3. 3

By the end of the next week, Ladybug was regretting every choice she'd made that had led her to her present circumstances.

She had spent the first week after her application was submitted reaching out to her existing client base. Holt had suggested putting out a notice to let them know they would soon be able to buy products in person and pick up their existing orders from her table on Saturdays. She liked that idea. If nothing else, her order queue was steady, and if even half of those clients picked up from the Makers' Mart, it would keep her lonely little table from seeming too pathetic.

"O-okay. I'll do that tomorrow." She'd squared her shoulders, reminding herself of all she'd accomplished on her own that year. "I'll go right down the list and call all of them," she assured him in a steadier voice, "and we'll see what they say."

"Call them?" Holt's voice was horrified. He stared, waiting, and the minute ticked by.

Ladybug shrugged helplessly. What was she supposed to do?!

"What are you planning next, going door to door? This isn't the 90s anymore, people don't just answer the phone. I can't believe I have to explain this to you."

Her neck had been hot, and she knew that her cheeks were likely flushed pink. This was a mistake, a terrible mistake. "What do you suggest I do then?" she asked through gritted teeth.

Holt raised a hand, gesturing as if he were waiting for the punch line of her joke before dropping his head back with a dramatic eye roll.

"Send an email, for pity's sake. It'll take two minutes."

She hadn't wanted to admit to him that she didn't actually have an email address for most of her clients. She still worked on paper, wrote up her invoices and kept her own books in a ledger. Some of her clients were older and likely as technologically challenged as she was herself, without the benefit of an Anzan at home. Ladybug realized with dawning dismay that a table at the Makers' Mart on Saturdays was likely only the beginning of what Holt was going to change.

Hand-written notes were painstakingly written out, asking each of her clients if they would be interested in the opportunity to pick up their orders in person and shop a wider selection of her wares. She included a pre-addressed, stamped card for them to return, after they'd checked off their answer, deciding what Holt didn't know wouldn't hurt either of them.

It wasn't specifically what he had told her to do, but it was mail, and she felt more comfortable knowing what her clients wanted for certain. If she just assumed they would be interested in the opportunity, she would never know if they were visiting her table out of necessity or an actual desire, and the not knowing would eat away at her forever.

To her shock and slight distress, one by one, the pre-stamped postcards were returning with an affirmative. Several women had written little notes of their own.

Looking forward to visiting you at the Makers' Mart!

Can't wait to see what else you bring!

Two cards were returned with the no box ticked, but she knew from their names that they were not the sort who frequented community fairs and picnics, so it was not a surprise, while a third no card had arrived from a werebear who'd included further explanation that she currently worked on Saturdays, but her answer would become a ‘yes' once her rotation changed.

Ladybug was stunned by the response. Elation flooded her as she read the cards over and over again, euphoria quickly giving over to panic, the realization that she would need everything to be perfect taking root and braiding her insides. This was the first time she had expectations to live up to outside of those set by herself or her family. Holt had not said so, but she suspected that she would only have one shot at wowing people. She would need to dazzle her clients, remind them of why they were her clients in the first place, especially if she was specifically inviting them to view her against the competition. You never had to compete at anything before.

She was still humming with excitement when she entered the Food Gryphon later that day. She knew this was likely an insignificant thing, having a table at the Makers' Mart, but to her, it felt mountainous. It was the first real step towards asserting herself she'd made in the year since her dismissal from the coven. She'd made plenty of personal strides of course, Anzan's place at her side being the most dramatic change, but this— this was the first time in her adult life that she was asserting herself as a witch, a serious independent practitioner of the craft, the absence of a coven be damned. What am I, if I'm not a witch?

She was in line, happily clutching her basket full of popcorn to replenish their movie night stores, listening without hearing the two troll women in line before her as they hissed with increasing vitriol about some unknown topic.

"I heard something about an ordinance being passed so it might not be a problem for much longer," the younger of the two spat, casting a venomous glare in her direction, and she'd realized that perhaps she ought to be doing a better job of eavesdropping.

Too dangerous to live in town. Ought to be outlawed. The mayor's office will see to it. Her hands were shaking when she finally fished out her purple earbuds, pressing them into place and letting the soothing monotony of a lecture on the many uses for hellebore mute their ugly words. She focused on the wheels of the corralled carts just ahead of the checkout line with catatonic stillness, letting the outside world drop away.

She was used to being alone. She was used to conversations taking place above her head, but that did not mean she didn't hear. It didn't mean that she did not see the looks cast in her direction, the way heads came together, hands shielding their gossip. She was not inured to the whispers around her, when they bothered to whisper at all, and it was an odd juxtaposition. She wasn't sure if she had ever felt as happy as she currently did, and although she was no longer alone, she had never felt quite as alone.

She remained distracted and out of sorts upon her arrival home, her buoyant mood and happiness over the returned client cards forgotten. This wasn't the first time she'd heard the word ordinance being tossed about. There's an ordinance being passed. Might not be a problem for much longer. The words turned over and over in her mind as she stood at her counter, unable to make sense of them, staring at nothing, work forgotten. That was how he found her.

"Little bug?"

Ladybug jumped, whirling at Anzan's sudden voice. He halted just a few steps into the kitchen, his eyebrows turning down at her reaction and expression alike.

"Is everything alright?"

Ladybug wheezed. "Yes! Yes, everything's fine, you-you just startled me, that's all. But I'm very glad for the visit."

He closed the distance between them, but his gait was hesitant, his dark brows still turned down. "Forgive me, I was intentionally staying quiet so as not to disturb you. I wasn't sure if you were alone . . ."

"It doesn't matter if I'm alone or not," she answered succinctly, reaching up to smooth his brow as two arms encircled her waist. "This is your home, remember? You don't need to hide from Holt. By the way, I have very good news. The weather forecast for the end of the week is positively balmy. We'll be able to take a walk downtown for sure."

He didn't need to know. After all, she didn't know with absolute certainty they were the subject the trolls had been grousing about, didn't know what this talk of ordinances meant, and there was no sense in acting on baseless paranoia. He didn't need to know, and she was not going to hide away in her house.

She had begun insisting, back in the autumn, that he join her on a walk every evening, late, once the streets had quieted. He needed fresh air, she'd argued; he pointed out that he went outside every day.

"The yard doesn't count," she'd insisted, and they'd begun the nightly constitutionals, although she was half convinced he was prepared to go scuttling into the bushes anytime a car passed. They avoided the business district and the branching road packed with bistros and pubs, making their way instead to the waterfall that tumbled over a rocky ledge in the center of town. The towpath was usually deserted that late, and she had gripped his hand steadily each night, holding her chin high until the weather had turned.

She understood the sacrifice it was for him to leave the house in such a way with her. The spider-folk kept to the shadows. They kept to themselves. They did not live amongst others, and if they were forced to, they stayed as hidden as possible. Anzan didn't even like taking out the trash before midnight, waiting until there was no movement from the windows of their neighbors and houses were dark before scuttling down the driveway with his inhuman speed, dragging the bin and the recycling behind him as quickly as he could those weeks when she was not able to slip out and do it in the afternoon without his notice.

"Maybe tonight we can just go up the block, see if it's too cold for you."

"I can already tell it is positively arctic out there," he argued. "You have to at least give me until your spring celebration, unless you want to find my corpse in the garden with my legs curled and frozen. I'll be too heavy for you to move on your own and you'll not likely find a disposal company in town willing to take the risk. You'll have to see me every time you look outside, a decaying boulder covered in hoarfrost, forage for the crows right in the middle of your garden. And then you'll have to contend with the bird droppings. You will not care for the sight of an Araneaen felled by hypothermia, my Ladybug. It is not pleasant to behold."

She was laughing before he'd finished.

"Ridiculous!" she pronounced, shaking against his chest. "Utterly, patently ridiculous."

As she curled next to him that night, happy with his selection of a romantic comedy featuring a suave orc matchmaker determined to avoid love, Ladybug pushed away the unpleasant experience at the Food Gryphon.

They probably weren't even talking about you. You're just paranoid, no one cares that much about you anyway. It's not like you've ever been good at reading people, why do you think you've become an expert all of a sudden? Just forget it happened and focus on getting ready for the Makers' Mart. It was probably all a misunderstanding.

"Explain to me again why I have to do double the work and transfer everything to new bottles?"

Holt rolled his eyes as he stacked the boxes on the table, as if she were a hopeless case, beyond understanding. Maybe she was, Ladybug considered.

"Branding. Professional, cohesive branding. Professionally branded packaging, Elizabeth and that's nonnegotiable. Handwritten labels on canning jars and leftover margarine containers was fine when you were making cold remedies for two or three desperate mothers who didn't know better, but now you are making your debut as a professional witch."

He'd ignored her gasp of shock and sputtered arguments that she had never once used an empty margarine container for anything other than storing leftover soup.

"Once you have everything transferred over we'll have the new logo labels put on. I had my logo guy make something. I've already ordered a tablecloth and then we'll get business cards that lead to your website."

"I-I don't have a website."

His smile had been grim. "Yes, Elizabeth, I know. It's like I've teleported back to 1995 every time I walk through the door. We're going to need to change that. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but it's called junk mail for a reason. So get the thought of slipping hand-illuminated ad circulators being slipped under the rushes out of your pretty little time-warped head."

"Your logo guy," she seethed, almost not recognizing the sound of her own voice.

This was a side of her personality Holt singularly brought out, one she had scarcely realized existed. An argumentative Ladybug who spoke her mind at the exact moment she wanted to, instead of second-guessing herself and her reading of the situation at hand, unsure of what the other person really meant, holding her tongue and replaying the interaction in her head for days.

"Your guy has already finished my logo. Don't you think I should have been consulted at some point for that?"

"Would you have been able to actually make a decision? Given direction? Or would we still be waffling, weeks later?"

