War of the Malkin: War of the Malkin series, #2

By Virginia Ripple

When demons threaten humanity, a time traveling cat will rise up.

3 novellas. 350+ pages of magic and adventure. Save nearly 50% when you buy the box set!

In a world full of magical talking cats, Henry is a the only living feline with access to a library of Malkin knowledge and thrives on doling out information like candy shop owner. At least he did until the leader of the Horde thrust him into a future where his books don't exist and magic so thin it's dangerous. Through an accident he finds a friend who helps him understand this new time, but though magic is barely usable, evil continues to work toward shattering reality and bringing humanity to its knees. Can one lone cat outside his own era keep the world from falling or will he succumb to the dangers of a time without magic?

* * *

Treasure of the Malkin (War of the Malkin Novella #4)

When demons rise, only a time-traveling feline can save the world.

Henry is the Librarian, or was until a demon from the Horde thrust him into the future. Now he's a magical talking cat in a time where no such thing exists. After a being hit by a car, he strikes an uneasy friendship with an unassuming human named Liz, whose inquisitiveness rivals his own. Hoping to find a way back to his time, Henry asks Liz to grant him a final favor before he leaves: to visit the grand opening of the new Ancient Mysteries wing of the local library. While admiring the exhibits from his own time, Henry discovers someone has plans to raise the demon Horde using an ancient magical artifact tucked away in the library's collection. With no one else to turn to, Henry and Liz work to stop the threat before the demons rise and bring the end of the world with them.

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Blade of the Malkin (War of the Malkin Novella #5)

Can a time-traveling feline stop an ignorant young mage from bringing hell and damnation to the 21st century?

A time-traveling cat trapped in the 21st century thinks getting his paws on a magical artifact guaranteed to bring him home will be a cinch until its snatched away by the unexpected--a young, untrained mage. It's a race against time as Henry and Liz try to negotiate their rocky friendship while trying to locate the teenager before she succumbs to the hidden evils of the relic and turns the world into hell on Earth.

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Chalice of the Malkin (War of the Malkin Novella #6)

Can one cat save the world and his sanity or is he doomed to lose it all?

Henry and Liz thought they had all the time in the world to find the third artifact, but magic is fading faster than they planned, taking everything that makes Henry a Malkin with it, including his mind. If they can find the third artifact, there's a chance he can twist the spell to get himself home and save his sanity. However, the most influential man in the city has designs to recreate the world to his own desires using magic only Henry can stop. With magic in the twenty-first century so thin, Henry must make a choice: return home to his time and save himself or save the world and lose everything he is.

Grab your copy now. Save nearly 50% over buying each book separately. Scroll up and buy it today!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Virginia Ripple
• Release date: Jul 17, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201015503

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War of the Malkin

Volume 2

Treasure of the Malkin

War of the Malkin Book 4

Chapter 1

Sulfur and rotten food assaulted his nose. He shifted, a strange crinkle loud in his ears. When he opened his eyes, he thought he was blind until he reached out a paw and the slick black bubble shifted a paw width. The sunlight pierced his eyes like stiletto daggers, making his vision swim in tears. He lay there with his eyes closed to mere slits, listening to his rapid breathing. He had to get moving.

He took a deep breath, unsheathed his claws and ripped and pulled against the slick black bubble until he was free, tumbling down a pile of filth to land hard. He mewled as sharp pain sliced through his shoulder into his chest. Can’t stay.... Have to... get.... He pulled his front paws underneath himself and pushed against the dark gray stone.

Pain lanced through his right shoulder again, dropping him. He mewled again. Failed. I’ve failed. He curled into a ball, tucking his nose under his tail. Thoughts of his friends at the temple chased him through the dark corridors of his mind. What was happening to them now? Had they uncovered the Horde by some other means or were they all dead because the demon leader had surprised him?

The Huntress’s image swam into view, her blue eyes calm and forgiving in her black and white face, as if she didn’t blame him for letting her die at the claws of demons. No. It can’t end like this. He raised his head and pushed himself into a three-legged sitting position. The world wobbled for several moments, making him want to retch.

The stonework on the buildings to either side were a strange reddish color, with pipes, ladders and odd looking black cords protruding from it. King’s City must be utilizing Master Sylvester’s gadgets. I wonder what they’re for. He started to shake his head, but reconsidered. Doesn’t matter now. Focus.

