Page 11 of Purring for Her Lion
For a long moment, I’m deluded enough to wonder if she brought me more food despite seeing her hands empty, fingers fidgeting with her rings.
I realize I’ve been staring at my charts, pen poised, for nearly a minute. With a low growl of annoyance at myself, I set the pen down and look up.
“Back already?” I keep my voice neutral, though something in my chest lightens at the sight of her. Irritating.
“Hi.” She radiates nervous energy, different from yesterday’s flustered gratitude. “I’m glad you’re not dead or sick. At least my cooking didn’t kill you.”
Her eyes grow round as she slaps a hand over her mouth. “Oh my god, I mean?—”
“I know what you meant,” I say in hopefully a placating tone. Her heart’s going too fast, her scent tinged with anxiety. She shifts her weight from foot to foot.
I wait. People always fill the silence if you give them enough time.
Liana lasts seven seconds.
“I, uh…” She hugs the basket tighter. “I found something weird on my property, and I was too nervous to move it.”
I brace myself. “Weird” from a human who thought a chicken coop held together with duct tape was acceptable could mean anything from a strange mushroom to a corpse.
“Define weird,” I say, setting my charts aside. My clinic is closed for lunch. No patients waiting. No interruptions. Just me and this anxious human, clutching a bread basket like a life raft.
“It’s, um…” She bites her lip. Then, in one quick breath: “I found a giant egg.”
I freeze.
I don’t breathe.
For a long moment, I don’t even blink.
Giant eggs in the wild are rarely benign.
Liana doesn’t notice. She keeps talking, fast, nervous, oblivious to the way my entire focus has shifted.
“It was just sitting there, like—boom, hello, I’m a suspiciously large egg, just chilling in the middle of nowhere—and at first I thought maybe it was a prank? Because who leaves giant eggs in people’s fields? But then I touched it, and it was warm, and I’m pretty sure eggs aren’t supposed to be warm unless they’re being sat on by something, and there was definitely nothing sitting on it, unless whatever laid it is invisible, which—oh god, are there invisible creatures here? Because nobody mentioned that in the town welcome packet?—”
I cut her off, sharper than I mean to. “Where did you find this?”
She startles, eyes wide. “Oh no. Oh no. I’ve stolen something important, haven’t I? Is it endangered? Protected? Did I just commit a felony by touching it? Because I swear I didn’t move it far, it’s still exactly where I found it, just with a little blanket over it because it seemed cold even though it was warm—which doesn’t make sense, I know, but it just looked like it needed a blanket?—”
I take a slow breath. This woman could talk circles around a professional auctioneer.
“Describe it,” I say, slicing through her spiral.
She nods, gathering herself. “Right. Okay. It’s about this big.” She gestures: beach ball. “Kind of oblong, but not like a chickenegg. More rounded at both ends. The shell is really thick, or at least it seems thick. I didn’t, like, knock on it or anything.”
My heart rate ticks up. Size matches.
“Color?”
“Mostly dark green, but with these lighter speckles all over it. Almost like someone splattered paint on it, but in a pattern? And there’s this weird iridescence to it, like when the light hits it just right, it kind of… glows? Not radioactive glowing, more like… opal glowing? Does that make sense?”
It makes perfect sense. Too much sense.
“And you found it where, exactly?”
“In the back field, near the treeline. There’s this small clearing that I hadn’t really explored yet because it’s all overgrown. I only went there because I was chasing Nugget. Again.” She rolls her eyes. “I’m starting to think that chicken is leading me into trouble on purpose.”
I already know what it is.
