CATACLYSM: Book Three of the Cat

Lady Chronicles Susan Donovan &

Valerie Mayhew
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 CATACLYSM
BOOK THREE OF THE CAT LADY CHRONICLES

SUSAN DONOVAN & VALERIE MAYHEW

ADOBE COTTAGE MEDIA, LLC.

Cataclysm (Book 3 of the Cat Lady Chronicles) is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the
author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2022 by Susan Donovan and Valerie Mayhew

All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-7379959-5-1
Published in the United States by:
ADOBE COTTAGE MEDIA, LLC.

Cover design: Elizabeth Mackey

Formatted by: Jesse Kimmel-Freeman

Printed in the United States of America

www.catladychronicles.com
Also by the Authors
The Cat Lady Chronicles
Catalyst, Book 1
Catastrophe, Book 2
Cataclysm, Book 3
What greater gift than the love of a cat?
– Charles Dickens, attributed
(1812-1870)
This book is dedicated to Valerie’s father, Henry, a cat-lover and huge fan of Felicity’s story in
books one and two. Here’s hoping they have Kindle in heaven.
______________________________________________________
Wedjat Eye Amulet

Egyptian, gold, 332-30 B.C.

The Metropolitan Museum of Art
New York, New York
Image is in the public domain.
 CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
 CHAPTER ONE

The Ancient Thing slipped in silence upon the loamy forest floor, one careful step at a time, as
rain pelted the towering trees. It would take time to grow acclimated to this peculiar epoch and place,
and all this skin, gristle, and bone. At least this body still hummed with the power generated at its
birth.
Or perhaps it was anger that buzzed and burned. Anger was the one constant, a servant forever
prepared to serve.
A long, wooden spear zipped overhead. Its bronze tip pierced a dead cedar at rest in the ferns.
Nature itself seemed to hold its breath, the only sounds the steady beat of rain and the scurry of a
frightened spotted skunk.
A wisp of smoke rose from the embedded spear tip. The tendril floated upward, dancing
through the raindrops into the night sky. A spark sizzled, flashed, and grew into a blue flame that
licked from the spear tip across the cedar’s soft flesh.
How exquisite it was. Each raindrop bent away from the new flame, allowing it to surge
across the trunk, across this realm. A breath of wind tossed an ember into the air. It flitted between
waterdrops and alighted on a nearby oak, which immediately ignited with a loud whoosh.
The blaze was now a living, breathing entity, leaping from tree to tree, hungry, untouched by
the subjugated rain.
The Ancient Thing turned away, satisfied. But still, so angry.