He lurched down the alley toward the road. If he were in King’s City, no matter what part he found himself in, he knew getting to the Office of Kingdom Guardianship would be a simple matter of making a mirror call. They’d send a carriage for him as soon as they learned who he was and who he’d been working for. The idea stabilized his limbs and gave them strength as he hobbled farther along.

Across the street, he saw a large window with strange writing scrawled across it in garish white and gold paint, a picture of a hand with an eye in the center of the palm on either side. Rusted bars partially concealed the chipping letters though they did nothing to hide the gaudy pink chair or brass table setting in front of a shimmering red backdrop. On top the table sat what he thought might have been a magetized storage crystal, though he’d never seen one so round or clear.

He snorted, regretting it as his shoulder protested. It never ceased to amaze him what Lower District apothecaries would do to attract customers. At least an apothecary would have a mirror already set up to call the OKG. One rule handed down by the High Council after they discovered the plague was created from a common herb the healers kept on hand.

He hobbled closer to the street, peering down at the strange black surface. The acrid stench made him wrinkle his nose. He’d reasoned nothing could smell worse than the filth he’d woken up in, but this was working hard to manage it. With a sigh, he stepped onto the foul road and hobbled toward the apothecary shop.

An unearthly scream assaulted his ears, making his gaze dart to his left as he hunkered down. A gleaming silver and green demon as big as a carriage was bearing down on him. He squeezed his eyes shut and waited for its tail-length fangs to rip through his body. There was a pop and saw stars as pain blossomed in his forehead. Soothing blackness floated him away.

***

Soft rhythmic caresses along his back roused him from the blackness, eliciting a rumbling purr. He’d forgotten the last time human hands had stroked his fur. Occupational hazard of working alone, I suppose. He stretched his chin upward, allowing the probing fingers access to the itchy spot inside his jawbone. The human chuckled.

I’ve never known a cat yet who could resist the chin scratch, said a female voice.

I’ve never known a human who could scratch without bruising, he said.

The woman screamed. The surface he was laying on jumped, jarring his shoulder and making him hiss in pain. He opened his eyes wide to survey the situation and readied a spell, expecting to see a demon hovering nearby. Although the room had some curious furnishings and a few gadgets he could only guess at, everything appeared safe. He turned to stare at the woman peering at him over what he assumed was a couch.

What, by all that’s holy, was that about? he asked. I thought we were under attack.

You talk.

Of course I do. I’m a full Malkin, he said, frowning.

I don’t know what that is, but I know cats don’t talk.

He cocked his head to the side. Was it possible that this woman, despite her nicely appointed living quarters, lived in one of the furthest of the Outer Reaches and had never encountered one of his kind? Yet, if that were true, how had he come to be there? Had she captured him and magically transported them to this place? He shook his head at the absurdity. She wouldn’t have been stroking his fur if she’d catnapped him. He glanced down at his right leg, starting at the swath of white bandage wrapped around it from shoulder to mid-leg.

What is this? he asked turning narrowed eyes on the woman.

The vet said you had a dislocated shoulder. She said we needed to keep your leg immobilized until it healed.

A vet? Is that your term for an apothecary?

Apothecary? She raised her head farther above the back of the couch until he saw her entire face, confusion written in her pinched brows and frown.

Wait. Are you part of some magic act from a Renaissance Faire? She looked around the room as if she expected someone to step out from behind a door or curtain. I’m being messed with, aren’t I? she said, smiling and coming out from her hiding place.

Marty, she called to the empty air, I know you’re here. Ha ha. Hilarious. You got me.

He watched her search the room, jumping behind doors as she yanked them open and peering into nooks too small for a human to hide. As she ducked under the table he was sitting on, his gaze landed on a large sheet of folded parchment with odd printing. He stretched to decipher the lettering. It might have been a child’s first attempt at writing for all he could understand.

Reaching out a tendril of will, he pulled the first scrawl into the air above the paper, then drew the others one by one alongside it until every word was floating inches above where they had been. With a thought, he sent the letters spinning until they were a myriad of tiny balls of ink and waited until he felt the familiar snap that meant they were ready to pull into another form. He halted the spinning letters. They spread into long loops and flattened into minuscule blobs as they coalesced, becoming words he understood. His eyes widened. This couldn’t be right.

What year is it? he asked, turning to stare at the woman standing in the middle of the room.

She cocked her head at him, her long dark ponytail bouncing to the side. Oh come on. Drop the act. I know it’s you, Marty, so you may as well come on out.

I assure you, madam, I am in no joking mood, he said, caging a growl in his throat. Tell me what year it is.