Ladybug gasped in outrage, any witty rejoinders abandoning her as Holt shrugged unapologetically, thumbing open his phone. This is not the time to go tongue-tied! You need to tell him off and then show him the door. She cast a glance over her shoulder, hoping she'd catch the fast-moving blur of Anzan whizzing past her to bodily remove Holt from the kitchen, but he was nowhere to be found. A fine time to give up caffeine.

"I didn't think you'd have any objections," he sniffed, holding his phone out to her imperiously. "But by all means, tell me what you think."

She snatched the mobile from his hand, preparing to lambast his totalitarian choice for her, but the words never had a chance to form. The image was black, but not the same jet black the familiar wore from head-to-toe. It had a smokier feel, the pre-dawn sky, dark and impenetrable, but still holding the promise of light. Her throat stuck at the sight of the sigil at the center of the dark field. Three hands — maiden, mother, crone, each of them holding a sacred object. The dagger, the serpent, the key; protection, knowledge, and wisdom.

Her eyes raised to find the same symbol there above the door. The hands and the moon phases above them were leaded, and when the early morning light stretched over the back of the property, her work kitchen was cast in a scatter of rainbows. As the sun made its journey across the sky, hitting the front yard in late afternoon, the rainbow display was replicated on the foyer and the front parlour, from the identical design in the transom above the front door. Witches at work. A variation of a symbol that was as ancient as the moon itself. It had been her family's sigil since the Brackenbridge women first began keeping records of their craft. Their name was there, beneath the three hands, in silvery white letters, reminiscent of the moon herself, with a trail of starlight along their edges.

"It's perfect," she whispered, eyes burning. She hated crying, in front of him especially, but her emotions were all living too perilously close to the surface these days, and she didn't know how to stop the flood.

Holt's hand was slow to extend, taking the phone back. "I'm not here to be an adversary, Elizabeth." His voice was low, a feline purr, buzzing at the back of her neck. "I'm not here to push you out of your own business. I have my own business to run. I'm only here to help."

"Why?" she demanded. "Why are you here to help?"

He avoided her eye as he pocketed the phone with a little shrug. "I think I owe you that much, at the very least."

Ladybug nodded after a moment, agreeing. He was right. It was the very least he could do now, after all he had already done.

"Anyway," he enunciated, looking askance in her direction, "you're going to need a website. We'll work on that once we've nailed the presentation at the market."

"Anzan can take care of that."

Since last Mabon, in addition to home improvement, Anzan had appointed himself in charge of upgrading all of the household electronics, which was why she now had a doorbell that took video and an oven that was synced to the WiFi.

"An-zan," Holt repeated. "I'd wondered what to call him. I suppose he's off spinning a web somewhere?"

This time, Ladybug slapped her hand down on the counter as she sputtered. "You do not get to come waltzing in here, tail in the air, and be rude," she huffed.

Holt threw up his hands, his black leather-clad shoulders shaking in laughter.

"I didn't mean anything by it! But you've barely mentioned him and I've not seen hide nor bristly spider-leg hair of him a single time I've been here since that first day. Forgive me for having an imagination."

His face was a sneer, and Ladybug imagined that if he were in his feline skin, he'd be hissing at her.

"In any case, if he can build you a site, then that's a relief. Let him know you're likely going to need to upgrade your little flip phone as well."

Ladybug resisted the urge to pull out her relatively new smartphone and brandish it at Holt childishly. He left shortly after, leaving her with stacks of cases to open, bottles and jars of various sizes, all identical in style. No time to waste. Queuing up one of her lessons, she opened the first box.

The voice of her old charms professor accompanied the task of transferring her creations into their new glass homes, using an array of scoops and spatulas to complete the job, and by the time the kitchen had grown dim, she was exhausted, realizing she'd never been interrupted from her work.

"He's making me re-label everything," she groused to Anzan that evening. "Everything! I had to put everything in the new jars he ordered, it took the entire day!" She was pretending the shaker of bitter nettle powder was the cat as she shook it vigorously. "And the labels he's having me use, they don't even tell you anything. ‘Contains a proprietary herbal blend. Please contact for more information.' What does that even mean?! What if someone is allergic to something?"

Anzan frowned in concern, pulling the shaker of nettle seasoning from her with one hand and rescuing his soup bowl with another, before she ruined it entirely.

"Correct me if I am wrong, my little bug, but does it not seem wise to prevent others from copying your recipes exactly? Do your clients not disclose their allergies to you? I cannot say I agree with all of this cat man's methods, but that does make sense."

She grumbled to herself, snatching the shaker back and seasoning her own bowl. They were both able to enjoy the same meal, she had discovered, as long as she ladled out her own soup before the blood was added to the broth to finish cooking for his. The sky had possessed the temerity to drop another sprinkling of snow on them, as she'd warned her neighbor it would, but she was itching to resume their nightly walks. For now though, it had been a long day of annoyingly repetitive work, and all she wanted to do was eat her soup and curl up against Anzan's chest as he exclaimed in wonder over a paranormal reality series. She did not need him taking Holt's side.

"Whatever. It seems deceptive to me. It's not the way I've ever done things before."

"But is that not the point of his interference, Ladybug? To do things his way?" He gasped, interrupting himself, spoon frozen between his lips and the bowl, gaping wide-eyed at the screen. "Did you see that?! I think that was a real apparition!"

She sighed heavily, grinning at his choice of using the word interference instead of help. "You do understand there is a whole house of ghosts right next door? Next first quarter we're going to take a walk around to the other side so you can see one of them, up in the tower, right at the window. And I suppose you're right. Holt is the salesman, not me."

Tucking her legs beneath her, she inhaled the steam from her soup bowl. Her back and shoulders were cross with her, but at least it was done. Anzan had not come down to fetch her as he normally did, pulling her away from her work when the kitchen grew dim, and he'd not been in the living room or dining room on the main floor. She'd found him on the staircase, neither climbing up nor descending, as if he were frozen in indecision, until receiving confirmation that Holt had long since departed.

"He's the salesman, but I'm the one who has to mind my clients at the end of the day. I can't let him start cutting corners on anything with my name on it." She hummed contentedly when Anzan got comfortable on his floor cushion, nuzzling her nose to the arm that wrapped around her. "I barely saw you today," she murmured after several quiet minutes. "You never came down for your coffee. You've barely come down all week. I've told you; you don't need to wait until he's gone. This is our home."

It was a long moment before he answered, taking a deep gulp of his dark red broth. His voice, when he finally responded, was somber.

"I do not wish to be in the way, Ladybug. The work you are doing with this cat man is too important for your future. I do not want to be an unwanted distraction."

It was her turn, at long last, to roll her eyes at someone else. Everyone in her life seemed determined to tell her what she ought to be doing, how she ought to be feeling, the best way for her to proceed. She scowled, shaking her head.

"That's silly. You're never in the way and you're my favorite distraction. And honestly, I'm done. I have more product made right now than I'll probably ever be able to sell. Holt has taken care of everything else, all I need to do now is show up." Her stomach bunched at the mere thought. "That's going to be the hard part. He said he ordered a banner, hopefully it's big enough that I'll be able to hide behind it."

Anzan shifted his bowl between hands, tugging her a bit closer with the arm around her and lifting her chin with a free hand, forcing her to meet his many eyes.

"You amaze me with your bravery, every single day, my little bug. You have not allowed the cold shoulders of your witchly adversaries to keep you from observing your moon worship. You have rebuilt the business their cruelty nearly destroyed. And you exist every day beyond your door, even though this world is often difficult to traverse alone, without a brave partner at your side."

"I'm not alone," she corrected weakly. "You're my partner, aren't you?"

They'd not had any sort of ceremony. There was no need. Taking a mate in Araneaen culture was essentially a marriage vow, and there were no additional particulars that needed to be addressed. For her part, it didn't matter. She had never been that little girl dreaming of her wedding day, and it wasn't as if she had any family left to stand witness for her. Who could she call? Jack Hemming? Holt? She didn't need to go through the motions when there was no one there to share in her happiness.

But he'd been making himself scarce, and she'd been so busy, she'd barely taken notice. She could never be busy enough for him to simply slip away on the breeze, exiting her life without a murmur, but she knew that was exactly what he would do if he thought her reputation was at risk because of him.

"I am, my beautiful little witch."

His voice was serious and his face unsmiling, despite his earnest declarations. She grinned for both of them, leaning up to kiss the corner of his sharp jaw. She didn't need him to be anything but what he was, other than to believe that this was his home as well.

"But you are so much braver than I. Do not think I am unaware of the burden my presence beneath your roof is on your standing in the community, my sweet Ladybug." He held up his fourth and only unoccupied hand to stave off her sputtering denial of his words. "You do not need to tell me a pretty fairy tale. I might not be with you in town to hear the things people are undoubtedly saying, but I don't need to be, for I have heard them all before."

Too dangerous to live in town. Ought to be outlawed. "I don't care what Kestra Kittredge or anyone else says," she grumbled angrily, but Anzan's dark chuckle allowed them both to return to their steaming bowls.

"I am sure the fox woman across the street is not the only one, and yet you still leave the house every day and exist in the world. This market has you worried, I know. But you don't need to fret. You are already so much braver than you realize."

She declined the comfort of her bed that night, deciding instead she was much happier pressed to his chest, his long fingers moving through her hair. Tomorrow, as long as Holt didn't have more busywork for her, she would get back to working on her pheromone project. She was close to a breakthrough, she was sure of it. And what better way to celebrate the end of winter than being greeted by that heavy, plummy smell, dark and thick and resinous, announcing the arrival of his heat?

"Tell me again what will happen when you go into heat."

The silver-white moonlight sliced across her torso, highlighting the intricate webbing that held her aloft in the corner of the attic, leaving her head and shoulders concealed in shadow. When he slipped two curved fingers into her already-slick heat, her head dropped back, and she wondered if he could see the thump of blood in her exposed throat.

