Chapter Twelve
Rux
“I’m telling you, you need to be careful about that cat.”
Rux dismissed Urien’s warning with a wave. “Please. Animals love me.”
“Unlike with Urien, the deer avoid you,” Mabon said.
“The deer are skittish.” Rux stood and rolled his shoulders. “I’m naturally intimidating to prey animals. But cats? Cats appreciate confidence.”
“This cat,” Urien said quietly, “appreciates violence.”
“Then we’ll have something in common.” Rux headed for the door, already planning. Garden produce was Urien’s baby, but fresh-baked goods were his.
After Urien’s disaster, Rux had spent the rest of Saturday in the kitchen, and now seventeen different pastries were lined up on cooling racks.
Croissants - plain, chocolate, almond. Danishes with cream cheese and berries.
Those little Portuguese custard tarts Mabon couldn’t get enough of.
Cinnamon rolls that had taken three hours just for the dough, and that was without the biscuits, slices, and muffins in a variety of flavors.
In his defense, Rux had no idea what Sam liked, so he was taking a mix of everything.
“Are you going now?” Mabon called after him.
“No time like the present.”
“It’s seven in the morning on a Sunday.”
Rux paused in the doorway. “Sam invited Urien in at dawn on a Saturday.”
“Sam invited Urien in because Urien was leaving vegetables on his doorstep like some kind of deranged gardening fairy. You said you’re just going to knock.”
“With pastries and sweet treats.” Rux grinned. “Seventeen kinds. The cat will smell the butter and forget all about his draconic prejudices.”
Urien made a sound that might have been a laugh or a warning. “I’d like to see you manage the boxes and still knock on the door. And for the record, that cat doesn’t care about butter. That cat has murder on his mind.”
“We’ll bond.” Rux’s dragon stirred, pleased at the prospect of finally getting past Sam’s threshold. “I’ll win him over with charm.”
“Your charm.” Mabon’s voice dripped skepticism. “The same charm that had you making a fool of yourself the first time you talked to him?”
“I was nervous then. This is different.” Rux ducked into the kitchen and surveyed his work. The pastries crowded every available surface, golden and flaky, smelling amazing. He’d even made those little jam-filled cookies his mother used to bake; a recipe he had remembered from a century ago.
He loaded everything into boxes, stacked three high, and inhaled the mingled scent of vanilla, cinnamon, and almonds. No cat could resist the contents, and no human either. Sam would open the door and smell paradise.
“Just take the croissants,” Mabon appeared beside him and selected a box. “And the custard tarts. Leave the rest.”
“I’m taking all of them.”
“You’ll look insane.”
“I’ll look generous.” Rux added another box to the stack. “This is a thoughtful gesture – as if someone spent his entire Saturday thinking about what would make Sam happy.”
“We still don’t know what makes Sam happy.”
“That’s why I made seventeen kinds.”
Mabon pinched the bridge of his nose. “This is the six-coffee situation all over again.”
“This is different.” Rux balanced the boxes, headed for the door. “This is food. Everyone loves food, even homicidal cats.”
“Basil doesn’t love food,” Urien called from the library. “Basil loves blood and chaos.”
“Then he’ll love me.” Rux shouldered through the front door, boxes stacked to his chin. The morning air hit him, cool and fresh, and his heart stone burned with anticipation.
“This is a mistake,” Mabon said from the doorway.
“This is fate.” Rux loaded the boxes into the Range Rover, trying not to think about how right Mabon probably was. “Sam will smell these pastries and realize how wonderful I can be for him.”
“Sam will smell these pastries and call the police about the stalker leaving baked goods at seven on a Sunday morning.”
But Rux was in the driver’s seat, already pulling out of the drive. The cat would love him. How could it not?
Sam’s door opened before he could knock.
“Rux?” Sam stood in the doorway, properly dressed although he clearly hadn’t had time to do his hair, and his glasses were sitting crooked on his nose. “I thought I heard…”
The orange blur came from nowhere. Rux caught a glimpse of bared fangs, flattened ears, and eyes that promised murder... Urien was right. But even as Rux thought that, Basil was airborne, claws extended, yowling like Rux had personally threatened his home and hearth.
“Basil, no…”
The cat hit Rux’s chest at full speed. His boxes tumbled, and croissants scattered across the doorstep. Basil’s claws shredded through the cotton of Rux’s shirt to the skin beneath, and the yowling intensified to operatic levels.
“Get off.” Rux tried to pry the cat loose, but Basil clung with all four sets of claws, writhing and spitting. His dragon snarled, demanded Rux shift and show the tiny furball what real teeth looked like. Rux locked his jaw, forced himself to be still. It was Sam’s beloved, psychotic cat.
“Basil!” Sam grabbed the cat around the middle and pulled. Basil’s claws dragged four parallel lines down Rux’s chest. The cat screamed like Rux was dismembering him. “Let go, you absolute menace…”
Basil released Rux’s chest only to latch onto Sam’s arm, biting and kicking with his back legs. Sam yelped but didn’t drop him, staggering backward into the cottage. The door swung half-closed.
“I’m so sorry,” Sam gasped from inside. Basil’s yowling echoed like an air raid siren. “He’s never - I don’t understand…”
Blood seeped through Rux’s shirt in four distinct lines. He pressed a hand to his chest and felt the sting where Basil’s claws had gone deep. His dragon thrashed just like that cat, furious at being attacked by something that weighed next to nothing compared to him.
“It’s fine.” Rux aimed for a casual tone and landed somewhere near pained. “He’s protective.”
“He’s possessed.” Sam appeared in the doorway again, Basil now tucked under one arm, fur standing on end. The cat hissed at Rux, and his tail was still flicking from side to side. “I don’t…this isn’t normal. He loves everyone.”