The woman threw her hands in the air and flopped into a chair beside him. All right, fine. We’ll play this your way. Straightening her back and tilting her head upward so she was looking down her nose at him, she said in an affected voice, Why, sir, doth thou not know it is the Year of Our Lord 2016?

By the One, that’s impossible, he said. He pulled himself toward the window over the table.

Hey, the woman said, plucking him upward. You’re supposed to stay still, remember? Wait. Why am I telling you that?

Unhand me. Her gripped tightened as he struggled to free himself. He slashed at her arm, instantly regretting it as he landed back on the table.

You little ingrate.

She stomped away into another room. He listened to the sounds of water running as he prayed the room would stop spinning. As the pain subsided he detected something astringent coming from the other room. He tensed, wondering what torture device she was bringing back with her. The woman hissed, as if in pain. A moment later she returned, a bandage on the scratches.

So much for rescuing the poor hurt kitty.

You... rescued me? From the demon?

What demon?

The one that attacked me as I was on my way to the apothecary across the street.

That was my car and I didn’t attack you with it.

Car?

You know. Those things people ride around in. Vroom vroom. She made another turn, staring into the corners. She turned and squinted at him. Are you sure I’m not being punked?

He shook his head. I haven’t a clue what that means, but if you’re telling me the truth, then I’m in a bigger mess than I imagined.

What do you mean? she asked, lowering herself into the chair beside him.

I have vital information for the Huntress, but it seems I’m several hundred years too late.

Okay. Back up. Who’s this Huntress and what do you mean several hundred years too late? Are you telling me you’re a time traveling talking cat?

It’s not my gift, but I suppose so. It seems the demon I encountered transported me into this time period, presumably to get me out of the way.

So now there’s time traveling demons?

No. He cocked his head. Well, perhaps.

Which is it? Yes or no?

As far as I know demons don’t travel through time by any means other than those used by the rest of us, which is to say, living it day by day. However, it seems the demon I faced knows a spell or some other way to transport beings into other times.

The woman closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. This is giving me a headache.

He lifted his paw toward her, frowning at the bandage restricting his movement.

I’m afraid I don’t know how to make it any simpler to understand.

She looked up at him, her lips quirked in a lopsided smile. My Mom always said, How do you eat an elephant? One bite at a time.

Why would one choose to eat an elephant?

It’s just an expression, she said and chuckled. It means that if you have a really big problem you need to tackle, split it up into little parts and it’s easier to deal with. You can apply it here, too.

How?

Let’s start at the easiest thing first. She reached out a hand and took his lifted paw, shaking it gently. Hi. My name is Liz Manning, and you are?

Henry.

A pleasure to meet you, Henry. Now, you said you were on a mission to give information to someone. Can you tell me who it was or what information you had?

If you were working for the demon you’d have killed me long before now, so I suppose there’s no harm in telling you the entire story.

Ya think? she asked with a grin. It made Henry’s whiskers widen in a cat smile.

To begin with, I’m not a trained spy. I’m actually the Librarian.

No kidding. I’m a librarian, too.

No no no, Henry said, shaking his head. "Not a librarian, though I spend a lot of time in various libraries around the kingdom researching. No, I’m the Librarian. I’m the collector of knowledge of all things ancient and magical both divine and evil. It is my duty to protect it and pass it along to others in the war against the Demon King."

Well that makes things about as clear as mud.

Henry looked toward the ceiling and swiveled his ears back. After a moment he dropped his gaze back to Liz.

You said you’re a librarian also. Do they organize books and scrolls into various categories here?

Well, we don’t have scrolls, but, yeah, we arrange the books by Dewey decimal.

Okay, I don’t know what Dewey decimal is, but let’s say you have several books on demons and several more on Winged Ones.

I’m guessing Winged Ones are angels, right?

They are the opposite of the demons, so, yes, if that’s what an angel is.

All right. Go on.

You would separate the books into two piles, correct?

Sure, Liz said with a shrug.

After that, you would separate each of those piles into narrower categories, am I right?

"Okay, but what does that have to do with being the Librarian versus a librarian?"

If you leave your library, can anyone come in and find what they were looking for without your help?

Of course. That’s what the card catalog is for.

And could that person come look for their information anytime, day or night?

Not unless they have a key card and a security password for the alarm.

Henry nodded. I am, essentially, your card catalog, key card and security password for all the information collected on the spiritual and magical world.

Seriously? There’s no one else?

He shook his head. Liz snorted.

