Page 9 of The Minotaur's Valentine

Oh, I’m trying, but she won’t let me. She’s back every night. Her name is Libby, and she’s a goddess.

An oblivious, feral-cat-chasing-fudge-scarfing-goddess.

She passes right by me. Right. By. Me.

Her eyes skim past my row of stalls and into the pines beyond, a can of cheap pink salmon outstretched in her bid to make friends with the feral cat colony. Normally I’d call this a fool’s errand, but it's winter and in Pine Ridge, that’s no joke. The cats can survive in the dens they’ve made, but the kittens...

I have a fantasy. Oh, I have a lot of them. I think about her grinding against me as we listen to “Nothing Else Matters”, dancing alone in the dark of my apartment. I picture her petite hips swaying back and forth as I shave metal slivers off the blade I’m honing. The world narrows down to a single perfect sliver when I’m finishing an edge, but now, every smooth “shick” of metal on metal is accompanied by the vision of those little hips circling seductively over me—

Well. It’s hard to hide when I’m thinking about her— if you know what I mean.

Still, that’s not the fantasy I have when I see her coming out to bring food to the cats. In that dream, I find the mother cat and her winter litter. I bring the shivering little bundles of fur to Libby. Maybe I meet her at the door of Doc Peterson’s vet clinic at closing time. Maybe I show up at her apartment with the kittens all in a basket, a pink bow on the top. Yes! A Valentine’s present.

But it’s nothing more than a fantasy. Even if I could catch the kittens and their mother and somehow show up on Libby’s doorstep, when I handed her the basket she’d just drop it. Screaming and clutching your heart in terror tends to ruin your grip.

It’s a dumb idea. And do I really want to pursue a woman who doesn’t even notice I exist?

“Here, baby. Come here, baby.”

Her voice carries tonight. It’s pretty quiet in the marketplace, we’re on the third night of rain, with a mix of sleet and snow thrown in for good measure.

The fantasy invades like a vanquishing army.

Libby’s sitting on my couch. Cinderella (the metal glam band, not the princess) plays in the background. Candles flicker. Libby’s wearing something skimpy and black, but I only see her face, watching her lips form the words, “Come here, baby.” She’s talking to me.

“Hey, Milo.”

I jump, knocking over my lunch. A winter melon goes tumbling across the slick pavement. Heads turn. Not Libby’s. She’s making cooing noises on the edges of the woods. I can hear her, even over everything else, like her voice is coming directly through my headphones.

“Robbie! Hey, I thought you were on tour.” I put out my hand and take the bloodless white fingers the British vampire outstretches.

“Leaving tomorrow. Valentine’s Day is creeping up, isn’t it? Leo mentioned you were going to make Tess a little present.”

I adjust the hood of my dark winter parka so I can squint at my customer. (I got it on eBay. It was signed by Ozzy at the 1982 Black Sabbath concert in Calgary.) “There are jewelry stalls in the Night Market. Stilz Jewelers has night hours by appointment. I’m sure Jan Stilz can make you something better.”

Robbie shook his head. “I know, I know, but I think this one might be your area of expertise. Look, you make jewelry that absorbs negative energy to protect the wearer, right?”

“Well, I make the settings. The crystals are pre-enchanted.”

“Can you make a necklace that absorbs energy? Reverse the polarity?”

I gape. “Reverse the polarity? I make weapons! I’m not a physicist, Robbie!”

“Do you think you could talk to your supplier? I want to get Charlotte a ring that absorbs—a certain kind of energy. For when we’re apart.”

The vampire’s eyes skirt mine. Charlotte has something demon-y in her bloodlines, and the way he gets twitchy and mentions being apart tips his hand. I think Charlotte must be part succubus. She needs sexual energy (and from what I’ve heard, vampires are able to crank that out).

I sigh softly. “Of course. I’ll go talk to Madge at the magic store and see what I can do.”

Robbie beams and gives me a fifty as a deposit. As I write out the receipt, I shiver, even in my coat and with a layer of muscle and fur that few other beings have. Robbie just waits, whistling and beaming in turns, completely unaware of the cold.

Besides, he has someone to warm him up tonight.

“Here you go. I’ll get in touch tomorrow if Madge can’t deliver.” I force a big smile and wave goodbye.

Wish I had someone to keep me warm tonight.

More importantly—I hope Libby’s not getting frostbitten in those woods.

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