Page 12 of The Wolfing Hour
Not her worst thank you.
I stumbled over to my workstation where I’d hung a framed antique mirror the size of a postcard, and dusted Meredith’s dirt out of my lashes. The radio was on, tuned to KLXX, and playing “Knock on Wood” by Amii Stewart. I set the Mictlan mandrake down while I inspected the rest of my face. Her stem wobbled to the beat.
“Cecil?” I called out.
The gnome was nowhere to be seen. He’d been here recently, though, because the humidity levels in the garden room were perfect and water droplets glistened on the soil beneath the rosemary.
Meredith’s pot fit into a small indentation in the dirt so she could extend her roots and draw in nutrients while she breathed in the fresh, invigorating scent of rosemary.
I slid open a dresser drawer beside Cecil’s workstation and inspected the mint. He’d only planted it a few days ago, and it was already frothing over the wooden lip of the drawer. Vibrant green runners ran like veins over the sides and top. We were going to have to watch the bossy little herb to ensure it didn’t try to bully other plants out of their planters.
“Hey, Fennel?”
It was early, so I hadn’t expected the cat to be up and around; he was usually in his bed beneath his namesake until late morning. Now, neither he nor our newly adopted tripod cat Autry were anywhere to be seen.
“Feline of the depths?” I called out tentatively.
It was the name Mary had called him last night and one I was unfamiliar with. I knew others—servant of Bastet, demon of Bakeneko, kin of Dawon, Death’s accomplice—but feline of the depths was new to me. The denizens of the underworld feared cats like Fennel, so it made sense that they’d give them creepy names.
I peeked under the lavender planter, behind another dresser with deep drawers where Cecil had planted carrots and garlic, and deeper into the garden room, where we grew the more dangerous plants, including the active ingredient in a specialized version of homesickness tea: demon-grown belladonna.
“Cecil, Fennel, Autry, where are you?”
“How veryScooby Dooof you,” a low, male voice said.
I whirled around and saw Ronan lounging in the doorway, cradling a cup of something steaming. Probably the sleepy tea blend I’d created for him, since he’d be going to bed soon.
Is there anything sexier than a big strong man holding an itty-bitty teacup?
Probably, but none came to mind now.
“Be right there.”
I peered behind, under, around, and inside my partners’ normal hiding spots and found nothing, so I jogged up to Ronan.
“Have you seen my guys?” I remembered Autry and added, “And gal?”
“Only your gal. Dumped a cup of cat food into her bowl in the kitchen while I brewed my tea. She was napping on the sofa when I left. Haven’t seen the boys.”
“This is worrisome. They usually only drop Autry off with me when they’re up to something they think might be dangerous.”
“So what you’re saying is this happens daily.” Ronan wrapped his free arm around me, pulled me close, and dropped a soft kiss on my lips.
“Pretty much,” I said, grabbing another kiss before sliding out of his hold. “It’s just that they usually include me in their shenanigans.”
“So, is this worry or jealousy?”
“It can be both.” I flicked off the radio and gestured to the door. “Come on. Let’s go in the house and you can tell me why you’re home so late.”
“Technically, I’m early,” he said.
“You didn’t come directly home after your shift.”
“Home.” He rolled the word around in his mouth.
“That’s right. Home. I realize you have one over the pub, too, but that place is missing a key component of your life—me.”
He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes, and it should have. He usually liked it when I said things like that. I knew for a fact that his wolflovedit.
