Page 48 of Moonlit Nights & Northern Lights
“What. The. ACTUAL. FUCK.” Each word exploded from Maxwell with increasing volume. “You’ve brought that…thingon our trip? Without telling me?” His voice dropped dangerously quiet to add, “Are you completely mad?”
“He’s not athing, he’s a ferret,” I corrected, reaching for Freddy who skittered away, clearly enjoying his newfound freedom.
“Rory!Why have you brought a dead animal into my car?!”
I winced. “Technically, he’sundead.”
Maxwell’s face went through an impressive range of expressions—shock, disgust, horror, finally settling on pure, unadulterated rage.
“I couldn’t leave him behind!” I protested, finally managing to scoop Freddy up. “And look, he’s perfectly harmless.”
As if to prove me wrong, Freddy chose that exact moment to launch himself into the air, landing on the steering wheel and snapping his sharp teeth at Maxwell’s fingers.
“He’s going to get us killed!”
I scrambled to open my coat pocket, fumbling for the crackers. Freddy’s little nose twitched frantically.
“Come on, you monster,” I coaxed.
Freddy’s yellow eyes locked onto the treat. He abandoned his assault on Maxwell’s hand and scurried across. I stroked his fur as he gnawed on the cracker.
“See, I have him perfectly under control,” I said, giving Maxwell my most winning smile.
“You still haven’t explained why he’s coming with us. And to be frank, I don’t get your obsession with that rat.”
“I was never allowed pets as a kid,” I said, scratching behind Freddy’s partially exposed skull. “Animals get nervous around wolves, apparently. So when I moved to London, getting Freddy was one of the first things I did for myself. Straight away, I loved him so much.”
My throat tightened unexpectedly. “When he randomly died one day, I was devastated. Like, proper crying-for-days devastated. That’s when Issac… he brought him back. Mainly as a joke, I think.”
Maxwell snorted. “That sounds like how I remember him. Though, obviously, I didn’t know him well,” he added with a quick glance.
“Then Issac died. And now Freddy’s all I have left of him.” I scratched behind his ear. “Issac was my best friend. The first proper friend I had in London, aside from Kit. Maybe the first real friend I ever had.”
Maxwell was quiet for a moment. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“The thing is,” I continued, words tumbling out before I could stop them. “Freddy shouldn’t still be… you know, moving around. When a necromancer dies, everything they’ve reanimated is supposed to die again. Properly, this time.”
I stroked Freddy’s fur, feeling the familiar ridges of bone beneath. “For a long time, I thought that meant Issac was still alive somewhere. But every time I brought it up, everyone at Killigrew Street would get this look, like I was some pathetic kid who couldn’t accept reality. So I just… stopped talking about it. Easier that way, right? Just another thing to bottle up and pretend doesn’t exist.”
The words tingled bitter on my tongue. I forced myself not to think of my brother who refused to talk about Scotland before this car conversation fully descended into impromptu therapy.
My cheeks burned as the realisation hit that I’d now burbled on about myself for the entire duration of the journey. Was this trauma dumping? Was I trauma dumping on my archnemesis?
“Sorry,” I sighed. “You probably didn’t want to hear about all that. If you put on some music, I promise I’ll do my best to shut up.”
His cheek twitched. “What music does Freddy like?”
I wound his tail around my finger. “He’s quite partial to a bit of drum and bass, now that you mention it…”
“Not a chance in hell.”
“But—”
“No,” Maxwell said firmly, though his voice had lost its edge. “Driver picks the music. Shotgun—and their undead rodent—shut their cake holes.”
I gasped dramatically. “FirstStar Wars, and nowSupernatural? Detective Maxwell, you absolute nerd.”
He shifted in his seat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