Felicity thought she might never move again. Beyond exhausted, blood clumped in her hair
and splattered across her face, she could only lean against the vinyl siding of the double-wide trailer
and listen to the hiss of hot ash in the light rain.
At least her Goddess Posse was intact.
Another quick check revealed that everyone was still breathing, thank the Goddess Bastet,
though no one had moved from where the blast had thrown them. The brave group was clearly tapped
out and worn down, just like Felicity. They’d survived a lot these last few months.
Felicity’s BFF, Tasha, sat with legs splayed before her in the dirt, her hands limp in her lap.
Every few seconds, Tasha’s eyes would dart to what remained of her renovated cottage, then dart
away again. Twice now, her home had served as a battlefield to fight an ancient evil bent on
destroying humanity, and both times it had paid a terrible price. Tasha hadn’t asked for any of this.
On Tasha’s left was a bug-eyed Bethany, stroking her pregnant belly and staring into the
distance. Felicity couldn’t imagine how difficult it must be for her, preparing to bring a child into
such an unstable world. Up until now, Bethany had remained cheerful and optimistic despite
everything—which included divorce from her ass of a husband, who happened to be Felicity’s ex-ass
of a husband. Felicity wondered how much longer Bethany’s cheerfulness would last.
On Tasha’s right was Alexander. The always-dapper attorney and administrator of the
Goddess’ earthly affairs looked a bit frayed around the edges. Supernatural calamity could do that to a
fellow, Felicity supposed.
She turned her attention to her friend and trainer, the warrior priest of Bastet. Tom sat rigid,
his jaw clenched and his eyes asking Felicity questions she could not answer. Months earlier, she’d
rescued Tom as an injured cat by the side of the road, an act that forever changed Felicity’s fate and
the fate of the world. And for the first time since, Tom had no more insight than Felicity did. It was
unsettling.
Tom’s arm was clutched around Ronnie’s shoulders, as if his badass lady love needed
protection. Felicity watched as Ronnie, the former Marine medic and current vet tech, rested her
cheek against Tom’s chest, his protective instincts not the least bit disagreeable to her.
Everyone would be all right, she decided. They’d get through this the way they’d gotten
through everything else.
Felicity lifted her face into the warm August rain misting down on the group, hoping it might
wash away some of her grime. She remained like that for several long moments, until the hissing ash
cooled and went silent.
The lump in Felicity’s gut wasn’t going anywhere, however. It was clear that their ordeal was
far from over, but, in all honesty, she had no idea what more they could do. They’d just annihilated
Apep, the damned ancient Egyptian god of chaos, once and for all. They’d even destroyed the hidden
piece of Apep’s flesh, ensuring the psycho serpent could never again regenerate and darken earth’s
door. In other words, they’d done the impossible.
But they’d barely had time to congratulate themselves when a single lightning bolt shot from
the sky, hit the little table outside Tasha’s vintage Airstream trailer, and destroyed the indestructible
necklace of Bastet. They’d watched its ancient gold and jewels explode into a sparkling dust that
blew away in the wind. And that was what worried Felicity. She knew that whomever—or whatever
—had blown up the usekh and fried the Airstream was now her problem. Because from the day she’d
found Tom by the side of the road, everything had been her problem.
And she didn’t want any more problems. All she wanted was a huge piece of German
chocolate cake and a seriously long nap.
It was Tasha who first worked up the strength to stand. “C’mon, Bethany.” She reached down
and offered her hand. “Let’s get you out of the rain.”
That got them all moving, though slowly. It was clear everyone was still in shock.
When Ronnie and Tom were on their feet, Ronnie clutched his hand and stared at the
Airstream’s ash silhouette. It had been her home. Everything she owned had been inside.
