Chapter Six

As soon as Henri entered the house and settled into his chair, he heard it again. He thought he’d imagined it last night, but the nibbling noise was unmistakable in the quiet house.

Well, it wasn’t exactly a nibble. There was a crinkle involved too, as if someone were eating paper, which didn’t make sense. Why would anyone want to eat paper when there were plants to eat? And why would anyone be in his house while doing it?

He had made no noise beyond biting into his toast and drinking from his mug. He supposed his finger swiping across his e-reader screen also made a sound, but it was nothing more than a whisper. The refrigerator hummed, but otherwise there was complete silence.

His imagination ran wild sometimes. He’d once thought he’d seen a ghost in his hallway. In his defense, he’d been reading a horror novel about a ghost who stalked her killer. Horror wasn’t his go-to genre, but he’d been in a slump and the cover had grabbed him. He’d one-clicked on impulse. The experience had taught him two things. One was not to read certain genres after dark. The other was to pee before he got into bed. The last one should have been a given, but he’d been too scared to get out of bed after he”d finished reading for the night.

He also thought he’d heard scurrying. He’d written it off to being alone at night for the first time in a long while.

Henri shut off his e-reader and set it on the end table. He followed the sound, crawling across the floor. The hardwood flooring wasn’t great for his knees. It made him feel as if he were an old turtle shifter, even though he hadn’t even hit his prime yet. Turtle shifters lived a lot longer than some other paranormals, just as natural turtles did. But Henri wasn’t even thirty years old yet. A baby by turtle shifter standards. His knees thought he was well past the age where crawling was a possibility, and the rest of Henri agreed.

As soon as he got to the far end of the couch, the sound was louder.

Who’s under there?

It was too dark to see, and Henri didn’t have great eyesight to begin with. He wasn’t like other shifters who had keen sight, regardless of the amount of light.

He crawled across the floor again, grabbing his phone, turning the flashlight thing on as he went. Pointing the light under the couch, he scanned the area. He didn’t even get to the end where he’d heard the chewing when he saw tiny bits of book pages everywhere. It was as if something had nibbled through…one of his books.

Henri whispered a curse and then scanned with the light to see what it was. And there it was—a little gray mouse.

“You’re too little to have dragged it under there.” The book must have fallen from the table without Henri realizing it. The mouse must be using it as bedding.

Henri saw the spine and the title. He cursed again and reached for it.

The mouse scurried away.

Henri stood, holding the book to his chest. The utter disappointment washed over him as though it were a wave.

“Why did you have to chew up that book, little mouse?” A better question was why had he left it sitting around as if it meant nothing? Of all the books he’d had, and there were so many they littered every flat surface in every room of his cottage, he treasured the chewed book the most. It was the one Rocky had given him.

Henri shut off the flashlight on his phone and set it on the table next to his half-eaten toast.

As he examined the book, he discovered his new little friend hadn’t taken large chunks out of it. It had ruined a few pages. He sighed in relief and held the book as if it were one of his children.

Each book was precious, but the one in his hand had been a gift. When Rocky had first given it to him, it had even smelled like him. It had been before the alpha had made them stay together.

“Not to worry, book. I’ve saved you in the nick of time.” The mouse had done a number on it. Could he find someone to repair it? Could magic save it? If anyone could repair his book, it would be Estelle Somerset. If it wasn’t possible, then he’d search online.

But first he had to save his book friends from the mice. Or maybe it was one mouse. He’d have to find out.

Henri searched his living room for a free spot to put it. He spun in a circle once, then again before he came to two realizations. One, he had too many books. And two, he needed to hire a carpenter to make him more bookshelves. It was no wonder he hadn’t noticed when the book fell under the couch. None of his books had a proper home.

Henri might have shelf space in his bedroom. Even if it was stacking books on top of each other. He had to rearrange his shelves, but he found a home for it.

He didn’t stick it in the slot, though. Instead, he carried it back into the living room and grabbed his bag, which already held his wallet and keys. He put the book inside.

Before he left, he grabbed the plate with his toast on it. Setting his bag in the chair, he crouched to slide the toast under the couch. “I’ll get you proper mouse food, little friend. And a nice box with bedding to sleep in. No pooping on my floor. Okay?”

The mouse didn’t come out from wherever it was hiding, although he hadn’t expected it to.

He thought about evicting it, but the weather would turn cold soon. He’d never been homeless or had to worry about where he’d sleep. He’d never gone without the things necessary for survival. Food. Clothing. Shelter. He’d had anything money could buy.

And almost nothing that it didn’t.

Henri grabbed his keys and locked the door when he exited his house. He had some errands to run. He felt safe knowing someone followed him.