Page 31 of Hex and the Kitty

TWENTY-FOUR

As Warrick crossed the garage to inspect the setup, a movement near the equipment bay caught his eye. Gus Niles slipped through the side entrance, his expression darkening when he spotted Warrick.

“Niles.” Warrick kept his voice neutral despite his tiger’s instinctive bristle. “Something I can help you with?”

Gus’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Just dropping off some paperwork for the Fireman’s Ball planning committee. Heard you’re taking charge this year.”

The subtle emphasis on “taking charge” didn’t escape Warrick’s notice. Everything was a territorial challenge with Gus.

“The entire department is involved,” Warrick replied evenly. “Every firefighter contributes.”

“How democratic of you.” Gus’s gaze swept the immaculate garage with poorly disguised contempt. “Though I hear you’re bringing in outside help. The baker witch? Interesting choice.”

The casual mention of Molly set Warrick’s protective instincts on high alert. His tiger snarled beneath his skin, reacting to the perceived threat in Gus’s tone.

“Ms. Hues has generously offered her expertise with the decorations and refreshments,” he said, the lie coming easily. “Her contributions to town events are well-regarded.”

“I’m sure they are.” Gus placed a folder on the nearby desk. “Just make sure she understands the... traditional aspects of the ball. Some things shouldn’t change, despite new leadership.”

Before Warrick could respond, excited voices echoed from the station entrance. The school tour had arrived.

“If you’ll excuse me,” Warrick said, his tone making it clear the conversation was over.

Gus’s eyes narrowed fractionally. “Of course,Chief. Enjoy your demonstration.”

As Gus slipped away, Warrick fought the urge to follow, to demand clarification of the veiled threat. But twenty children now filed into the garage, their teacher corralling them with practiced patience.

“Chief Shaw!” Ms. Marissa called, her smile bright. “We’re so excited for today’s tour.”

Warrick pushed thoughts of Gus aside, focusing on the children’s eager faces. “Welcome to Whispering Pines Fire Station. Who’s ready to learn about firefighting?”

A chorus of enthusiastic voices answered him. Within minutes, the children gathered around Peterson, who demonstrated how to properly inspect safety equipment. Their wide-eyed wonder reminded Warrick why he’d chosen this profession centuries ago—the fundamental desire to protect, to preserve life against destructive forces.

He was explaining the engine’s features when a piercing whistle cut through the air, followed by shouts from the equipment bay. Warrick’s head snapped up, his senses instantly alert. He exchanged a quick glance with David before instructing Ms. Marissa, “Keep the children here.”

The scene that greeted them stopped Warrick cold.

Pink foam—no, pinkglitteringfoam—erupted from the main hose system, coating everything in sight with shimmering fluff. Firefighters scrambled around the central valve, shouting instructions while dodging jets of the sparkly substance.

“What in blazes—“ Warrick started.

“Chief!” Peterson yelled over the commotion. “The system engaged automatically! We can’t shut it down!”

The foam continued to spew, building into mountains that reflected the overhead lights like deranged disco balls. The pristine fire engines now wore a frosting of the stuff, transforming serious equipment into something from a child’s fantasy.

Movement near the garage entrance caught Warrick’s eye. The curious children had migrated toward the commotion, their expressions oscillating between shock and absolute delight.

“Wow!” A small boy with glasses pointed at the growing pink mountains. “It’s like magic sparkle snow!”

Warrick caught David’s eye, noting his friend’s suppressed smile. Three centuries had taught him one vital lesson: adaptation was survival. The sabotage was obvious—but he could salvage this.

“Well,” Warrick announced, pitching his voice to reach the children, “looks like someone’s given us a very special welcome today!”

He strode through the foam-covered floor, approaching the wide-eyed children. “Who wants to learn about firefighting and have the most colorful day ever?”

Twenty small hands shot up, accompanied by excited squeals.

“Is that real fire foam, Mr. Fireman?” The boy with glasses stepped forward.

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