That seems kinda stupid. What if you died or—

Were transported to a different time? Henry asked, his whiskers widening. I have no idea. I always assumed life as we knew it would cease to exist, but... He turned toward the window. It seems to have continued without me.

Not as important as you thought you were, huh, big guy?

Apparently. He turned back to Liz. You’re certain there are no demons? No battle for creation? No... He leaned toward her, a faint hope pricking his chest. Talking cats?

Liz shook her head. There’s some folks who believe all that good versus evil stuff. There are always telling people we’re all doomed if we don’t follow their way and accept whatever they tell us. I’ve never seen evidence to prove there are demons lurking in the shadows making people do bad stuff, so... She shrugged her shoulders. As for talking cats, you’re the first.

Henry sighed and turned to stare out at the alien world he’d been deposited into. He wished he had the Huntress’s gift of seeing the spiritual world, then he’d know if what Liz said was accurate, but he didn’t. All he had was his mind and an insatiable curiosity.

Hey, so long as you’re stuck here, you can stay with me.

That’s kind of you, but I need to find my way back home.

The word sent a ping of longing through him. If there’s a home to go back to.

***

Henry sat on Liz’s nightstand, waiting for her to wake up. He’d spent an enlightening night watching the story box and browsing through papers Liz had left lying around. It was a strange and frightening experience when he’d discovered the little black box on the couch magically made humans and other odd creatures appear on the bigger box hanging from Liz’s wall. He’d made a mental note to always check first before sitting after that.

The papers were more informational. Not only did Liz work at a local library, she was involved in getting a large exhibit of ancient books and artifacts, several of which he was intimately familiar with, displayed in a new wing. The grand opening would be later that night. One way or another, Henry planned to be there.

Of course, plan A would work better if his would-be partner would wake up. He cleared his throat and gave her his best cat smile as she opened her eyes.

Good morning, he said.

Liz jumped to a sitting position, grabbing the sheet to her chest, her eyes reminding him of a cornered rabbit. With a hesitant finger, she reached out and poked his good shoulder. She sat back.

Holy Hannah! she said. I thought you were some weird dream I had last night.

Can I assume you’re satisfied now that I’m not? Liz nodded. Good, because I have a last request.

Last request? You planning on dying soon?

Henry frowned. I don’t understand.

You said you had a last request. That usually means the person asking is terminally ill or facing a firing squad or something.

Unless the Horde sends one of its minions after me, I trust I won’t die anytime soon.

So this is just a favor?

Yes. One last favor before I take my leave of you.

Liz squinted at him. You talk funny, anyone ever tell you that?

I suppose, being from another time, would make that happen. Now, about that favor.

A favor for a talking cat, Liz said and shook her head, then scooted out of bed. Not until I’ve had a cup of coffee.

But—

Huh uh. You ambushed me before I was awake. I need some caffeine to fortify my sense of reality before I start doing something that’s likely more than my little human brain can accept as real.

Henry sighed and dropped to the floor on three legs. He followed the woman into her kitchen and watched as she drew a tiny white cup from a black drawer under an oddly shaped gadget on the counter. When she stepped in front of it, he craned his neck trying to see what she was doing.

Levah TAH teh, he murmured.

With a twitch of his tail, he floated to the counter next to Liz and stretched his nose forward, brushing Liz’s hand with his whiskers as he leaned in for a sniff. She jumped and dropped the little white cup.

Do you mind? she said, leaning against the sink.

Not at all.

Liz glared at him. She looked at the floor, then back at him.

How did you get up here, anyway?

Levitated, he said, shrugging his good shoulder. I couldn’t very well jump with an injured leg.

Levitated. Of course. How silly of me.

Liz picked up the small white cup, lifted a handle on the gadget, and inserted the cup in a hole just big enough for it. There was a quiet pop as she pulled the handle down. The scent of roasted nuts wafted through the air, carried over a deeper, darker scent Henry was unfamiliar with. He stared at the twin lights blinking blue next to the handle, vaguely aware that Liz was inserting a cup below the gadget’s head. She pushed one of the blinking lights and walked away. A moment later the thing sputtered and hissed. Henry jumped backward, nearly falling from the counter.

Flah MAH ball, he shouted.

The gadget burst into flame. Liz screamed and grabbed a red canister from under the sink. In an instant the gadget, Henry and most of the counter were white with foam.

What in the world just happened? Liz asked, studying the melted black thing that had been her gadget.

It was possessed, Henry said, shaking the foam from his fur.