"I will bite you," he murmured, pressing his lips to her pulse point with ease, answering the unspoken question. "Right here. My venom will be a burning fire within you, and then I will have you, little bug."

The pad of his thumb moved over her clit as his fingers stroked her inner walls. He knew exactly where to rub and press, drawing her climax out of her with an expert precision.

"— over and over again, until you are too weak to continue. And then you will sleep a dreamless sleep, my perfect little reina."

When she clenched around his fingers, her breath wheezed and Anzan hummed in satisfaction, continuing to stroke her until she slumped boneless in his web.

"As you're going to do tonight, I suspect."

He was right. The women of Cambric Creek had no idea what they were missing out on, keeping Araneaens away, for she had slept heavier and deeper that past year — a year of having his quiet companionship, of movies and bickering and laughter and orgasms that turned her mind to mush — than she'd done her entire life.

"That's what I should be making," she murmured sleepily. "Intimacy aids. Araneaen venom creams, for the best sex you've ever had."

Consciousness was already receding, and his laughter was like a black cloud as she was cut free and gathered in his many arms.

"Well, if you ever decide to expand your product line, my little bug, you know where to find your ingredients."

Ladybug wasn't entirely sure when he'd put her to bed.

Only that when she woke to the dim light of the breaking dawn — the chorus of songbirds outside her window in the tulip magnolia a cheerful reminder that spring was, in fact, returning to the world — she was alone once more.

It was only a few days later when she was forced to accept that perhaps her intuition was not as shoddy as she'd half-hoped.

She brought her business license with her on her errands, following Holt's instruction that she needed to submit a copy of it for the city council's records. She was technically able to send them a scanned copy via email, but so far doing things the old-fashioned way worked out in her favor, and she decided to keep up the streak.

"Is that her?"

"I think it is! Can you believe it? She's such an unassuming little thing."

"It's always the quiet ones."

The speakers were two women, on the other side of the paper-thin partition in the City Hall office. Surely they should have realized how their voices might carry. Or perhaps, Ladybug thought, they simply didn't care. The only people in line were her and an aged amphibious couple, their once glossy blue-green skin dull and wrinkled, a testament to lives well-lived, she thought. There was no one else in the office. She was the source of the gossip.

Her skin itched and she shifted uneasily in place, rocking her weight back and forth from heel to toe. She hated this feeling. She never knew when she was the butt of the joke, whether she was being laughed at or laughed with, and her teenage years had taught her that to voice the question only made her sound insecure, which she was, of course.

There was no question in this moment, though — much like the morning in her driveway, with the visual distraction of the speakers removed, she could focus on their words, and there was little chance they were talking about the elderly amphibious couple. Her earbuds were in her bag, and her fingers twitched with the desire to pull them out, to slip them in and allow the repetitive familiar sound of one of her lessons obliterate this uncomfortable moment, but some little shiver of intuition stayed her hand, as a prickle moved up her neck.

Why are they talking about you? You should keep listening.

"Remind me to check in today to see where he is with this ordinance business. I'd never imagine someone like her with some creature like that. Have you ever seen one?"

"Of course not! I don't even like the spiders that get into the house!"

Both women giggled, and her hands balled into fists. Of course. Anzan. She wasn't sure why she'd assumed the gossip about them would have been contained to her street.

"My Rixli is in the anthropology club at the high school, and she said a full grownfull-grown male can be up to fifteen feet tall. Can you believe it?! How does he even fit in her house?"

"That's not the only thing making me wonder how it fits."

The two women devolved into giggles once more. Ladybug was uncertain of their joke, but was angry that she and Anzan were at the center of it at all. Ignorance, plain and simple. To add insult to injury, they didn't even know what they were talking about. Ignorant and factually incorrect, to boot. When standing, he was only maybe a foot taller than an orc or an ogre. Fortunately, her family home was possessed of high ceilings and plenty of space. She had always worried about him banging his head on a beam up in the attic, but these women certainly didn't need to know that. Her skin prickled again as the amphibious couple shuffled to the seats against the side wall. It was her turn to step up to the small window.

Now or never. Are you a mouse, or a witch?

"G-good morning." She tried to keep her voice sunny and light, not that she'd ever managed to master the art of sounding sunny a single time before. "I-I'm here to make a copy of my business license, um, and leave one on file for the Makers' Mart."

She swallowed hard, annoyed at herself for stammering. Authricia would have had these two ninnies cowering in their sensible shoes. Be more like her! She had no idea which of the two speakers now stood before her. Reptilian, her dark green scales fading to blush as they moved down her chin, with a short red bob. She looked like the type that would have a daughter named Rixli, Ladybug decided. Retrieving her form, she slid it beneath the window.

The reptilian woman winced, pulling an apologetic face. "Oh, I'm afraid we won't be able to do that. You can't just make a copy. It has to be notarized as well, dear."

Ladybug blinked. She knew she could have simply scanned the form and emailed it. She'd read that part several times on the website. "Oh, um . . . Are you sure? Because I thought I was able to submit it online as well? And that wouldn't be a notarized copy, so . . . do you think you could double check?"

The smile the woman gave her never touched her jewel-like eyes. "I'm afraid you're mistaken, dear. We won't be able to take this today unless it's notarized." A little shrug, the pretense of helpfulness dropping a bit. "And if you're not on file before the end of the business week, I'm afraid you won't be able to set up a table at this week's market."

They weren't planning on starting the table until the first week of the following month anyway, but her stomach flipped at the thought of all their hard work, all for naught. She didn't want to have to tell Holt she'd mucked up the one thing he'd put her in charge of.

Call Jack.

The voice in her head did not belong to her, but she understood immediately that this was Holt, again. So much for breaking the news to him. She wondered how long he'd been following her, how many days a week he did this. Every time she left the house? Influencing her thoughts, planting ideas in her mind? It was discomfiting to consider . . . but this time, she was inclined to let him.

Do it in front of them.

She was wrong. Her Great Aunt Authricia was a lion, and she could never aspire to even a tenth of Authricia's roar. A cat, though . . . the pettiness of a common garden cat might well be within her wheelhouse, if she allowed that other version of herself, the one Holt seemed to singularly invoke, to take control.

They're not talking about you because of you. They're gossiping about him, about Anzan, and it's likely not anything nice. They can say whatever they want about you, but they don't get to slander him. There was a buzz beneath her skin, like an electrical current, and it churned her blood. Anger she scarcely recognized welled within her. Holding the reptilian woman's eye, Ladybug pulled her phone from her bag, scrolling to Jack Hemming's number, smiling when the receptionist picked up.

"Jack Hemming, please . . . Hi Rhonda," she greeted the longtime personal assistant after the call was transferred, watching the smile completely drop from the reptilian woman's face. "Um, this is Elizabeth Brackenbridge. I-I don't have an appointment, but I needed to get something notarized. Do you think —"

She was cut off by the woman on the other end of the phone, a she-wolf who had worked for Jack since she and Trapp had been at school together.

"Oh, you never need an appointment, dear. You know he'll always make time for you. Whatever you need, bring it on in. If he's not available, I'm authorized as well, I'll have my stamp ready."

"Oh, that's perfect." Ladybug beamed at the women on the other side of the little window at Rhonda's warm response, wishing she'd put the call on speakerphone. That's maybe a bit too far. "I'm just up the street, I'll see you in a few minutes. Thanks, Rhonda."

The pretense of friendliness had dropped completely, and the reptilian woman was scowling as she listened and watched as Ladybug called the most powerful man in town. The Hemmings and the Brackenbridges have always been friends, and they'd all do well to remember it. Perhaps allowing Holt in her head wasn't the worst idea in the world.

"Well, I'll just be taking this," she smiled as serenely as she could, as she pulled her business license back across the counter, "and I'll be back in a few minutes. Jack's office is just up the street."

Her pulse was jumping as she exited City Hall, adrenaline flooding her system, making her want to run pell-mell down Main Street. She was unsurprised when a black cat pulled out of the shadows of the building, falling into step beside her.

"You should've seen the look on her face," Ladybug told him, glad there were no other passersby around to see her conversing with the cat. "Um, thanks for that. I wouldn't have thought to call him."

The cat abruptly turned into an alley they passed, stepping out again in his human skin and falling into step beside her.

"Don't forget you have this card in your back pocket." Holt's voice was uncharacteristically serious. "You really need to start playing it a bit more often. You have the ear of the most influential werewolf in the area, the most powerful man in town, and there is quite literally nothing he would deny you."

She rolled her eyes in response to Holt's words, and he huffed.

"You don't even realize what an asset this is. If you would ask that man for a favor, he would bend himself into a pretzel to make it happen. He's not particularly a fan of mine, however, so I wouldn't go mentioning our current partnership, but . . . Don't forget that Jack is on your side, is all I'm saying."

Ladybug scowled. She didn't like to take advantage of the friendliness between her family and the Hemmings, especially didn't want to exploit the close friendship Jack had shared with her aunt, but Holt was right. Jack managed her money, and while it was rare that she visited the office for any other reason, there had never been a time when he had not gone out of his way to assist her.

"Is there anyone who is a fan of you?" she asked aloud.

Holt only sniffed, dropping back. "Go ahead, I need to get back to the city. You go back to that office and get it done. Don't take no for an answer."

She nodded, raising a hand in parting as the black cat slipped between the buildings, leaving her before the heavy gold door.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Jackson Edmund Hemming the seventh was the most handsome man in the world, she'd thought as a young girl, and now as an adult, several decades later, her opinion remained unchanged. Each of his six sons had inherited his tall, dark good looks, making them some of the most sought-after bachelors in town, although Trapp was the only one she had ever been friendly with. She was briefly acquainted with the younger three, and Trapp's intimidating older brothers had never been in school with them at the same time. Even still, Jack Hemming was the only person in town who didn't make her feel as if she needed to adopt a different personality just to exist in public, who didn't talk over her head, who reminded her that she was, in fact, a vital member of the community.