“It’s all gone,” she whispered.
“Everything can be replaced. Everything but you.” Tom turned her to face him. “Thank the
Goddess you weren’t inside.” He kissed her gently, and she threw her arms around his neck.
“Oh, shit.” Tasha shoved her shoulder against the front door of the double-wide, her
temporary home during renovation. But it wouldn’t budge. It looked like the concussive blast had
dented in the frame and cracked the front windows.
Off in the distance, thunder rumbled. Without warning, the rain went from pleasant mist to
pounding downpour.
“My place! Hurry!” Felicity turned to run, but found she could only limp. So she hobbled as
fast as her aching body would allow through the yard, out Tasha’s gate, and across the street to her
new house. Had she really just moved in that morning? It seemed impossible. Maybe all the battles
with immortal entities had skewed her perception of time.
They all made it inside Felicity’s farmhouse. Tom built a fire in the living room fireplace, and
everyone dried themselves with Felicity’s new towels. She made hot chocolate for everyone, and
soon they were all gathered near the fire. Everyone but Bethany added a shot or two of “adult
enhancement” to their mugs, though Tasha skipped the hot chocolate entirely and went straight for the
enhancement.
“I know we have a lot to go over, but before we do…” Alexander held up his cup. “…I’d like
to propose two toasts. First, to Felicity, who has once again saved the world by defeating Apep under
the most extraordinary circumstances!”
“I’ll drink to that.” Tasha took a long swig as everyone sipped.
Alexander raised his cup again. “Last, but by no means least, I would like to congratulate
Tubastet-af-Ankh on completing his extraordinary service to The Ever-Living Goddess.”
Tom gave a humble nod as they cheered and drank again.
Alexander’s expression turned serious. “I remain a faithful servant to you both, of course. I am
available to both the Acolyte and the Priest in any way you may need.” He lowered his head in
deference.
Tom straightened. “You remain my friend, Alexander. Not my servant.”
Alexander raised his gaze, the corners of his mouth curled up, his dimples coming to life.
“Yeah. I’m your friend. And I look forward to giving you shit about your first gray hair.”
They all chuckled, but it faded. A heavy weariness settled on them and the only sound was the
crackling of the fire. Bethany’s eyelids grew heavy. Ronnie snuggled tighter against Tom.
Felicity worked up the energy to speak. She really hated to bring it up again. She’d much
rather let everyone have a peaceful respite, even a short one. But this was important, and yet again,
she worried there was no time to waste. “Something powerful destroyed the usekh and the Airstream
and we don’t have any idea what or why.”
“I sure don’t,” Tom said.
Ronnie raised her eyes to his. “And you’re certain Bastet didn’t do it? I mean, no more Apep
means no more need for an Acolyte or necklace, right? So why not just blow it to kingdom come?”
“That’s not her style.” Tom frowned. “And even if she’d wanted to—and I don’t think she did
—she can’t reach directly into this world like that. Her influence here was only through the usekh and
the Acolyte who wore it.”
“Agreed.” Alexander said. “It would take extreme power to destroy the usekh.”
There it was again, that sinking feeling deep down in Felicity’s gut. Honestly, she was sick to
death of it. She pined for the old days, when the only problem with her gut was that it pooched over
the waistband of her jeans. “Fine,” she said. “If not Bastet, who or what has that kind of power?”
“Perhaps the power of one of the Great Ennead?” Alexander suggested.
Tasha gave a tipsy chuckle. “The Great Ennead? Sounds like a bad Vegas magician.”
“They’re the nine most powerful creator gods.” Felicity sipped her cocoa and paused to recite
the list from memory. “Atum, Shu, Tefnut, Gab, Nut, Osiris, Isis, Nephthys and Set, if I’m not
mistaken.”
“Set! The bad dude in the spells you recited?” Tasha took another swallow from the bottle of
vanilla vodka and set it on the coffee table.
“Yeah. He stands as the ultimate nemesis to Ra and Osiris. Right, Tom?”