Except dragons, apparently. Rux could practically see Basil’s primitive brain registering predator, threat, and most importantly – to the cat at least - danger. The cat’s pupils were blown wide, focused on Rux with laser intensity.
“Maybe I smell like something he doesn’t like.” Rux bent to collect the fallen boxes, winced as his chest protested. Several pastries had escaped their containers, croissants scattered across the doorstep like buttery casualties. “I brought breakfast. I thought you might…”
Basil lunged again, and Sam barely caught him, stumbling backward. “No! Bad cat! Very bad. Stop it!”
The yowling reached new heights. Sam’s glasses slipped further down his nose. He looked mortified, exhausted, and utterly beautiful.
“I should go.” Rux stacked the boxes on the doorstep, rescued what croissants he could. Blood from his chest dripped onto a custard tart. He left it. “Before he decides to go for my throat.”
“Rux, I’m so sorry…”
“Don’t be.” Rux backed toward the gate, kept his eyes on Basil. The cat watched him, still growling. “He’s doing his job, protecting you.”
“From pastries?”
“From strangers showing up at seven in the morning with seventeen kinds of baked goods.” Rux managed something like a smile. “Fair enough, really.”
Sam shifted Basil to his other arm. The cat immediately tried to launch again. Sam’s grip tightened. “You’re bleeding.”
“I heal fast.” Rux reached the gate. “Enjoy the breakfast. I’ll try again when he’s less...murderous.”
/~/~/~/~/
“He tripped me up.” Mabon stared at his wine glass like it held answers to the Universe. “Deliberately.”
Rux paused with his fork halfway to his mouth. “The cat tripped you.”
“Yes.”
“On purpose.”
“Yes.” Mabon’s jaw worked. “He waited until I stepped over the toy, then he…he kicked it under my foot. Physics. Calculated trajectory. I went down like I’d hit a patch of ice.”
Urien cut his steak slowly, although he looked as though he was trying not to laugh. “I warned you he was possessed.”
“He’s not possessed.” Mabon drained half his wine in one swallow. “He’s a strategist, which is worse.”
Rux set down his fork. His chest still stung where Basil’s claws had carved furrows on Sunday morning, though the wounds were nearly healed. Mabon’s humiliation might take longer.
“Start from the beginning,” Urien said.
Mabon refilled his glass. “I researched cat behavior. Eighteen articles. Seven YouTube videos. Three books on feline psychology.”
“Naturally, it’s what you do.”
“I learned that cats respond to enrichment activities, which include quality toys and interactive play.” Mabon pulled something from his jacket pocket - a mangled stick with bedraggled feathers.
“I bought the best item money could buy. It’s organic, artisanal, and has real pheasant feathers harvested during molt. ”
Rux picked up the toy. It looked like it had been through a shredder and then someone had chucked the rest in a garbage disposal. Several feathers were missing entirely. “How much did this cost?”
“Forty-seven dollars.”
“For a stick with feathers.”
“Real pheasant feathers,” Mabon corrected. “From ethical sources.”
Urien’s mouth twitched. “And Basil appreciated the ethical sourcing.”
“Basil used it as a weapon.” Mabon gestured with his wine. “I arrived at six-thirty. Sam answered the door, still apologizing about Sunday. The cat sat behind him, totally calm this time, although he was watching me.”
“Planning,” Rux muttered.
“I explained I wanted to make amends and showed him the toy. Sam looked so relieved, and said Basil would love it, and to please come in.” Mabon’s eyes went distant. “The moment I crossed the threshold, that beast started purring.”
“He purred at you?” Urien glanced at Rux, who looked just as shocked.
“I know, but he was purring loudly. He rubbed against my legs. Sam was delighted and said maybe Basil had just needed time to adjust.” Mabon took another drink. “Then I set the toy down. I stepped over it, and the purring stopped.”
Rux leaned forward. “And?”
“That demon kicked the toy under my foot mid-step. Precise angle. Impeccable timing. I went down hard.” Mabon touched his shoulder and winced. “Before I could get up, Basil was on me, just like you described. Claws. Teeth. Fury incarnate.”
“Where did he get you?”
“My shoulder, neck, and the back of my head.” Mabon tilted to show a scratch disappearing beneath his collar. “Sam pulled him off, but Basil went for Sam’s face and nearly got his glasses.”
Urien set down his knife. “He attacked Sam?”
“Briefly. Sam wrestled him into the bathroom and locked him in.” Mabon stared at the ruined toy. “I could hear him yowling through the door. Sam was crying. He actually cried as he was apologizing. He said he’d never seen Basil act like it, not once in six years. He thought maybe the cat was sick.”
Rux’s dragon stirred, agitated at the idea of Sam being upset and crying. “What did you say?”
“That I understood. That perhaps we should wait before visiting again.” Mabon’s voice went quiet. “He looked devastated, kept saying he was so sorry, that you and Urien had been so kind, bringing vegetables and pastries, and now his possessed cat was ruining everything.”
The three of them sat in silence. Rux’s chest ached, and not from the scratches.
“He’ll think we won’t want to be friends anymore,” Urien said finally.
“I’m more worried he might think there’s something wrong with us, full stop. Humans place great store on how their pets react around new people. The fact his cat keeps attacking us” - Mabon examined the toy - “Strategically, of course...it doesn’t look good for any one of us.”
“We can’t court him if we can’t get past the door,” Rux said. “And at the moment, we can’t get past the darn door because a twenty-pound furball has declared war on our species. If any of the other triads hear about this, we’ll never be able to show our faces at a council meeting again.”
“Hey, at least I had the forethought to leave him a card with our numbers on – all three of them. Maybe he’ll call.” Mabon shrugged and tossed the toy on the floor. “It’s not looking good, guys.”