So you set it on fire?

It was hissing and spitting fumes and black liquid at us. I was merely protecting us from this evil contraption.

Evil—? Liz rolled her eyes and threw her hands in the air. It’s supposed to do that, you fur ball. She looked forlornly at the melted object. "Now how am I supposed to make coffee?"

Henry glanced at the misshapen black lump and back at Liz. Might I suggest a nice calming cup of tea?

And how, pray tell, am I supposed to make a cup of tea when you destroyed my tea maker?

I thought you said this was a coffee maker.

It’s both.

Oh, Henry said, studying the charred remains. He glanced at the warped drawer Liz had drawn the little white cup from, then back at Liz as she wiped the counter with a wet rag she’d grabbed from the sink. Those little cups have either coffee or tea in them?

That’s right, genius. Ya put the little cup in the holder, push the button and water pours through the hole made by the machine. Out comes a delicious beverage of your choice, provided some maniac cat doesn’t torch the thing first.

That’s really quite brilliant.

I guess this one’s going to the dumpster. Liz sighed as she came to the coffee maker and put her fists on her hips. Only thing I ever won and now it’s a piece of junk. She chuckled. I can always put it on display in my office. Call it modern art.

Someone would call that art? asked Henry.

You’d be surprised, she said, heaving the remains up and lugging them to the trash can.

He flattened his ears and frowned. There’s so much for me to learn about this time. Henry watched Liz finish cleaning up the foamy mess.

Perhaps I can make amends for my error, he said, an idea popping into his head.

Liz’s left eyebrow raised and she frowned. How?

Allow me to make you a hot beverage.

Her frown deepened. Ah, I’m not sure that’s a good idea. One, you don’t have opposable thumbs and two, I’m not in the mood for a furry drink. Thanks anyway. Henry gave her his widest cat grin and patted the counter. Pull up a chair and watch. I promise no furry drinks.

Liz shrugged and dragged a chair from the other side of the bar into the kitchen entryway, sat down and crossed her arms and legs.

Now, where are the cups?

Liz pointed at a cabinet. Henry twitched his tail. The cabinet door opened, revealing two shelves crammed with various mugs. He glanced at Liz, guessed her height, and selected a pale green mug from the lower shelf, deducing she might use it often. The mug lifted from the shelf and floated toward him when he angled his ears back, landing gracefully on the counter. From Liz’s soft exhale, he decided he’d guessed correctly. He stared at the dark green amphibian and letters emblazoned on the front. F.R.O.G.? Henry glanced at Liz from the corner of his eye, wondering why a smart woman would need a cup reminding her what the amphibian was called.

Henry turned his attention back to making Liz’s hot beverage. He studied the water spout connected to the sink. Pushing the lever up to release the water would be simple enough, but bringing the water to the cup would require a more complicated spell. He felt Liz’s amused gaze ruffling his fur. Ignoring it, he twitched his tail to engage the flow of water.

Wah TEAR too BAH. Ahn TRAY vuh SALE.

A ribbon of water flowed from the spout into the cup. Liz’s gasp brought a wide smile to Henry’s whiskers. As a librarian, he’d seldom had the opportunity to use the more complicated spells, let alone show off his abilities to a complete novice.

END ah.

The water ceased flowing into the cup and Henry shut the spout off. He stared at the warped casing containing the little cups, deciding how much power to put into his tail twitch to open it. Too much and the entire thing might fly off the counter. Not enough and it wouldn’t open at all. He focused his will on the metal drawer and twitched his tail. The object scooted to the end of the counter, the drawer popping loose at the last moment. Henry breathed a sigh of relief.

Coffee or tea? he asked.

Coffee.

With a few more twitches of tail and ears, Henry had a little white cup opened and hovering over the mug. He dumped the contents into the water. Noting Liz’s grimace, he chuckled to himself. He might not be familiar with this concoction, but, coffee or tea, no one likes gritty extras in their drink.

Do you take it with cream or sugar?

A splash of milk.

He nodded and went to work opening the door to the large rectangular object in the corner, guessing by its hum and relatively cool temperature it must contain the milk. It took another couple of minutes to figure out which oddly shaped container held it. By the time he had the gallon jug on the counter, the water had turned as dark as his own fur. He wrinkled his nose at the scent, something he would have attributed to a white-striped, black-furred mammal if the scent hadn’t been wafting from the mug.