 “That’s correct.” He tightened his arm around Ronnie. “Set is pretty much the biggest and
baddest of them all.”
Alexander rested his elbows on his knees and frowned in concentration. “But I don’t think
even one of the Great Ennead could reach from one realm into another.”
“Exactly.” Tom looked as exhausted as Felicity felt. “They could not.”
A thought suddenly occurred to her, and she leaned toward Tom. “Have you ever met any of
them? Like Isis—I bet she kicks butt.” Felicity wondered how it would feel to be a badass like Isis.
Or maybe she was confusing the real goddess with the Marvel comic book character or the 1970s TV
show she’d watched in reruns as a kid. Damn, she was tired.
Tom smiled. “I tried to avoid The Great Ennead if at all possible. But I have, indeed, met Isis.
She is quite formidable. As is Atum, the creator.”
“Will you miss it there?” Ronnie’s question was so quiet that Felicity barely heard it.
“Absolutely not.” Tom didn’t hesitate. “I’m much happier to be here, now.” He kissed
Ronnie’s forehead.
Alexander cleared his throat and looked to Ronnie. “I may not know exactly what destroyed
the necklace, the Airstream, and all your stuff, but I am certain that I have great discretion in
distribution of funds. I’ll help you replace whatever you’ve lost, Ronnie. You don’t have to worry
about anything.”
“Thank you.” She gave a gentle nod.
“I just had a thought,” Tom said. “Now that there will be no more Acolytes, do you get to keep
all the money, Alexander? I mean, just think of—” He cut himself off. His face blanched pale. “Holy
shit, I won’t have to get a job, will I?”
Alexander laughed. “I’ll have to check some documents, but I believe in case of Apep’s final
defeat, I distribute the remaining funds among the surviving servants of the Goddess. So never fear,
Tubastet-af-Ankh, hem-netjer-tepi of the Ever-Living-Goddess Bastet, trainer of Acolytes, and
temple guard of Per-Bast—no need to learn how to wait tables or operate an espresso machine.”
“But fourteen languages without an accent might come in handy,” Ronnie pointed out.
Tasha reached for the vodka, but Alexander lifted it first.
“Please, allow me.” He poured a generous portion into the mug Tasha had found unnecessary.
“Thank you.” She gave him a weak smile.
Bethany jolted upright, as if just coming to her senses. “You saved my life!” It was the first
words she’d spoken since they got to the farmhouse. “Alexander, you put yourself in harm’s way to
save my life and the life of my baby!” She jumped to her feet and went to him, bending down and
throwing her arms around his neck. She burst into tears.
He gave her back a series of gentle pats. “It was my honor, Bethany. And I’m fine now. Really.
There’s no need for tears.”
“I’m just so…” Bethany took in a giant, sucking sob and hugged him tighter. “I’m so grateful.”
Tasha downed her vodka and stood. “C’mon, sweetie.” She peeled Bethany away from
Alexander. “You need some rest. Hell, we all could use some sleep. And I gotta get to the cat box.”
Felicity must have misunderstood. “You’re cleaning the cat box, Tash?”
“Well, duh.” Tasha was already nudging the mother-to-be toward the front door. “Bethany’s
pregnant, and I read that pregnant women shouldn’t come in contact with dirty litter, so of course I’m
cleaning the cat box.”
 Bethany yawned before she spoke. “I was wearing gloves and a mask, but Tasha still
insisted.”
Felicity was speechless. Her BFF had gone from cat hater to cat hygienist in a matter of
weeks.
Tasha stretched and yawned before she reached for the doorknob. “I think just the front of the
double-wide got beat up in the blast. The bedrooms should be okay.”
Alexander stood. “Allow me to help you get that front door open. I’ll check for shattered
glass, too. If immediate repairs are needed, I remember seeing plywood sheets in the storage shed.”
As Alexander approached, Tasha looked away. “Sure. Thank you. I… uh… actually, I would
really appreciate the help. That’s kind of you.”
“Ooh!” Bethany lit up, clapping her hands together. “Alexander can come spend the night with
us! Like a sleepover!”
Tasha’s eyebrows rose so high and so fast that Felicity expected them to fly off her face, then
