28. Felix

28

FELIX

" A live redcap?" I demand.

"Live enough to leap out of the box," Atticus says, not trying very hard to hide his delighted smirk. "Apparently, it ran around Benjamin's office, shrieking, until he smacked it over the head with his office ledger."

Finished with his tea, Ambrose rises. "Once he exterminated the wretched creature, he read your letter and couldn't make sense of it. Since he can't telegram you while you're undercover, he sent us."

"What part of the letter couldn't he make sense of?" Cat asks.

"The part where you said you sent a ceramic redcap instead of a live monster."

I look at Cat, baffled. "It was ceramic."

"What is Frida doing to them?" she asks. "How does a person turn a monster into a statuette?"

"And only temporarily," I add.

"Who's Frida?" Atticus asks.

"Before we continue, let's go upstairs," Ambrose suggests.

We lead them into our apartment and lock the door behind us. It's warm thanks to the stove.

"The kettle is still hot," Ambrose says to Cat. "Would you like me to make you a cup of tea?"

"Make yourselves at home," I say wryly.

"Yes, please," she answers Ambrose and then sits at the table, her eyes laughing at me.

"Felix?" Ambrose asks. "Tea?"

"Why not?"

Atticus takes an armchair. Instead of claiming the other, I choose the spot across from Cat.

"How long are you going to stay?" she asks the hunters.

"However long you need us," Atticus answers. "Now, who's this Frida person?"

Atticus and Ambrose listen as Cat summarizes our time here and who we've met.

"So, as you can see," I say, "we don't need help. We were just curious what would possess a person to craft ceramic redcaps and distribute them around the village."

"Many cultures believe frightening statues or objects will ward off monsters." Ambrose spoons tea into the teapot. "For instance, grotesque stone gargoyles gracing the parapets of cathedrals or lantern pumpkins carved with haunting faces."

"Is there any documentation of it working?" Cat asks.

Ambrose shakes his head. "Not that I'm aware of. If I were a monster, I think it would make me feel at home."

"Where do you think Frida got the idea that ceramic statuettes would scare off redcaps?" Cat asks me.

"I think a better question at the moment would be, how is she turning them into statuettes?" I say.

"And why are they coming back to life?" Atticus adds.

" And what does it have to do with our werewolf?" Cat muses.

Ambrose pours the tea. "If it has anything to do with it at all. Redcaps will follow werewolves, but I've never heard of werewolves being lured by redcaps."

"I suppose another question is, why would a werewolf target Braunwin?" I say.

"Why does a werewolf target any community?" Cat asks. "They're usually quite rural, with a lack of law enforcement?—"

"Hence why it took out the constable first," I interrupt.

"—and no established village watch. They target quaint, na?ve communities, far from monster-hunting guilds."

I nod slowly. "When you look at it from the werewolf's point of view, Braunwin was a prime target. It could rule over the community for a decade, picking off villagers as it pleased."

"Except the Alliance got involved," Ambrose says.

Cat's expression turns thoughtful. "Luther can't be our monster. If he were, he would have submitted falsified evidence to make the deaths look natural."

"That's a good point," I say. "In fact, I'm surprised the wolf hasn't targeted him. Everyone knows why he's here."

She thanks Ambrose when he delivers our tea to the table and then frowns into her cup. "The magistrate would just send someone else."

Ambrose takes the open armchair, sipping his tea. "You said tomorrow is the full moon?"

"That's convenient," Atticus adds.

"It would be more convenient if it wasn't the first day of the jubilee." Cat sets her cup on its saucer and frowns. "I thought Otis was exaggerating when he said people come from near and far to celebrate the harvest, but people have been flocking in for a week. It's going to be impossible to track everyone down in the crowds."

"We'll help however we're able," Ambrose says. "But for now, I think we best turn in for the night. Felix, where have you been sleeping?"

Silence descends over the room. I can feel Cat's panic—it's tangible. Atticus narrows his eyes, looking between us and then at the bedroom.

"I've slept in front of the fire," I say.

"Right," Atticus says suspiciously, watching Cat.

I glance at her and nearly laugh out loud. She studies her teacup intently, running her finger along the rim. Her face is bright red, and she looks like she wants to disappear.

She's rubbish at hiding her emotions, and right now, her face says we've been sharing a bed. When she senses me watching her, she leaps up. "I'll see if I can find extra blankets for you all."

Fifteen minutes later, Cat is shut inside the bedroom, and I'm on the floor with Ambrose and Atticus.

"Benjamin will have a conniption when he finds out the two of you are breaking Article Five, Section Eight," Atticus says quietly, needling me.

"Benjamin has no room to talk." I punch my pillow a few times, lamenting the loss of my bed.

"Leave him alone," Ambrose chuckles. "You're just jealous Arthur sent Felix and not you."

"Of course I'm jealous—you have eyes. Cat's gorgeous."

"If you'd been sent instead of Felix, you'd still be sleeping in front of the fire," Ambrose scoffs.

"Tell us, Felix," Atticus whispers. "Is it just her bed she's sharing, or?—"

" They got married, " Greg says, joining the conversation.

"Greg," I say to the dragon. "Why didn't you tell Catriona or me that Ambrose and Atticus were waiting for us?"

" I thought it would be a nice surprise. "

"We might have shot them by accident," I argue.

" Then everyone would have been surprised. "

Atticus sits up, his eyes narrowed at the fire as he focuses on the dragon. "What do you mean, they got married ?"

"It's not real, Greg," Ambrose says. "It's just their cover."

" Felix said it was real. "

The two hunters look at me, their expressions blank.

"We went to the courthouse before we left Valette," I admit, keeping my voice low. "But Cat doesn't want to tell anyone, so don't spread the news. I'm not even certain we're going to stay married."

"You married Cat," Atticus says dumbly. "Cat married you."

Ambrose laughs, and then he clears his throat. "You've created quite a scandal for yourself."

"Why?" I demand. "We're adults, aren't we? And knowing how we feel about each other, do you think I could, in good conscience, come all the way out here without getting married first?"

"Sometimes it's like you don't even know who you are." Atticus shakes his head like I'm daft. "Believe me, this has scandal written all over it—and not just within our GHOST circle, but throughout all of Valette."

"Elite mothers with eligible daughters will sob when they hear the news," Ambrose says flippantly. "The streets will flood with their tears."

"You're being ridiculous."

"We'll see," Ambrose says knowingly. "But no matter, congratulations."

"If the two of you are married, what are you doing out here with us?" Atticus demands, stretching his large, obnoxiously sculpted self on the hard floor.

"Catriona doesn't want you to know."

" I wasn't aware it was a secret, " Greg says.

"Shouldn't you be looking for a werewolf?" I say testily. "Or doing something to make yourself useful?"

" I'm feeling a bit peckish," he answers, ignoring my tone. " I might find myself a snack. "

"Greg, no ."

He doesn't bother to answer before his presence leaves my head.

Sighing, I roll away from the other two hunters. "Don't mention this conversation to Cat, all right?"

"I think we both value our lives enough to keep it to ourselves," Atticus says.

Grunting, I close my eyes and tell myself to go to sleep. Just when I begin to drift, Victor plods over to my side and lowers his jowls to my forehead, snuffling my hair.

"Atticus, your dog. "

"He's just being friendly," Atticus chuckles darkly.

As if hoping to prove his owner's point, Victor lies beside me, snuggling close, and promptly falls asleep. Every time he breathes in, he makes grunting noises, and every time he breathes out, he whistles.

Growling, I turn away from him, punch my pillow, and try to get some sleep.