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“I’m here to visit the rescues, Milo. Your garage door was open.”
“It’s a thing you do when your garage is a forge,” I remind him drily.
“And a jewelry emporium, I see. You’re going to put Jan Stilz out of business.”
I shrug. Stilz Jewelers is the proper brick-and-mortar, high-end jewelry shop in Pine Ridge. You go there to get engagement rings. You go to the Night Market to get something to ward off demons (the unfriendly kind). “Jan is closed half the time. I don’t think he’ll mind if I toss him a little competition. So, you’ve come to check out my babies?”
Peterson’s face turns grave. “They’re half bog cat. The rest are full bog cat, not safe to keep in a non-magical household.”
I cup Freddy’s little body to my chest. “He’s not! And anyway, even if he is, he’s harmless.”
Peterson purses his lips. “You know they can interfere in fates—what some call luck. If a full bog cat took a dislike to its human owners, it wouldn’t be long before ‘accidents’ started to happen. But with a magical home, their influence can be... well, sanitized. And these two, not being nursed or reared by a bog cat and lacking the typical coloration...” Peterson ran a hand over his stubbled chin, “If I were a betting man, I’d say that these cats inherited very little of the bog cat genes. They behave more like standard domesticated pets, from what little I’ve seen. The DNA test was probably overkill, but it will let us know for sure.”
“Phew. I’m already attached to Freddy and Felix, Doc.”
“Felix?” Peterson demands sharply, whipping off his glasses.
“Yeah. Like the cartoon cat? And I figured I’d better name the other one either Frankie or Freddy so there was alliteration.” What can I say? I like lyrics.
“Here’s the thing... my vet tech has her heart set on one. And she wants to name it Felix. I can’t let her have one of the others, so I—”
“She can have him! She can have Felix.” I blurt.
Peterson’s eyebrow arches slowly.
“I mean, she was the one who even started looking for them. If she hadn’t been prowling around searching for this litter, maybe they would have frozen. And hey, what a coincidence, huh? How about that?” I babble. I babble and my heart is leaping around in my chest. Maybe these babies are more bog cat than Doc thinks. This has to be fate. This is a sign. This is... going to suck.
“I asked her to wait a few days. I think it would be good to keep them together for now. Maybe she could visit him if I took him back to the office?” Peterson suggests, reaching out a wrinkly hand to stroke the tiny gray ears.
“Mhm. I’ll work out something.”
We fall silent. There’s a lot we’re not saying.
If I were a human, this would be easy. I’d tell her to come pick up the cat. I’d drop it off at the office. She’s always at the Night Market and so am I.
I’ve seen her a dozen times and she doesn’t know I exist. Now I’m going to give her one of these kittens, just like I dreamed, and it’ll be nothing like what I had hoped.
“Milo. Give her time. I think she’ll accept us all, eventually. But let me test that theory before you do,” Peterson says gently, moving his hand from the kitten’s head to my wide bicep.
“When are you going to tell her that you’re a satyr?”
“Not for a while. She’s not quite there yet. Besides, she’s... hrm. She’s rather like the daughter I’ve never had. She’ll make a fine vet one day. Maybe I’ll retire and settle down. Raise a few kids of my own and leave her the practice.”
“You’re a kid yourself, Doc.” Satyrs and minotaurs age differently than humans. Doc has plenty of time left to sow his oats, but he’s not like his hedonistic relatives, just like I’m not out there carrying off a bosomy maiden to my lair. “She’s out there.” I tap his arm gently, knowing my strength would send him hooves over head if I were to give him a friendly punch on the shoulder.
Thoughts of accidentally bruising Libby with a friendly handshake make my stomach slosh.
“Well said, Milo. And you... you’re practically a calf. I mean that much more literally than you did,” he chuckles. “Say, would it be all right if I gave Libby your number? There’s no harm in a phone call, is there?”
I could talk to her. I’d have a real reason to, after all. Perfectly proper. We could get to know each other and maybe we’d get to be friends. I know we would. We love the same things already.
“Please do,” I smile and put both kittens in Doc’s arms.
Maybe I won’t have to lose Felix after all.
Chapter Nineteen: Libby
“Milo Angelakis.” I love the name. It has “angel” in it, and I picture some kindly little old man, like Doc Peterson, being the guardian angel to my foster kitten.