she cleared her throat. “I think Bethany means that we already have the extra bedroom all set up, as
long as you don’t mind sharing it with Little Mama and the kittens.”
Alexander smiled, bestowing all his handsome benevolence upon a flustered Tasha. “Of
course. That sounds perfect.”
“I’ve got room, too,” Felicity offered. “But I haven’t had time to unwrap and set up the spare
mattress and box spring. Or put the sheets on.”
“Let me save you the trouble, then,” Alexander said. “I think you’ve done enough for me… for
all of us, today.” He turned back to Tasha, “I’ll take you up on your generous offer, then. Just let me
just grab my overnight bag from my car. Shall we?” He gestured for the women to exit before him.
Tasha snapped to attention. “So you’re always prepared for any last-minute slumber party
invitations?”
Alexander didn’t appear ruffled. In fact, he flashed another smile. “You never know when an
extra pair of underwear might come in handy.”
“Boxers or briefs?” Before she’d even finished that question, Tasha’s face blushed stoplight-
red. Felicity knew that later, when they had time for a play-by-play recap, the vodka would be to
blame.
“A gentleman never spoils the surprise.” Alexander held the door open for Tasha and Bethany.
“The rain has let up a bit, so we should probably make a break for it.” He turned back to the living
room. “Let’s reconvene in the morning. We all have a lot to discuss. Until then, good night. Sweet
dreams.” And he closed the door behind him.
Felicity turned to Ronnie. “I’ve got some sweatpants and an extra toothbrush, plus several
bedrooms to choose from, if you don’t mind helping me set up.”
“She’ll stay with me.” Tom hadn’t let go of Ronnie since they’d come in from the rain.
“Of course, but the bedroom you put your stuff in has just a twin bed. At least let me make up
one of the bigger—”
“The small bed down here is fine. I just need to put on the sheets.” He squeezed Ronnie’s
hand. “Be right back.” He rushed down the hallway.
Felicity watched him go. “Huh. I’m guessing he wants to be as far away from my room as
possible. Wonder why.” She gave Ronnie a teasing smile.
Instead of smiling back, Ronnie just grabbed Felicity in a big, unexpected hug. “Thank you.
Thank you for everything you’ve done for me.”
“Done for you?” Felicity looked into Ronnie’s face. “You’re the amazing warrior who’s saved
me at every turn!”
When tears popped into Ronnie’s eyes, Felicity tried not to show her surprise.
“But if you hadn’t stopped that day to rescue a wounded stray cat…” Ronnie trailed off,
overcome with emotion, and wiped away the escaped tears.
“But I did.” Felicity patted Ronnie’s hand. “And now he’s not quite so stray.” That made
Ronnie smile.
With one last hug, Ronnie followed Tom’s path down the hall to the far side of the house.
Felicity settled back on the sofa in front of the dying fire and was almost instantly covered in
cats. They draped themselves over her shoulders, tucked into the crook of her arm, snuggled into her
lap. They pressed their faces against her, batted her with their paws, meowed and purred, and rubbed
against her absolutely everywhere. She stroked each kitty as best she could while murmuring soothing
words. “I’m fine. We’re all fine. Everybody’s going to be just fine.” It took a moment until every cat
had found their perfect spot.
Everyone but Mojo, who didn’t appear to be in the mood. He sat stiffly on the couch cushion,
ears pricked and paws front, staring at Felicity with intense, unblinking green eyes. He produced a
low, meaningful meerroow of admonishment.
“I know. I know. Something destroyed the usekh. Something powerful.” Felicity yawned. She
needed to get off the couch and relocate upstairs to her decadent new bedroom with its soft new
sheets and down-filled pillows. But she only continued stroking Mojo’s black coat, the fur like silk on
her fingertips.
Rrrrrraaaaaoooow!
“You’re right. No one has a clue what we’re dealing with, but I swear I’ll figure that out. I
promise. But that’s a problem for tomorrow, my dude. Tomorrow.”
She yawned once more and let her eyelids droop. She felt Mojo relax beneath her touch.

