The Orange Cat and Other Cainsville Tales (Cainsville 3.5)

"Nice try, bocan," one said. "But if you really think you can stop us, all by yourself--"

"Maybe he's not by himself," said a voice from the hall.

Lisa stepped behind the two women blocking the door. In her hand, she held a tiny canister.

"Let him leave, or I shoot," she said.

"That isn't a gun," one said.

"No, it's something even better."

Lisa shot--pepper-spraying the two fae. They shrieked, falling back, clawing at their faces.

"Her, too," Patrick said, holding out Carla, closing his eyes and turning his head to the side to avoid getting a dose of the nasty stuff himself.

Lisa complied. Patrick threw Carla aside and yanked the other two fae into the room. Then he ran out, shutting the door behind him, and propelled Lisa down the hall.

"Nice one," he said.

"Never mess with a New Yorker," she said. "I'm sorry about earlier. I don't know what happened. Somehow I got stuck in that closet. But I managed to get out with a little help from my credit card."

"I wondered what happened to you," he said as he kept prodding her to move faster down the hall. "I was worried."

"Not as worried as I was when I finally got out and heard those women talking about your son. It sounded like they were going to kidnap him. Poor little guy. We have to report them."

Patrick shook his head. "No need. It's a custody dispute. I'll just contact my lawyer to resolve it."

They reached the rear exit. Sure enough, cold iron filings had been sprinkled across the threshold.

"Could you just . . . clear that?" Patrick said, gesturing at the filings. "Allergies. Long story."

She swept the filings aside with her hand, and he carefully stepped over the threshold, wincing at the burn from the residual dust. "Now can you put it back? So they don't think we came this way."

"Smart." Lisa spread the filings again. As Patrick hurried her to the street, she said. "Oh, you forgot your award!"

"I don't think it was real."

"I am so sorry. This is all my fault. I put the word out, hoping to find someone who might nominate you for an award, and when that Carla woman responded, I jumped. I'd never heard of her award, but I didn't care. I just wanted to show you what I could do. I posted flyers in the bookstores and everything." She looked over. "You did get some readers, didn't you?"

He smiled. "I did. Thank you."

"But those women . . . I don't even think they were real librarians."

He kept her moving toward the road. "My car is just a block over. I don't know about you, but I could use a drink. Care to join me?"

Lisa beamed. "Definitely. We can talk about future promotion. I have some fantastic ideas. First, we'll . . ."

As she talked, Patrick reminded himself that he did owe her for helping him escape the fae trio. And for locking her in that closet. A bocan always repaid his debts. Unfortunately.

#

Two weeks later, Patrick s

at on his couch, Veronica at the other end, her elderly human glamour shed. Patrick kept his glamour on, as he usually did. He would say he was just accustomed to it, but admittedly, his true form wasn't quite as . . . normative as Veronica's.

She might lament the fact she was shorter and more full-figured than the typical fae, but he was perfectly fine with that. Yes, very fine with it, he thought as he enjoyed the view of that full figure straining at her silk dressing gown. He'd enjoy more than a view soon enough. Just as soon as he recovered his energy from the activities that had preceded her donning the gown.

They were drinking fae wine he'd brought up from the cellar, basking in the afterglow and the silence, comfortable in each other's company, old lovers and older friends.