Chapter 31
I wanted to run the distance to Rue des Hirondelles, but after slipping twice on the icy sidewalks, I was forced to slow to a brisk march.
Regardless, my panicked haste must have been obvious to all I passed, for more than one person leapt out of my way, an elderly man dragging his wife from my path as if I were a speeding train.
When at last the shelter came into sight, I could have cried from relief that it was still standing—Valérie had not reduced it to a crater, nor had Havelock transformed it into some gaping portal to the Rivenwood in his haste to be free of his charges.
“I’m sure it’s fine,” élise said, out of breath from trying to keep up with me. “Agnes, he’s not completely useless. He was terribly worried about you when I told him what had happened—I know because he didn’t offer up a single quip about the situation.”
I could not be persuaded from my fears, though, and fully expected to find the place reduced to wreckage. I hastened past the bookshop, where the face of Oksana scowled at me through the window, and wrenched open the shelter door.
Unfortunately, my expectations were met.
Immediately upon opening the door, a small shape made a dash for the street, arrested in the nick of time by élise.
It was one of our kittens, Minuet, and she was not the only escapee; I saw at least three other roaming cats who lacked roaming privileges, all because they were notorious troublemakers.
Two were making a fearful din in the corner—Patches and Genevieve—circling each other as they yowled and caterwauled, a battle that seemed not to have progressed past the posturing stage, but was alarming nevertheless.
Another cat was by the oven, gnawing on something—I couldn’t be certain, but I strongly suspected it was one of the midnight pastries.
Papers that had been on the counter were scattered across the floor, and one of the curtains—now half torn to shreds—had been pulled entirely off its rod, while another hung askew.
The empty cages—of which we had a fair few—were scattered about the shelter in odd places, as if Havelock had attempted to chase after the loose cats with them before abandoning the attempt.
There came a fell yowl from overhead. I looked up, and found myself gazing into the terrified face of Ambulance, who had somehow tucked himself into the electric sconce that hung above the door.
How he had made it up there, I could not have said, but it was clear he rued his daring, and continued to yowl at me as if I’d put him there myself.
I took a step forward, and my boots crunched on sand.
The enormous burlap litter sack lay on its side, most of its contents spilled across the floor, while a broom and dustpan lay abandoned a foot or two away.
And in the midst of it all was Havelock, glasses askew and a bandage wrapped round one hand, looking as ridiculously elegant as he always did in his princely jewels and otherworldly clothing, but also flushed and unkempt.
“What did I tell you?” he exclaimed as soon as we entered.
“They’re fiends, every last one. Hairy, flightless night-gaunts, devoted to tormenting their captors.
I go to the effort of preparing their breakfast—which is the most foul slop imaginable, by the way; I don’t think I will ever get the smell out of my hair—and as thanks I receive nothing but hisses and acts of violence.
Look.” He held up his hand, which he hadn’t bandaged tightly enough—a spot of blood had leaked through from his palm.
“And here—” He pointed to his jaw, where there was another, more glancing scratch an inch or two from his chin.
“That one was aimed at my jugular, and you won’t convince me otherwise.
Whose idea was it to make companions out of a species of malevolent carnivores? ”
For a moment, I couldn’t get a word out, I could only stare at him. “How did you get cat food in your hair?” I said at last.
“Ask this murderous little tiger,” Havelock said, slamming the cage door shut on Marcel, a grey tabby who sat calmly eating his food, which was splattered across the floor of the cage in a line from the overturned bowl like the spilled entrails of a successful kill.
“That is the only tame one of the lot,” he added, motioning to Banshee, who sat docilely by his feet with her striped tail curled around her paws, gazing up at Havelock with narrow-eyed adoration.
élise could not have been more unperturbed about the whole thing—I believe she was suppressing laughter.
“Well, they don’t like magicians,” she said, reaching down to right one of the scattered cages.
“Though they don’t seem all that bothered by Yannick, do they?
Perhaps they just don’t like you, Havelock.
Cats are excellent judges of character.”