"Rhonda is notarizing my business license. Well, a copy of it. I–I'm going to have a table at the Makers' Mart. Or at least, I'm trying to."

She grinned, feeling warmed under the weight of his blistering, bright white smile.

"I am thrilled to hear that. Diversify. Increase your funnels without changing your workflow. Business is good, then?"

Ladybug nodded. "It has been. Well, it's picked up, I guess I should say. It'll probably never be what it was, but I suppose I can't expect it to be, now that I'm working alone." She hesitated, unsure if she wanted to keep talking now that she was here. No. Holt's right. Jack in your corner is an asset. "I–I wanted to talk to you about something. Some of my neighbors . . . Jack, they've been talking. They're all talking, I think, not just the neighbors. Even just now at City Hall . . . I suppose that's their right, but —"

"Do you know what a scandal it was when your mother came back to Cambric Creek?"

Ladybug sucked in a breath. Her face had steadily heated as she spoke, a sure sign that her tremulous emotions were in danger of bubbling over like a cauldron forgotten over the fire. She was grateful for the interruption and the redirection of her thoughts.

"M-my mother?"

"Unmarried, pregnant, college dropout. People couldn't stop talking about how Laurel was taking advantage of her poor old aunt, how Authricia was simply a bighearted pushover for taking her in. Which just goes to show how little they knew Authricia."

Ladybug laughed, as the thought of her great-aunt being anyone's pushover was comical.

"But it was the scandal of the moment and people in the neighborhood couldn't get enough. There's a reason Sandi and I built our house practically on the other side of town. I don't even know what my neighbor does for a living. Well, I do, but that's incidental. He and I are friendly, but we're not friends. We're not chatting about the family across the street over the hedge every evening. I don't care how he lives his life, and I'm assuming he doesn't care about mine. And if he does, well, I don't care about that either."

He paused, steepling his fingers to give her an appraising look. Ladybug fidgeted beneath the scrutiny, wishing she'd bothered taming her hair before leaving the house.

"Jack, they're talking about passing ordinances. What's going to happen if they make him leave?" she asked in a trembling voice, not realizing it was even a possibility until that day. "My-my house . . . I can't sell my house. I don't even know where we could go if I did!"

They would put up a fight, but if Anzan was forced to leave, she would go with him. She wouldn't let him be cast out alone, not again. Not when she knew the bitter sting of what that felt like.

"My clients and my house . . . the garden. What will happen to the —"

"Elizabeth."

She felt winded as he cut off her panic, halting her spiral with a ring of authority in his deep voice. You have the ear of the most powerful man in town, and there is quite literally nothing he would deny you. Holt was right. This was a card she couldn't forget to play.

"I know all about what they're saying, what they think they're planning. That's not going to happen. I can promise you that."

"But what if —"

Jack leaned forward on his elbows, shaking his head with a smile. "They'll have to run my whole family out of town first, Elizabeth. Jackson's going to be mayor soon. Not what I wanted for him, but he's picked it himself. Owen is on the board of commissioners. If I go home and tell Sandi they're denying you a table at the market, she'll march into the community center on Monday morning and dismantle the whole program. Nothing is going to happen."

She needed to stop being stubborn and listen to every treacherous thing that Holt told her. He was right, and she couldn't afford not to.

"Oldetowne has been this way forever," Jack went on with a shrug. "Half the folks working in Ansleth's office are from the old neighborhood, and the other half just want to be spectators. You don't need to put any stock in it. They're small people with boring lives who spend too much time fixating on what the neighbors are doing."

Her chest felt tight, but she nodded. He was right.

"But what will happen if they try?" Her voice was barely a whisper, the thought too terrible to contemplate.

On the other side of the desk, Jack Hemming grinned with casual disdain. "Then you're going to sue the city. Gray already knows what's going on. Maybe we ought to set you up with a meeting together, for your peace of mind, if nothing else. Actually, that's a good idea . . ." He leaned forward, tapping his computer screen to life. "I'm going to send him a schedule tap right now. He probably won't be able to squeeze you in this month, but let's see . . ."

Ladybug gulped. Grayson was Jack's most terrifying son. Several years older than her and Trapp, a lawyer for the Werewolf Defense League, hard and huge and completely intimidating. You shouldn't have said anything at all.

"Don't worry, we'll do it here," Jack added, as if he were reading her thoughts. Because you probably look as if you're about to cry. "And I promise I'll feed him beforehand, that will improve his mood exponentially. But the point is, I don't want you to worry. Nothing is going to come of this. Ansleth doesn't want to work that hard his last few months in office, and if he tries, the last thing he'll see on his way out the door is my foot. I don't want you to worry about it, Elizabeth, not at all. Don't let them make you take your eye off the ball."

She nodded again. Don't worry. Don't panic. Let Jack take care of things.

"Sixty?" he asked suddenly, catching her off guard. "Willow and your mother. They would be sixty this year." He'd blown out a hard breath when she'd nodded, not trusting her voice to remain steady. "That doesn't seem possible. Seems like yesterday I was taking Willow to the Collegium's ball. The only thing certain in this world is that we all keep getting older."

Her eyes had pricked with tears when he rose from his desk as she gathered her bag to leave a short while later. "I'm not going to hide, Jack," she'd said from the door, pausing as he came around the desk. "I'm not going to hide him away in my house like we're doing something wrong. Even if people think they're violent, which, by the way, is ridiculous, he's the only male Araneaen in the area. There's no danger having him here."

Jack Hemming graced her with the first smile that had lifted his mouth since she'd told him about the Makers' Mart.

"Good girl. Like I said, there's nothing for you to worry about. You don't need to hide anything. I'll tell you what we'll do, let's redirect their interest for a few weeks. Get your new business endeavor off the ground without distraction. Ansleth isn't going to be in that office for long, Elizabeth. You just need to keep your head above water and tune out the rest until then. Let me worry about City Hall. And I want you to promise me that you're going to get up every day and leave your house remembering who you are. Your mother was a strong witch. She didn't give a shit about the neighbors either."

Ladybug laughed, nodding again as she self-consciously wiped away the tears that were burning in her eyes at the mention of her mother, at the significance of his words. If the gossip had already reached Jack's isolated tower, if he knew about the talk of proposed ordinances and had already brought the issue to his son, it meant it was serious, and that people were talking about her everywhere.

"You're right. Of course, you're right about everything. I–I promise I won't forget that."

Ladybug paused outside the building, sucking in a bracing breath of the cool air. Taking a moment to sit on the bench just off the sidewalk, she fished out her earbuds.

Shortly after their relationship had changed from that of border and landlord, Anzan had transferred all of her old lecture recordings to digital files, mumbling that it was like she lived in the dark ages as he uploaded all of them onto a single playlist that she was able to access from any of her devices. She appreciated the gesture more than she could say, thrilled to be able to bring her most soothing aural companions with her wherever she went, slipping her purple earbuds in whenever she felt particularly overwhelmed by the world outside her door. The familiar lessons on herbology and blending gave every situation a softer edge and lowered her heart rate. Scrolling to the track she wanted to hear, she closed her eyes.

"They will call you many things, my dears."

Even though she was expecting it, Ladybug still jumped at the sound of her aunt's voice. Authricia had always been able to command a room with little more than her contralto voice, deep and booming and steadfast. It was little wonder she had been the high crone for as long as she was.

"They will call you a hedge witch if you toil in a garden, if herbs and bark are your tools, if plants speak to you the way crystals speak to the sister beside you. They will call you a kitchen witch if you weave your magic through soups and teas, with spices for healing."

Jack Hemming was right about the way memories could be perceived. Her eyes burned again, remembering the day this had been recorded as if it were last week. She had been no more than twelve or fourteen, awkward and ungainly, sitting at the back of the room of older girls.

"They will call you a lunar witch if you draw down the moon and bottle her power. A hearth witch if your wand is a set of knitting needles."

A group of high school-aged girls were going to be advancing to the junior coven, out of the juvenile ranks, practically women. She hadn't belonged there, she was far too young and far too awkward, but Authricia always used her in such a capacity. An assistant in her lessons, chosen over one of the older girls or the more privileged girls, over one of the girls who sparkled and beguiled. It had been torturous at the time, but Ladybug understood now that it had been her aunt's way of showing her off, showing how capable she was at such a young age, forcing her into her power. All she had wanted was to hide away, but now looking back, there was very little she wouldn't be willing to do to steal back even one of those moments with her family.

"They will call you many things, but there is only one title that matters, my dear ones. It matters not where your specialty lies. The title you will wear for the rest of your days is sister. You step forth this day as a part of this ancient sisterhood, a power that lives in your bones, passed down from your mothers and all the mothers that came before."

Your mother was a strong witch, and she didn't give a shit about the neighbors either.

"No matter where you go or how isolated you may feel, no matter if your coven is large and well-funded or if you are forced to practice alone, I bid you to hold your head high, sisters. A witch does not walk to the noose with a lowered head and shame in her heart, for she walks with her sisters beside her. From this day forward, your heart beats in time with all those who came before you, and yours will beat with all those who come after."

Ladybug wiped away her tears, sick and tired of crying. Tired of being afraid, of having this nameless worry hanging over her indefinitely. Her mother had been a strong witch, and she was her mother's daughter. She was the descendent of a family of strong witches, and she didn't care what people said. She was going to show them all what a Brackenbridge witch could do.

The City Hall office was even more crowded upon her return, even more people who would stop and gape, but she didn't care. She retook her place in the line with her chin high, Authricia's voice booming in her mind.

Women like her had for centuries been put to the pyre, had been hanged and drowned. If this was her noose, Ladybug decided, as she passed the notarized copy of her business license under the window, staring coolly back at the reptilian woman on the other side, she would keep her head held high. This was her home. She was a Brackenbridge witch, and Anzan was the partner she had chosen. It was their home together, and they were not going to run away.

