Page 13 of Whiskers on Kittens

I’d wheel and deal, but my nerves couldn’t handle wheeling and dealing when the archangels in question liked toying with mortals because they could, not with a litter of kittens needing my best work.

That left me with Hamaliel as my next option, a rather obscure archangel who rarely showed his face on the mortal coil. However, his domain included everything to do with the foundations of life, harvests, and the continuation of households, making him the ideal candidate.

Any other day, I would have gone straight for Hamaliel’s number, but I could also reach out to Jegudiel. His portfolio dealt with responsibility and the kind of love everyone needed in their lives, the merciful kind that healed rather than hurt.

Selfless rather than selfish.

I drummed my fingers on my desk, and as He wanted me to work miracles on His behalf, I’d impose on the entire lot of them. I began with shooting a group text to all three of them, asking if I could snag them all for a chat—and if Gabriel could grace me with his presence as well, it would be appreciated.

Within three minutes, the archangels had confirmed they could come, including Gabriel.

As wings took up a great deal of space, I headed to my den, which would be able to handle the lot of them without worry. I texted them my den was ready for them.

They popped into existence as I crossed the threshold. I recognized Michael by the blue bands on his feathers. Gabriel’s were banded in scarlet. Jegudiel’s bands changed colors, shifting from yellow to orange to red depending on his mood.

Hamaliel kept his feathers the purest white tipped with the faintest hint of silver, representing the blank slate of a soul at the moment the universe breathed it to life.

I pressed a finger to my lips before glancing upstairs where my guest slept. “I’m hosting a very tired hybrid wolf of a cop today. Mr. Goody-Goody had a large feeding, and he’s been short on calories. His employer, the CPD, is the cause of it. He sent me his budget, living arrangements, and salaries from the day he became a cop. I offered to take on the CPD. While he’s pretty tame for a hybrid, I give it six months before his diet creates a situation.”

I expected, if I could get him out of his clothes, he’d be uncomfortably thin and showing off more bone and less muscle than a healthy lycanthrope should. Worse, I worried about his virus levels. Mine couldn’t be healthier if I tried.

One good meal had sent the wolf to bed for a nap.

“Do you plan on keeping the wolf?” Hamaliel asked, and I got the feeling if I could see the archangels’ heads, every one of them would have raised a brow my way.

Me? Keep a wolf?

“It depends on how good he is when helping me rescue the kittens. On His behalf.”

“We are aware of the situation,” Gabriel stated, and he sank down on one of the armchairs and made himself comfortable, stretching his legs out along with his wings. “You caught onto the game quickly. He did not peek into this specific matter, but He understood once you saw your cop in action—and around food—you would identify the issue. He has already given us blessing to assist you with this matter. The kittens come first, but this is another of His goals. He does not feel His work is quite yet done here. It began with the shapeshifter a few years back, but it will end with you.”

Great. Just what Chicago needed. “Doesn’t the CPD ever learn?” I complained, and I went to the bar, grabbed my peach schnapps, and splashed some into a glass before grabbing my orange juice out of the bar’s refrigerator. “I’ll pay the fee, but please sober me up so I can drive tomorrow. A boost wouldn’t hurt, either.”

“Your cop will drive, but I will handle sobering you up as needed,” Gabriel replied. “Your nerves are shot, so a little liquid fortitude is not a bad idea—and it will calm your virus. She’s quite upset over this issue, is she not?”

“She hates watching people starve.”

We’d starved as children, through no fault of my parents, who had been in a similar boat to Easton before I’d made my way up in the world. I hadn’t abused my connections to improve their situation, but I had paid for the education they had missed, which had given them enough of a leg up they’d been able to do the rest of the work on their own.

Michael took a seat on the couch, Jegudiel took over the other armchair, and Hamaliel joined me at the bar, perching on a stool. The archangel in charge of the matters of home life gestured at the bottle of Maker’s Mark I’d pulled out of the cellar. “You told him of your wish for the other bottle.”

“You know me, Hamaliel. I’m a certified asshole. If I can cause trouble, I will. It was fun pulling his chain in the courthouse, but while I cause trouble, I pay attention. I’ve knocked him off balance, and he seems to like spirits.”

“You will be pleased to know he is not an alcoholic, and much like you, enjoys seeing and having the bottles far more than drinking them, though he will drink to enjoy now and then. His father loves Maker’s Mark, and the bottles bring back good memories of his father telling him stories when he was but a young puppy at his father’s feet. Those were good days for him. And before you are overcome with sentiment, his father and mother are both fine, but your Mr. Goody-Goody has more pride than he should. Everyone in the family has made mistakes. He knows he is not as successful at being a cop as he should be, and he is ashamed to the point he avoids going home. Jegudiel?”

“His love is such he does not want to inflict any disappointment upon his parents. He feels he has disappointed them enough,” the archangel confirmed. “You will find this case will wake the beast, as he feels if he can help these kittens make it home, he will have done something worthy of their praise—and their love. Their love is a default, but he does not understand that. The family has issues.”

Men. Heaving a sigh, I eyed the bottle of Maker’s Mark, took a sip of my drink before setting my glass on the bar and heading to the entry to my cellar. I popped it open, went inside, and checked through my collection of Maker’s Mark. “What am I getting out for his old man?”

“Original and Cask Strength are what he would drink, but he always wanted to try the more expensive bottles.”

That explained Easton’s interest in my special bottle. “Think you can get me a flight of his papa’s bourbon and a special bottle to go with it? If you handle the bourbon, I’ll hunt his parents and pick a fight.”

I had a ton of generic Maker’s Mark, and I plucked three Originals and one Cask Strength off my shelf, all duplicates I wouldn’t miss. I brought them out to my bar before closing the cellar, rooting under my bar for a folded box, and setting it up to put away for Easton as a consolation prize for putting up with me.

“You mean invite them over for dinner,” Hamaliel corrected.

“Why would I invite his family over for dinner?”