it. This is my first time owning a cat and I don’t want to damage our relationship.”
Sean grabbed Olasard and held him up.
“I don’t think you should manhandle him like that. I’ve just gotten to the point where he comes when I call him and lets me pet him.”
“Lights,” Sean said.
The electric lamps snapped on. Gertrude Hunt had obeyed him. Huh.
He held the cat out to me, parting the fur with his fingers to expose the collar. A small metal plaque embedded in the blue nylon caught the light. Two letters, engraved in elaborate cursive, shone on the plaque.
S.N.
Sebastien North?
THE END