When the Cambric Creek Gazette was delivered a few days later, the gossip column was full of several tawdry tales from Oldetowne, but there was no mention at all of her, or of Anzan.

Stolen artwork spotted hanging on the wall of a Pear Street home, the same painting that had been reported stolen late last year from a house only a block away, the family returning from holiday to find their valuables mysteriously burgled. The owner of the house on Pear Street was, conveniently, the house-sitter's aunt. Then there was a rumor of impropriety in the handling of funds in the estate of a recently departed werebear, the matriarch's children hiding money from each other, and some tosh about the Dragonborn who'd caused the water main break on Main Street being under the influence of illegal substances obtained from an Oldetowne house party.

She had no idea how Jack had managed it, but for the next two weeks, her house might have been invisible, for all the attention they were paid. Perfect timing, at that.

Every minute since that afternoon had been a flurry of work, pulling out recipes for things she'd never made for anyone but herself, consulting the family grimoire, left to her when Authricia died, overcome with emotion whenever she came across notes in her mother's handwriting. Witches at work.

Each day, she began working shortly after dawn, continuing some evenings until the kitchen was too dim to work, realizing belatedly she'd never taken a break and hadn't seen Anzan all day. A necessary sacrifice, she reminded her tired bones and sore back. It was not enough to only bring the beauty items: the soaps and lotions and salves. She was a Brackenbridge witch, a name to live up to, and she would show the people of Cambric Creek what they could do. Especially everyone who's been gossiping about you.

The following morning, Ladybug decided to let her kitchen rest. She had been neglecting her paperwork, deciding that the crisp, sunny morning was the perfect time to sit in the little rounded room off the foyer and catch up on her invoicing. Because after all, this entire month of work might turn out to be a colossal waste of time, and then you'll be behind on everything. And when you're finished, maybe you can make a catch of the clementine possets for Anzan.

Ladybug looked up from the little secretary's desk where she did her billing, frowning at the sound of voices outside the window, breaking her concentration. Voices outside were not an uncommon thing, but these voices sounded particularly close. Close and argumentative. Argumentative and not entirely unfamiliar.

"I don't think I'm following, Millie. What about your grandchildren? Congratulations on having them, I guess? I don't particularly like kids, so I don't know why you're telling me this. Do you mean your grandchildren aren't old enough to know whose property they're on? Because that sounds like they're too young to be left unattended, in that case."

Ladybug rose from her chair at Holt's sharply spoken words. They were down to the wire now, the end of the week here at last, the culmination of all her work. Jack was right — a distraction was the very last thing she needed just then. She could hear the voice of Millie Tonguegrass, one of the most voracious gossips at the community center, at City Hall, and around the streets of Oldetowne. The reprieve the gossip column had provided had lasted a few weeks, but apparently the goodwill had reached its expiration.

"So they are old enough to understand that this is not their yard. So I presume they are old enough to understand the concept of trespassing. Do you, Millie? Do you understand what trespassing means? Because I'm not sure why you're so worried about the safety of your grandchildren in our yard. I assure you, we have no interest in inviting them. It seems to me that rather than concern yourself with the goings-on of this house, you ought to have a conversation with your daughter about her kids. Have a nice fucking day."

She got to the front door just in time to see Holt stalking up the driveway, leaving Millie gaping on the sidewalk. Ladybug hurried around the foyer, into the parlour, following his dark hair as it moved past the windows. He was going around to the garden, she realized, spinning on her heel to meet him in the kitchen.

Holt's expression as he came through the garden door would have been mollifying at any other time.

"When have you been sleeping?!" He gestured to the stacks of boxes, each case filled with product in the new containers, labeled and wiped clean. "You do understand this is a little six foot table, right? One day a week? Not an entire storefront of shelves and tables you need to stock?"

"I am very uninterested in your opinion right now," Ladybug huffed, gesturing beyond him. "What was that?! Out on the lawn? Millie Tonguegrass?"

He made a motion with his hand, batting away her question like it was a gnat. "A self-important old biddy with no concept of boundaries and whether or not the neighbors are at all interested in her bad opinions. I've already forgotten about it."

He helped himself to one of the small clementine oranges in the bowl on the table. They were Anzan's favorite, she had discovered, keeping them in ready supply in the house the moments they'd come into season. She was a bit sad that their time in bloom was coming to an end, deciding she would do her best to freeze several bags worth for him, in addition to the planned possets.

"Our yard," she pointed out. "Curious wording you used out there. ‘Our yard,' you called it."

"What would you have liked me to call it?" he sniffed. "I specified yard. I don't recall ever seeing you sleeping in the garden."

At that, Ladybug laughed. "Holt, you really are the worst familiar. But, um, I know we've not had this conversation formally, but I-I don't want you. I mean, I don't want a familiar. I-I mean, that is . . . I don't mean to cause offense," she stammered, cheeks on fire. Why did you say anything at all? "I truly am grateful for the help you're giving me right now, even if, as you said yourself, it's the very least you can do for being a back-stabbing betrayer of the most heinous kind. I respect the relationship you had with my aunt, but —"

"Elizabeth."

His voice was flat, cutting her off, and she sucked in a great, whooshing breath, the first she'd taken since she began voicing the ill-formed thought. Holt rolled his eyes. It was a long moment before he spoke, and she felt as if he had her dangling from tenterhooks with every second that ticked by in silence.

"I am currently a free agent," he sniffed at last, casting her with a distasteful look.

Great. Now you've gone and hurt his feelings."I only meant . . . if you meet someone and you have a connection with them —"

"Did you know Bethany decided to leave the craft?" he interrupted sharply. At her nod, he shrugged lightly. "I've not been reassigned. I'm rather enjoying the time off, to be quite honest. Running my business, attempting to have a relationship, meeting witches hither and yon. I don't have time to teach you how to use the internet and entertain the upstairs out-of-towner. Although, it doesn't seem as if your spidery friend makes himself much of a presence, does he? Regardless of whether you think you want a familiar or not, had the Fates dealt us a different hand, I would have been in your life in a much different capacity, little Ladybug. And just because you don't think you want a familiar at the present moment does not mean that might soon change. Am I ever going to be allowed to meet him officially?"

"I won't be changing my mind," she said, hoping he heard the note of finality in her voice. "And Anzan should be coming down for his coffee any minute now."

Ladybug raised her eyes to the side wall, as if making eye contact with the coffee machine would serve to magically summon Anzan into the kitchen. The coffee machine that was not on the counter, her eyes locking on the empty space where it should be. Like a puzzle slotting together in her mind, she considered how many days had passed since she was able to work without seeing Anzan at all, all the while convincing itself it was her imagination. She gasped. Holt raised his eyebrows as she flung down the pen she'd still gripped, spinning on her heel and practically stomping to the side staircase that led up to the attic.

Anzan's eyes were terrifyingly keen, the smaller orbs on the side of his head serving to extend his peripheral vision a full 180°, but his hearing was only slightly better than that of the average human. He would feel the vibration in his webs, he explained to her once, but that was only if he happened to be near them at the time and not engrossed in his work, as he was the moment she came bursting into his attic office, breathing hard, her fists balled at her sides.

The offending coffee machine was there, on the counter of his small kitchenette. Ladybug had no idea exactly when he'd relocated it, she realized. It could have been at any point in the previous two weeks. She didn't know why she had ever suggested him removing it from her work kitchen, cursing her clumsy tongue for ever giving him the idea. It was not merely her sensitivity or an over-active imagination that had made it seem like Anzan was pulling back from her. It was exactly what he had been doing, and she'd been too preoccupied to stop him.

At her entrance, Anzan turned sharply away from his collection of screens. The possession of four hands and multiple eyes meant he was able to engage in double the work, something she found dizzying to contemplate, and even as he looked sharply over his shoulder as she burst through the door, two of his hands never stopped typing.

"Little bug?" The realization that something might be seriously wrong seemed to occur to him a beat later, concern entering his voice. "What is it? Are you alright? Has something happened?"

"No, I am not alright." Ladybug shook her head, pointing accusingly at the coffee machine. "What is that? Why is that up here? I thought I told you that you weren't in the way!"

He had the grace to look contrite. "Little bug, I did not mean to —"

"No, you did exactly as you meant to do. I'm not a child, you know. I might not always understand other people very well, but I know my own mind. I know my own mind, and I know you've been pulling back from me, even though I asked you not to do so. So that must mean you want to do so. Is that it?"

She was sick to death of crying. She had cried more in the past few weeks than she had in the previous several months. She was feeling entirely overwhelmed — a constant ebb and flow of anxiety and excitement and guilt and terror, and fury over the way those two busybodies at City Hall had talked about them so openly, and her neighbors, this wretched ordinance, the real possibility that even Jack Hemming's influence might not be enough to protect them . . . and the tide of her emotions was ever rising. She had tasted the salt of her tears too many times in the past month and she was sick of it.

Anzan looked horrified at her words, his many legs gathering beneath him to push up, moving over themselves in a blur as he crossed the room to her in the blink of an eye. "My Ladybug, I would never . . . I did not seek to hurt you, my little witch. But . . . you are far too precious to me to allow my presence to hinder you in any way. Especially now, when you are improving your business."

"You are the one who told me I was being ridiculous! You encouraged this! I never would have suggested it if I'd known you were going to use it as an excuse to disappear."

His voice was solemn, and she imagined that he likely thought himself noble in that moment as he continued. "It would be best if I left. It will halt the ire of your neighbors and allow your new business venture to flourish. You do not need my shadow darkening your future. If loving you from afar is all I am able to do, my Ladybug, I will gladly do it."

"That is the opposite of what I said I wanted!" she bellowed, silencing him at last.