Henry kneaded the air, drawing the grounds into a ball above the dark liquid. When he was certain he had them all, he sent them flying into the trash can. Next he twitched the milk into the mug, careful not to overfill it, and sent the container back to the ice box. Liz clapped her hands slowly.

That’s impressive, but I don’t like cold coffee.

Is it? he asked, narrowing his eyes.

Liz’s eyebrow rose again. She stepped toward the counter and reached for the mug handle.

HEE tah in pair FECK toh, he whispered as she brought the drink to her lips.

At first she took a small sip, then closed her eyes and drew in a larger mouthful. As she lowered the mug, a smile stretched her lips.

That has to be the best coffee outside a coffee shop, she said, cradling the cup.

I’ll take that as a compliment and, perhaps, he said, cocking his head, a favorable reply to my request?

Let’s just say you have my attention, Liz said, leaning back against the sink and taking another sip of coffee.

Fair enough. Henry settled into an awkward reclining position. In an attempt to understand your time, I watched your story box and perused your papers last night.

Wait. You snooped through my stuff?

A necessary evil, I’m afraid. I needed information and you were asleep. I’m certain you wouldn’t have appreciated me waking you in the wee hours to ask you about current affairs.

Liz grunted and took another sip of coffee. Henry took it as a sign to continue.

I must admit that I found what I saw on your story box—

TV.

Your TV, he continued, laying his ears back, to be rather baffling. Humans careening around in, what did you call them? Cars? Liz nodded. Humans careening around in cars and chasing each other while shooting projectiles from oddly shaped sticks. And the blatant displays of human affections followed by the curious notion that one must purchase any given item to be considered part of the-- He paused as he searched for the words, wrinkling his brow. In crowd?

I suppose you come from a time of complete piety and pure thoughts, Liz grumbled.

Henry cocked his head and widened his whiskers. Not at all. Problems abound in all times, I imagine. No, my confusion came from trying to understand if what I saw was reality or theatrics.

It’s mostly fake, except the news, though... Liz smirked and chuckled. Sometimes you can’t be too sure about what you hear on the news, either.

Everything with a grain of salt?

More like a bucket, but yeah, she said with a shrug. So what about my personal papers? Find anything confusing in them?

Actually, quite the opposite. I believe you and I have something in common, our love for antiquities and safeguarding important knowledge.

What do you mean?

If I understood what I read, you recently acquired a large group of old texts and artifacts.

Yep, she said, straightening her back and raising her chin. Quite a coup, if I do say so myself, despite Wray’s objections.

Why would anyone object to gathering such valuable items?

Liz snorted. We’re a library, Ms. Manning, she said in a nasally voice, not a museum for mad men’s diaries and the odd piece of junk from yesteryear. She swished water in her empty cup and tossed the water into the sink, making Henry flinch as some splashed onto his fur. Seriously. That toad wouldn’t know a valuable text from a roll of toilet paper.

Toilet paper?

And why shouldn’t a library have a few artifacts on hand to look at? she continued, scouring the inside of her cup with a sponge wand filled with sharp-smelling green liquid.

I mean, just because we aren’t technically a museum doesn’t mean people don’t want to see the things they’re reading about, right?

Henry scooted back as Liz turned on the faucet and rinsed the mug in her hand. She grabbed a towel and jammed it into the cup, twisting it around until Henry was sure it might rip. She flung her arms wide, mug in one hand, towel in the other.

Seriously, what kind of idiot passes up a chance to bring in new patrons? I mean, it’s not like we’re spending the library’s money on this anyway.

You might want to put that away before it breaks, Henry said, nodding to the green F.R.O.G. cup.

What? Liz looked at her hand, surprise registering on her face. She set the mug back on the shelf Henry had lifted it from and turned, hands on hips, towel dangling forgotten in a clenched fist. Anyway, it was a coup on my part getting that exhibit, let alone convincing Ms. Luther it should have its own wing. Why shouldn’t I feel proud?

You should.

You’re absolutely right I should, she said, hanging the towel in the ring above the sink. She leaned with her back against the counter and crossed her arms. And what, exactly, is your interest in this exhibit? She raised her hands to stop him as he opened his mouth. No. Don’t tell me. They’re your long lost diaries and kitty toys and you want them back.

Hardly, he said, whiskers compressing tight. This might be trickier than I thought. If your notes are even close to accurate, what you have on display are no more interesting to me than grass clippings. However, I would like to see them just... one last time before... he said, widening his eyes and hoping his homesick kitty expression looked compelling.

Liz’s eyebrow rose as she gave