The Orange Cat and Other Cainsville Tales (Cainsville 3.5)

The whine sounded odd. High pitched. And the head rubbing against my bare chest . . . It was coarse hair. I might not know much about babies, but I have held enough to remember admiring that silky fine hair.

When a claw scratched my stomach, I let out a yelp and nearly threw the bundle aside. Luckily, I'm not quite that easily spooked and just thrust it away, holding it at arm's length to see . . .

"A puppy?" Ricky said.

I held a puppy. Wrapped in a baby blanket. A small brown-and-white dog, like a terrier mix. The puppy wriggled and whined.

"Mine!" the fae shrieked as she charged at me.

Ricky grabbed her and held her back as she fought.

"Mine. She's mine! They did not want her. I heard them talking. The other babies found homes, but she did not, and they were deciding what to do with her. They could not keep her, and they were talking about how they would rid themselves of her. Kill her. You will not take her back. You will not. She is mine."

I sighed and looked at the puppy, wriggling hopefully in my hands. Then I gave it a quick pat and held it out to the fae.

"Yours," I said.

Eleven - Liv

We were quiet as we walked back to the bike. Ricky had hold of my hand, gripping so tight it hurt, his gaze fixed straight ahead. I bided my time, waiting for his mood to settle a little, us getting distance from the swimming hole, before I said, "Arawn?"

He jumped and said, "What?" like I'd been calling him by that name.

"You were hearing from him in there?" I said. "That can be . . . discomfiting."

He loosened his death grip on my hand. "Yeah. It's weird, because he must have always been there. Memories of him or his actual consciousness, I don't know which, but it's like finding out my connection to him triggered it. Gave him permission to talk."

"And you'd rather he shut up?"

A faint smile. "Yeah. Do you hear Matilda?"

"I don't think so. I just get visions of her. Of being her, usually. Maybe she just doesn't have anything to say."

"Or maybe, with you, she's better integrated."

I shrugged. "Maybe. I do wonder sometimes if I've always just heard her and thought of that as my inner voice."

"I've wondered that, too, with Arawn. Whether he's always been the voice in my head, and whether knowing he is--well, was--an actual person just means I think of him differently."

"So you think I was right?" I asked. "About that cavern being a portal to the afterlife?"

"The shadows definitely felt like spirits. They recognized me--recognized Arawn. It wasn't even like they were actually threatening you. Just . . . curious. It was Arawn's memories making me freak out. Remembering you going into the fire--" He shoved his hair back and gave a soft growl. "Not you. Matilda. See what I mean? Most times, I can separate me from him, you from her. Recognize the connection, while separating the people. But in there? The problem wasn't here." He tapped his head. "It was in my gut. Logic be damned. I felt like you were two seconds from being consumed by shadows and dragged into the afterlife. Again."

He took a deep breath. "So, we got some clues."

I smiled at him. "Steer away from the weird shit and focus on the mystery?"

"Even the mystery is weird shit."

"The one about the cave, yes. The baby mystery seems to be squarely back in the realm of the human, and I have no clues for that and a teenage girl counting on me--"

"So, we got some clues."

I smiled and leaned against him as we walked. "You need to steer away from the weird shit. I need to steer away from the normal shit. Clues then. We found what appears to be an underground hole into the afterlife. The Otherworld, specifically. The Welsh version of the afterlife."

"Because the spirits and the fae knew Arawn."

"And spoke Welsh. She called you fy arglwydd. Welsh for 'my lord.'"