Ladybug sucked in a ragged breath, reaching out to grip the counter, the urge to smash the offending coffee pot bubbling within her. Calm down. This isn't you. This is beneath you. Another slow breath. Maybe the voice in her head was wrong, she considered for the first time. Maybe this wasn't some latent effect of having Holt nearby at all. Maybe this was her true personality, like a slow-blooming corpse flower, taking more than thirty years for a vein of anger to tap her root, finally forcing her petals to open. Good. Maybe my stink will knock out half the town.

"I am," she began in a calmer voice, "so tired of being told what I should do and how I should feel. You know I never experienced that much growing up. I was never told my feelings were wrong. My mother and my aunts never told me I shouldn't be timid or that I was silly for being afraid of speaking in front of crowds or that I was ridiculous for being anxious at trying new things. But now I'm surrounded by men and suddenly everyone knows what's best for me."

Before her, Anzan looked stricken. The expression on his handsome face—narrowed eyes and scrunched forehead, his lips pulled down in a frown—was one he'd worn for the better part of the last month or so, she realized. She considered, watching his long, talon-tipped fingers twist, a nervous gesture not dissimilar to what she herself often did, that certain communication breakdowns that should probably be expected, considering she was an introvert possessing no conversation skill to speak of who spent the last several years with only herself for company, and Anzan, who had lived isolated and alone his entire adulthood and was silent the majority of the time. He's been just as worried, just as affected by all this. He's told you a dozen times before he knows people are talking, and you've dismissed him. You're not any better at this than he is.

Almost immediately, the fight leaked out of her. She closed the distance between them, relieved when his arms quickly opened for her, sagging against him like a deflated balloon. Her eyes fluttered closed at the familiar shiver of his talon-tipped nails slowly raking through her hair. We're going to be fine. We need to actually talk once in a while, but we're going to be fine. No one is making us go anywhere.

"I heard what the Tongues-of-grass woman said this morning," he murmured above her. "To the cat man. The concern of your neighbors is not something you should overlook. I do not wish to bring dishonor to your home, little bug."

The heaviness of his voice made her heart clench. She hated Millie Tonguegrass for making him sound so sad. Millie and Kestra and everyone at City Hall.

"There is something you should know," he went on, sounding wretched. "I did not mean to keep this from you, Ladybug, but I did not want to distract you when you were so busy with your work. The government of your town, here . . . they have a plan to ensure my kind will no longer be a danger to their streets."

The ordinance.Ladybug pulled back sharply, blinking as she looked up to him. Ironic that the secret weighing heavily on him was the same that had occupied her thoughts for the past two weeks. She had decided not to tell him about her visit to Jack's office. There was nothing they could do, and she'd decided the werewolf was right — let him handle it. Anzan didn't need to be made to worry. But he has been worrying. He's told you so. You live in the same house, you both work from home. How is it possible that you communicate so poorly? "How do you know about that?"

"That does not make a difference," he said cagily, somehow managing to avoid her eyes, despite him having a preponderance of his own. "It is the truth. I am certain if you were to ask your werewolf friend, he would be able to tell you."

"I don't need to ask him," she admitted. They were both ridiculous. "I already did. He knows all about it. And-and so do I. I didn't want to worry you . . ."

Two hands landed at her shoulders, pulling her back, while a third gripped her chin, raising her face. "It is not myself I worry over, little bug. My presence is a blight on your reputation, at a time when you are trying to expand your business, and you do not need me to hold you back. I have known this truth for some time and have not been brave enough to act on it, but we have reached the point no return, I fear. This is your home, my Ladybug. I will not have you bear reprisals for me. It would be best for me to leave."

"Are you my partner, or are you not?" she asked after a moment, wanting to reach up and smooth his furrowed brow. "You call me your mate, but-but I don't know what that means. You say it's your job to take care of me, to make me happy, to fight for me . . . but what about us?"

Arms came around her, and she let him lift her to the countertop, bringing them slightly closer to being eye-to-eye.

"Little bug, I do not—"

"Are you willing to fight for us?" she went on. "Or only for me? Because I don't need a protector. I don't need someone to fight for me. But I want a partner to fight for us. Why do you think I make you take walks with me in the evening? I want you to be able to come with me to the spring festival and walk down Main Street and hold my hand and not care what anyone else is saying. I don't care about the neighbors. Do you know," she went on, feeling the simmer coming back to her blood, "that I've been a scandal in this town since I was born?"

Anzan made a rumbling noise of disagreement, but Ladybug nodded vigorously.

"No, it's true." She had been thinking about Jack's story off and on for the last two weeks, thinking of her mother and her aunt, and how things must have once been. "That's what it was when my mother came here to have me. A scandal. The neighbors all talked. They couldn't understand how my great-aunt was simply okay with taking in an unwed pregnant college student that wasn't even her own child."

She had no doubt that Aunt Authricia had always been a force to be reckoned with, but Ladybug wondered now, how much of Authricia's bark had been developed to protect the family? To keep the witches behind their doors safe and secure? Her mother had never suffered fools either. Ladybug knew she was more like soft-spoken Willow, but even Willow had been strong in her way. She was sweet and kind and patient, but she stood up for what was right, and protected her awkward niece from the harsher personalities in the coven.

"But she came here to have me because this is where we belong. It didn't matter if this isn't the house she grew up in, or if my grandmother was still alive. It didn't matter because we are Brackenbridge witches and this is our home. When Willow got sick, of course this is where she came. When my mother died, I had a home to come to, because I am a Brackenbridge witch. We don't care what people say about us," she continued in a steadier voice, "and they have always said things about us. But this is our home. This is where we belong. I will not be made to feel unwelcome or unwanted in the place that is my home. And now it's your home as well, so you shouldn't care either."

His face was stricken, eyes blinking in a wave. "Little bug —"

"I'm sorry that you never had that," she pushed on. "I'm so sorry that was taken from you, that you never had that security. I think I'm always going to be angry over what my coven did to me, but I am furious over what happened to you, and I will be forever. I hate that you went through that at all, and I especially hate that you went through it alone."

He had a hand at her hip, a hand around her shoulders, and as she finished speaking, another came up to cup her face, long claw carefully tracing the apple of her cheek. Ladybug closed her eyes, turning her face until she was able to press a kiss to the center of his palm.

"I'm not alone anymore, my little witch."

Alone together. She hadn't felt truly alone since the day she'd opened the door to find him on the other side, the most fortuitous day of her life. Ladybug wriggled out of his many-handed grasp, pressing herself to his front until she could wrap her arms around his neck. She had changed this past year. She was still herself, still as awkward and terrible with people as she'd ever been, but she was happy with the thread the Fates had dealt her for this new chapter of her life. What was she, if she was not a witch? What was she, if she was not a spider's mate?

"You're not," she agreed. "So fight for us with me. I know you think I'm the brave one, but I can't do this without you. I want you to bring your goddess damned coffee machine downstairs, and I want you to come down sixteen times a day to get your caffeine fix like you always did. Understand? Tonight we're going for our walk, and I don't ever want you to assume that I don't want you around again. You're not going anywhere."

Holt was sitting on the edge of the counter when they returned to the kitchen, his eyebrows raised expectantly.

She had long wondered what her family would've thought of him. What they would have said, how they would have greeted him. She could imagine Willow bustling about, making tea, and her mother talking with him in her friendly, professional voice, the same one she'd used at the hospital, to set him at ease. Authricia was blunt and forthright and would have asked him pointed questions about his intentions and his plans for longevity in her niece's life. She had imagined and envisioned those would-be introductions over and over in her head, but somehow, she had never imagined this.

Ladybug cleared her throat. The day she had opened the garden door for Holt, Anzan had stood behind her until she and Holt had made their agreement, and the black cat left the kitchen shortly after with his tail held high. Anzan had made himself scarce since. This is overdue. For this you don't have anyone to blame but yourself.

"Anzan . . . this is Holt. He-he's been a part of my family since I was a little girl." Her neck flushed and her eyes burned, met by the green fire in Holt's but she refused to cry. "He was my Aunt Willow's familiar, and he's been very helpful getting me ready for the Makers' Mart."

She paused, taking a deep breath. This was the first time she was introducing him to anyone at all, she realized. Her little broken family was gone, and the only scrap of it she had left was the feline man before her. It was appropriate that Holt be the recipient of this first introduction. "Holt, this is Anzan." My mate. His bride. "My partner."

Holt slid off the counter. Even in his man skin, he moved like a cat. Careful and graceful, always with the edge of threat.

"It's nice to finally make your acquaintance," Holt purred, extending a hand. It hung in the air for the space of a heartbeat, before one of Anzan's hands met it. "I'll admit, I was rather surprised to discover you here, but I can't say it was an unhappy revelation. Our Elizabeth has been alone for too long."

"And where were you, exactly? In those years that she was alone?"

Ladybug turned, aghast. She remembered, too late, that Anzan had a bone deep dislike of authority, and that while he was obsequious and deferential to her, his tongue was sharp. You literally just asked him to fight with you. What did you expect?

Holt, for his part, did not seem unduly perturbed. "A rather delicate situation, that. You see, I was bound to my witch until relatively recently, and it wouldn't have been appropriate to be fraternizing outside of our magical relationship with another. And in any case, I was banished from this house, for quite a while. Residual energy does linger, even when spells are revoked. I'm quite happy that she and I caught up now."

"And why is that, I wonder?"

Ladybug closed her eyes. She didn't know why she thought this was going to be easy. Both men had a propensity for prickliness and sarcasm.

"Because I have promises to keep, boy." Sure enough, Holt's voice was just as sharp, uncowed by the Araneaen's size. "Promises I intend on keeping regardless of their cost. And what of you, spider man? Your sort isn't typically found in towns like this, are you? Very cozy little set-up you've found yourself here. I suppose she was an easy mark, is that it?"

"That's enough," Ladybug snapped, stepping between the two men, glaring at Holt.

The familiar only laughed. "Oh, I see the way it is. He's allowed to pick at my motivations, but I cannot do the same. Favoritism. I understand, Elizabeth. Fine, then." He turned his attention back to Anzan, hopping gracefully back onto the counter. "Do you know," Holt began again, his voice light, "I don't believe I've ever been personally acquainted with an Araneaen."