I surveyed the damage—which, I decided, after mentally sorting it into a list of priorities, was not as terrible as it could have been.
Now that my worst fears had been assuaged, relief filled me like water from a burst dam—relief that, I realized, was tied in no small part to Havelock.
Just as I hadn’t known what state the shelter would be in, I hadn’t known what state he would be in.
To see him standing there looking flushed and irritated, but himself for the most part, made me want to hug him.
I would have done so, but Havelock, to my astonishment, stepped forward first, pulling me into his arms with a sort of stiff determination, as if he’d planned it out, nervously, in advance.
I leaned my face against his shoulder and breathed in the charcoal smell of magic, not minding it, nor the fact that he didn’t seem entirely substantial, almost ghostly, and made the shadows shift strangely around us when I held him, as if for a brief moment I too were existing in some in-between otherworld.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, pulling back. “I didn’t realize he would—They were using you to get to me. I didn’t think of that. I’m not—it’s only ever been me. Well, there’s Yannick now, but I mean—” He broke off and rubbed his hair.
“I’m all right,” I said. “As you pointed out, I needed a holiday from the cats anyway.”
He laughed, and it made him seem more earthly, brightening his eyes.
He leaned forward, more shy than determined now, and tilted my chin up.
I was so surprised, and so accustomed to pining over him as hopelessly as Banshee did, that I didn’t understand what he was doing until a second before he kissed me.
Distantly, I thought I heard élise groan, but it wasn’t something I registered until after. All I could focus on was Havelock’s nearness and how gently he held me, as if I were the ghostly one.
Then Havelock pulled away with a start, looking flushed, the hair at his nape mussed from where I’d put my hand in it.
I would have simply reached out and pulled him to me, before I saw the object of his distraction: we’d missed one of the kittens, Mousse, who was attacking the buckle on Havelock’s shoe.
“He has the right idea,” élise muttered, marching over to retrieve the kitten.
Mousse, though, did not want to relinquish his prey, particularly after Havelock gave his foot a shake, making the buckle flap about invitingly.
It took the three of us to pry the ridiculous creature loose, and by the time I’d shut Mousse into his cage again, Havelock had his arms folded and was back to looking remote and disquieting.
I could almost imagine it hadn’t happened, if it weren’t for Havelock’s flush and the lingering warmth in my stomach.
“Now that that’s taken care of,” élise said, and I didn’t think she was referring to Mousse, “perhaps we can get back to discussing our problem. Namely: Laurent.”
“Him!” Havelock’s expression darkened. “I have several enchantments I’ve been saving for my enemies, and I can’t think of a more deserving recipient.”
“Yes, exactly,” élise said, looking pleased. “Please tell me you have a spell for boils. If you could put one—”
“Never mind the boils, élise. Havelock, you have to move the shelter again,” I said, urgency rising within me. “It’s not just Laurent—they’re going to try to arrest you today. Well, all of us, I suspect, and I don’t know what will happen to the cats if—”
I was beginning to get worked up again, but at that moment, Ambulance gave another of his most earth-shattering yowls, which seemed to give fuel to the two locked in a brawl.
Genevieve lunged forward and pinned Patches to the floor by the throat, to more dreadful caterwauling.
We scattered to deal with them; I pried the brawlers apart, though they only took off towards the back room to continue their dispute, while élise got the ladder and fetched Ambulance down from the sconce.
I didn’t notice what Havelock was up to until I returned with Patches, growling but immobilized by my grip on her scruff, to find that he’d scooped Banshee up and was glaring at the cat in my arms.
“That beast tried to attack her,” he said defensively. “She’s the only civilized one among them.”
I only barely managed to stop myself from laughing.
“Yes, Banshee has always been remarkably well-mannered,” I said, because everyone liked their cat to be deemed an exception of some kind.
And though Havelock might not have known it yet, Banshee was every inch his cat.
She had nestled herself into his arms, kneading at his sleeve and looking extremely self-satisfied, as well as not at all surprised.