"There are more than twelve million of us around the world," Anzan responded stonily. "I don't think that means anything other than the fact that you're not as well-traveled as you would perhaps like others to believe."

Holt's sharp-edged smile was as gleaming and threatening as a knife, the one she could remember seeing a million times before. "Hmh . . . maybe so. Twelve million . . . what's your story, then, spider boy? Twelve million of your fellows out there, and somehow you wound up here in this house, of all places. Isn't that fortuitous. How did you even wind up in Cambric Creek?"

"All the witches in the world," Anzan countered steadily, "and yet this is the door you decided to scratch at. Despite the residual energy of having already been banished. I'm not sure if fortuitous is the word I'd use. So why don't you tell me your story, cat man, and perhaps I shall tell you mine."

Ladybug gave up, ignoring both men to fetch herself a piece of fruit from the bowl. Best to let them snipe at each other until they're tired and give up. Anzan's voice was measured, and he had not moved. He cut an imposing figure, while Holt lounged against the countertop as if he were boneless, but she knew bulk did not matter here. Don't let him intimidate you, but don't challenge him.

There was a small smile playing at the corners of Holt's mouth, quivering as if he were trying and failing to hold it back. "Very well," purred with a small shrug, smile twitching again. His sharp green eyes seemed lit from within, and that too, was familiar. "I am an imp. Or at least, I was. You know of my kind, Araneaen?"

Anzan did not flinch. "You are from beyond the veil. A fae creature. From the otherworld."

"Yes, that's right," Holt agreed, the corners of his mouth turning up in a slight smile as he slid off the countertop again and began to slink around the kitchen. "But I am that no longer. Even so, my brethren and I are still highly regulated in this realm. It was a wise woman who first thought to call forth an imp to be her magical companion. I was the first of my kind to be brought through the flames in such a way. She called for me and I was compelled to respond."

Ladybug watched Anzan's brow's smooth out as Holt spoke, his hard jaw slackening. He was a sucker for a good story, and Holt was nothing if not a captivating showman.

"I stepped through the flames to her from the other side, and I came out as a white kittling, as small as her shoe and as helpless as a babe. As she gathered me into her arms, she pronounced me Holt."

His voice reverberated as he said his name, rippling with ancient magic, and Ladybug shivered. She could hear the echo of the old crone's voice, giving him a name, giving him power for the first time in this realm.

"I relied on her for sustenance, for attention, for everything. She became my whole world. I assisted her and she kept me like a pet, and that is how it went. Until the hunters came. They called her Witch."

Another ripple of that old magic, something moving within her, a vibration in her very blood, something she felt down to her marrow.

"And so she had a name as well, something for me to call her. When the witch hunter came, he picked me up by the scruff of the neck, and named me demon, casting me back into the fire."

Anzan did not blink. Ladybug wasn't sure if he was even breathing. We might never need to watch a movie again. All he needs is Holt to tell him some dramatic story. All that's missing is the popcorn.

"But I did not die that night. For I still heard her calling for me, that witch who had called me forth, my mother in this realm, who provided me sustenance and kept me at her side. I could see her there in the flames, being dragged away, tied to a chair, and still, she called for me by name. I was bound to her in that half-life, and I was bound to her still. I stepped back through the fire."

Holt paused for maximum effect. Ladybug knew this story well. It was not embellished or fabricated, there was no need. Authricia said that's where Holt's power came from — twice born of the flames, loyal to his witch until the end.

"My fur was scorched black from the flames, but I was a defenseless kittling no longer. I went back to my witch. And when she was put to the flame herself, I walked beside her to ensure she knew the path home to the dark mother."

Another pause. A note of manic conviction had entered his voice, the zeal that could only come from one who had devoted their life to the craft. She did not know Holt well, despite the years he had spent in her life, and she knew he was not entirely trustworthy, but Ladybug knew there was no question of his devotion to the craft, to the relationship he had with the witches he had served. Anzan's eyes were wide and round, and he was held just as tightly in Holt's thrall.

"That was in the old country, of course. Here, witches were not burned. Here, we walked to the noose, with our heads high. And that has been my life in this realm. Bound to one witch after another. I have served many. And then one day, the dark mother bade me to look into the flames to See, and I saw her there."

Ladybug could not breathe. She knew he spoke of Willow, and even though this was a time from before she was even born, this, too, felt as if she were watching it through the windows of a dollhouse, watching them act out the past as clearly as if they really were in a movie.

"I recognized her blood and I heard it calling to me. My witch was calling me home. I followed the sound of her voice and it brought me to this place, and the dark mother was here. Our triple goddess in all of her aspects — maiden, mother, crone, living together here beneath this roof. And they did such amazing magic together here."

His green feline eyes met hers, a buzz against her skin, the fruit bowl shaking on the table before her.

"And that is why I am back, Araneaen. I have promises to keep. The day is coming when I shall likely be cast back through the flames, back to my own realm, but it will not matter. For I have known what true magic is. I have known the power of the coven, and I shall see it again. I have known my dark mother. They call her witch, and I will stay at her side until I am called home."

The silence after his dramatic monologue seemed to ring. The seconds ticked. Anzan stood slack-jawed as Holt crossed back to counter, hopping up again lightly.

"I also have a shop in Bridegton," the familiar went on conversationally, completely breaking his dramatic moment. "Ritual tools and candles, and curiosities for the average consumer. And of course there's my dirty black market dealings, of which our little Ladybug is so fond." He smiled beatifically and Ladybug glared. "So that's my story, spider boy. What's yours?"

Ladybug did not miss the challenge there, and she knew Anzan would also hear it for what it was.

"How did you wind up so far from home, all the way to sleepy little Cambric Creek and our Ladybug's door?"

Anzan took his time, making a show of restoring his coffee maker to its proper home, keeping Holt waiting as he ground some fresh beans, measuring and pouring water as Ladybug watched with a smile. Holt tapped his black lacquered claws on the counter, unimpressed with the prioritization of caffeine.

"I come from a place called Maranok," Anzan began suddenly, over the grinding of the machine. "A place of dense jungles and white rock beaches. The community I was born into was one of wealth and prosperity, ruled over by a vicious queen." He grinned down at the grinder with tight lips. "Is that not always the way of it? A wicked queen and those desperate for her favor? In our case, the wealth and prosperity of our community trickled down to her favorite clans, those related to her by both blood and marriage. To have been from a family favored by the queen was to live an easy life, full of choices."

The machine gurgled and hissed, the familiar fragrance of the Beanery's bourbon barrel-aged beans filling the kitchen. Ladybug sighed in contentment. The smell of his coffee had seeped into her daily routine over the last year, becoming part of the olfactory tapestry of this kitchen, as integral as the steam from her cauldron, as much a part of this room as she was herself. She never wanted the smell of his presence to go missing again.

"Unsurprisingly, that was a privilege for very few. As for the rest of us, you were either the family's fortune, or the family's bane. A bride or a palp. Daughter's fortune or son's despair." Anzan turned back to the coffee machine, taking his time pulling one of his favorite mugs from the wire rack on the wall behind it. "To be born female in my culture," he continued, his back to Holt, "was a gift of prosperity for the entire clan. A bride's price only increases as she grows older, as she grows beautiful and more deadly, so most families seek to broker marriage contracts while young Araneaens are in infancy." He turned back to face them once more. "There is no greater shame for a clan than to have a son reach mating age with no marriage contract."

"I take it you did not leave behind some jilted spider bride?"

Anzan gave Holt another stony smile, ignoring the familiar's bait. "Ours is a culture of favors and fighting. I cannot say that the reputation of my people is unearned. Competing families would lavish a potential bride and her clan with gifts of meat and mead, money and precious gems, and other valuables for up to a year before a bargain was struck, all the while doing what they could to sabotage the other competing clans. To be passed over was a sign of low standing in the community. If a family could not afford to win a marriage contract for their son, it was not something they could hide. Everyone in the village would know they had failed."

"How is it that those documentaries only ever manage to capture the bloodsport?" Holt mused. "I daresay you'd not be so unwelcome if they showed the basket weaving and bartering in the markets. There would be a run on Araneaen-woven goods, the retail markup would be substantial."

Ladybug frowned, able to see the devious wheels in Holt's head already turning. Anzan only shrugged.

"Because the documentaries are human-produced. They know to come during the mating season, when they can capture the most sensationalistic footage. Basket weaving doesn't make for compelling at-home viewing."

Crossing to where Ladybug sat at the table, he gave her a soft smile, selecting a plump clementine from the bowl, stroking her cheek gently before moving back to his coffee. She watched as he stuck the tip of one claw into the small citrus, rotating the fruit against his nail, the peel coming off in a long spiral.

"My parents had begun preparing for my elder brother's dower before he was even born, as a precaution. They had saved money from our mother's bride dowery, and worked hard to amass a collection of suitable gifts. They were able to secure his contract when he was only a few years old, a proud moment for the family." Another smile, this one with a bit of sharp-edged fang. "And then, regrettably, I was born."

"I do not like the way you tell this story," Ladybug interrupted, frowning at his self-deprecating characterization of his own birth, of his own existence!

"Shhhhhhhh." Holt glared at her from his perch on the counter. "For pity's sake, let him speak. If we decide we want to hear the sad tale of Ladybug and her dial-up internet, you can tell yours next."

She huffed when Anzan chuckled. No, she did not like the idea of them being allies, not one bit. Should have kept your mouth shut. Should have let him stay in the attic.

"The risk of having two sons is not one most clans are willing to chance. This is why most Araneaen couples have one child, and only one. The fate of the second son is known to everyone from the time of birth, and it is best avoided . . . but sometimes that is not the way the winds blows. Your Fates at work, yes?"

"Exactly this," Holt agreed. "We are as we were meant to be."

Anzan nodded, sipping his coffee. It was another long moment before he spoke again. "You must understand, little bug, it is not that my parents were cruel or unloving. I know that is what you must assume, and I understand. Sending younglings out into the world alone is not the way of most species. My people are often painted as emotionless and violent, but that is typically not the case, and it is only ever true within our species. We prefer to stay away from most outsiders. They fear our speed and strength, and they are not interested in learning more of our culture. As I said earlier, to be born female is a gift. To be born male is a great expense for a clan. Two sons is ruinous. But we are not cut off as children. If nothing else, I think perhaps sometimes those unlucky second sons are given more of their parents' attention and effort than the firstborn. That was the case in our household."

Another soft smile for her. Ladybug nodded encouragingly, offering a tentative smile of her own. She could not deny that it broke her heart to think of him cast off, abandoned by his family, discarded by his community as an unwanted spare. But this is his story to tell, not yours.

"In that again, we are alike, my little bug. My family made sure I had a trade, did research on in-demand industries beyond our small home, ensuring I was well educated in computers and electronics. My father and uncle saw to it that I knew how to build, my mother and grandmother ensured I knew how to hunt. I do not think they sent me away without heaviness in their hearts. It was a choice beyond their control."

"And why was it necessary?" Holt asked. "I think I'm still missing a vital piece of this puzzle."

"So you are allowed to interrupt —"

Holt hissed at her, and she huffed again.

"When we come of age," Anzan went on, speaking over them both, "the males of my species go into heat. We give off a distinctive pheromone. Because ours is a matrilineal culture, a palp is never more than the mate of his reina. Queen of the home, if not of the clan. If a reina were to decide she liked the look and smell of the younger, more virile male, she could leave and the palp would be left with nothing. Much blood would be spilled in the resultant fight for that bride's bed, encouraged by her, for the strongest palp would have her. None of the elders wanted that. They had their own brides to worry over. It wouldn't do to have their reinas catch a whiff of a younger male. So if you were unmated, you were cast out before your first heat. That is the way of it. The family could do away with their shame and the elders would sleep easier, in one fell swoop."

Anzan shrugged, draining his coffee cup before turning away to pour another. You need to start buying him decaf.

"I regret my story is not as full of fire and drama as yours, cat man. I was cast out of my village, forced away from my family, to make my own way in the world. A world in which the majority is predisposed to fear my kind. I was able to support myself here and there because of my parents' efforts, although not having a stable dwelling made long-term employment impossible. I made my best effort to stay away from large cities and towns, unless I needed to replenish my belongings and supplies. The world is full of small, secluded communes and forgotten villages on mountainsides and in forest valleys, where outcasts band together. It was in one such place where I first heard the name Cambric Creek."

Ladybug looked up, surprised. He had never shared that detail with her before.

"It was the rainy season, and I had taken refuge in a mountainside temple. There was an oni there, full of stories, who did not mind letting me sleep in the temple. I stayed hidden during the day and slept while tourists and visitors came, and he entertained at night, with tea and fresh fish. It was the closest thing I'd had to a true home since leaving the shores of Maranok. I would have stayed, if there had been a way to support myself."

"Let me guess," Ladybug interrupted with a grin. "No Wifi?"

"No internet at all. No television, no phone reception. No espresso machine. There were no modern conveniences to speak of. It was not completely dissimilar to the state of your home before I came, little bug."

She was going to regret introducing them, she realized as both men laughed. No. Not ‘going to.' You already regret it.

"He loved to tell me about the people he met from all over the world, who would come to visit his temple. One was a werewolf who stayed in the same rooms and slept on the same floor as I did. He had told the oni he was from a town where all species lived together harmoniously."

Anzan grinned, caught in his memory, his fangs sharp and gleaming, and she could not help matching his smile. This was likely the most he'd spoken to anyone but her since leaving that temple, she realized. He needs to get out of this house. Talk to someone other than you. Make a friend who's not Holt.

"The oni was a storyteller. Like you, cat man. He painted the werewolf's tale as a utopia. It sounded too good to be true, of course, but I was very tired of moving constantly. Tired and destitute. Despite the hospitality, I could not stay. My work is dependent on the modern world, and so I had to bid his mountain goodbye. I decided I would make the journey here, to see if this utopia existed truly. It was . . . a long journey. I spent many months with too little to eat and nothing over my head but your moon, my Ladybug. But then there was an advertisement for an attic bedroom for rent, and the witch who showed it to me did her best to be kind and unafraid, even if she does not like talking to people."

"Where did you even get the newspaper?" Ladybug wondered, thinking of her ad. Anzan merely shrugged.

"Stole it from the fox woman's mailbox. And I realized the oni was correct. It was a utopia, here in this house. So you are right, cat man. There is a goddess here. And though they have taken me very far from my home, I cannot say I am unhappy with where your Fates have placed me."

"There's a proposed ordinance." She blurted the words, face heating as she did so, not realizing until that moment she was desperate to lay everything bare. "The-the mayor's office . . . they're trying to pass an ordinance that would force him to leave. I-I don't know what we'll do."

Anzan was silent as he poured a second cup of coffee, crossing to Holt silently. It was an offering of peace, clearly, and her breath caught, waiting for the familiar's hand to reach out and accept it. When he did, giving Anzan a small smile and a nod of thanks, Ladybug practically deflated.

"I've heard," Holt said after a moment. "I heard folks talking about it at the coffee shop." He turned to Anzan. "If it makes you feel any better, the majority seem against it. The owner of the shop and his sister didn't hold back the day I was there. He and an orc were arguing with an older troll . . . if it were to go to a vote, I'm not sure it would pass, so there's that. What did Jack say?"

Ladybug flushed. She hated that she'd kept this from him. No more secrets. You have to be a team. "He said not to worry about it. That he's not going to let it come to that. And if it does, I'm going to sue the city. We have a meeting scheduled with his son, the lawyer."

Holt shrugged with a grim smile. "Then that's that. If Jack says it's so, then that's the end. I've known him much longer than you, Elizabeth," he went on, a note of bitterness creeping into his voice. "That man gets what he wants, by hook or by crook. Like I said before, don't forget you have that card to play. But," he sipped his coffee, looking back to Anzan, "if you're asking for my opinion? Stop hiding. Hiding only makes it look as if you have something to hide in the first place. People are curious. They don't understand what they don't know. Show them. Change the narrative. Show them the boring basket-weaving and they'll decide the idea of an ordinance is silly all on their own. And in the meantime," he went on, turning back to her.

"In the meantime, I'm going to sell circles around every other witch in town," she answered resolutely.

Holt met her eye with a malicious grin. "Good girl. It's important to remind people who you are and what you can do, perhaps now more than ever."

"How did you find out about the ordinance?" she asked Anzan, unsatisfied with his shifty-eyed response upstairs.

He shrugged, making a show of running water for the tea kettle, knowing she preferred it to coffee. "The tongues-of-grass woman," he began in far-too-casual a tone. "She often receives correspondence from City Hall. It was mentioned in one such letter."

Holt choked on his coffee as Ladybug gaped, realizing the implication of Anzan's casual disclosure. "Are you . . . are you reading the neighbors' mail?! Anzan!"

He swung around defensively. "My Ladybug, your neighbors with their poisonous tongues and cruel words are nothing but a bunch of noxious hypocrites, I'm sad to report. The troll woman next door? Puts her extra trash in the receptacles of the goblin family across the street, because she doesn't want the expense of another bin. Once, she put her food waste in their recycling. The fox woman's husband is fornicating with a selkie from the university. He has brought her to the home many times when his family is away. I have heard them arguing over it at night. The werebear on the far end of the street receives monthly correspondence from the Bridgeton courts, reminding him of his delinquency in support for his child. They all cast their judgment on you without knowing, but I know them well, and they're all terrible."

"Are you reading everyone's mail?!"

"Oh, I love him." Holt crowed from his perch on the counter, ignoring her venomous look. "He's officially my favorite."

She huffed, looking between them feeling scandalized and wondering why she bothered. She already knew what they were both like. "You are both the worst! Terrible!"

For a long, weightless moment, the kitchen was silent, save for the whistle of the tea kettle. Anzan opened the cupboard, retrieving a dried tangerine, stuffed with black tea. He had made the tea cakes with her the previous winter, and brewed her a perfect cup now, adding a paper-thin slice of his own fruit to float on the top of the steaming amber liquid before serving her with a small bow. Ladybug caught one of his hands leaning forward to press a kiss to his palm.

"Well, cat man? Have I passed your test?"

Holt slid from the counter, still laughing, uncowed by the way Anzan towered over him. "That depends, I think. Do you love her?"

She wasn't expecting the question. Ladybug swayed, holding her breath, waiting for Anzan to answer.

"I do." His voice was solemn and his face unsmiling. "With everything I have in me."

Holt nodded. "And will you do your best to ensure she is happy and cared for until the end of her days?"

"It is my duty to care for her in any way I can, including those ways in which I cannot. Her comfort and safety and happiness are my only priorities."

Holt grinned. Ladybug felt a strange tightness in her chest. They had never spoken vows. There was no need. No need, but this felt strangely like a bridal ceremony just the same. His feline eyes seemed to glow with green fire, and her neck prickled. Holt is made of magic. It may have been true after all, she thought, for as he took another step closer, the whole room seemed to vibrate, and his form wavered at its edges.

"And will you protect her, Araneaen? Will you lay down your life if it is required to keep her safe? Will you stand by her side when the night is darkest?"

Anzan's blue eyes were locked on Holt's, unblinking, as his smaller black eyes rippled in a frenzy. "I will."

Ladybug couldn't breathe. Something niggled at the back of her mind, something about Holt's words, but she didn't have time to think it through, for the moment was broken when the familiar grinned, turning to hop back upon the counter.

"Perfect. I love him. I literally love everything about him. I don't know why you were so worried. What's for lunch?"