He ran his fingers along the smooth skin of her shoulder because he could. He could do it
tonight and tomorrow and the day after that. Finally, the desperation that had knotted his chest had
eased.
The rain still pounded the windows of their room in the farmhouse, but now it was a soothing
sound, rhythmic. As soon as they’d climbed into the narrow bed they’d made love, slowly, gently.
They were both beyond exhausted, but he quickly learned she shared his need to join their bodies to
mark their union. Stolen, frantic moments were a thing of the past.
Ronnie’s breath had slowed and he thought she’d fallen asleep as he stroked her shoulder. But
after a moment her eyes opened.
“What’s your name?” Her voice was a low whisper.
“You know my name.”
“Tubastet-af-Ankh. Yeah, I got that. But isn’t that your priestly name?”
“It’s the name I was given at birth. My mother and grandmother both served Bastet. They knew
I would as well.”
A tiny divot appeared between her brows, the one she got when she was loosening a knot of
information, smoothing it out so that it made sense. He loved that about her. She was as brilliant and
analytical as she was beautiful.
“That’s not what your family called you. It can’t be.” Ronnie snuggled closer against his bare
chest, and now it was her turn to brush her fingertips against his skin. “I mean, when it was dinner
time, did your mother call out, ‘Tooby! Time to eat?’”
He smiled. “No. And it was my grandmother. My mother died in childbirth.”
Ronnie stilled, and for a moment he thought she might leave the narrow bed. But then she
shifted, slid her slender body on top of his, skin to skin, heat to heat. She placed her lips at his ear and
whispered, “I’m so very sorry.”
It had been a long time since anyone had offered words of sympathy over the loss of his
mother, and even longer since he’d welcomed those words. But it was Ronnie who spoke them now,
the woman he loved. Her slight weight pressed down on him like a comforting blanket, grounding
him, keeping him safe. He wrapped both arms around her naked back.
“Kyky.”
“What?” She pushed up against his chest until she could see his face.
“They called me Kyky.”
“Kyky? Why?”
“It’s slang for ‘monkey’ and, I guess I was a pretty active kid, climbing everywhere and
getting myself into trouble at every opportunity.”
That’s when the most incredible thing happened. Ronnie smiled widely, her eyes twinkled,
and she burst into laughter. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen her laugh, of course, but the
transformation still struck him as miraculous. He felt like the luckiest man on earth to be on the
receiving end of such a gift.
She laughed until tears ran down her cheeks.
“I don’t think it’s that funny.”
She laughed even harder, until she fell off him, one of her long legs getting tangled in the sheet.
“Hold on, you’re stuck. Lift your foot, Ronnie.”
She wiggled but only managed to wrap the sheet tighter, then bump her head on the headboard.
“You know this stupid bed’s too small, right?” Ronnie mumbled.
“I bet right about now you’re regretting that I can’t turn into a cat anymore.” He’d meant it as a
joke, a gentle tease to add to her happy mood, but Ronnie stopped wiggling. She stopped laughing and
stopped smiling, too. “I need to know. Please tell me the truth. Will you regret it?”
“No. No regrets, ever.” He answered her without hesitating, because he was absolutely
certain. Never in his long, long life had he been more certain about anything.
“Even when I’m old and gray and everything’s drooping and I need bifocals?”
“I’ll be right there with you—old and gray and droopy but with trifocals and ear hair.”
“You could have lived forever.”
He sat up then, pulling her with him. He cupped her face in his hands, searching her luminous
brown eyes. “Veronica, listen to me. Listen carefully. Before, I only existed. But now, I have you.
Now, I love you. This, right now, is when living begins. And even if you end our relationship
tomorrow, it’ll still have been worth it.”
She tried to turn away, but he didn’t let her. He would not allow her to hide her beautiful,
soulful face.
A tear trailed down her cheek. “I wouldn’t… I won’t break up with you. Not ever.”
 “But you could. I want you to know that. You owe me nothing. I made my choice. This is my
decision.”
“But you chose because of me. For me.”
“No. I made the choice for me. Because I wanted to live, and the price of that is to eventually
die.”
He stared into her shimmering eyes, wondering if she heard him, if she truly understood. He
was worried he’d burdened her, and he wanted to know what she was feeling. Then she kissed him,
and the worry was gone. All that remained was the wonder.
 CHAPTER TWO

It had to be done. The Ancient Thing knew that and had planned for it. But standing naked on
the cliff overlooking the ocean pounding below, he hesitated. The sharp dagger in his right hand felt
insubstantial, not powerful enough for the job.
It was dawn and the western sky had only just begun to lighten, the horizon line still dark
against the sea. Above him, gray storm clouds swirled. He took the salty sea into his lungs, felt the
light rain on his skin, and realized it felt delicious, like a caress. It was pleasure. When was the last
time he’d experienced physical pleasure?
Though the sensation was a surprise, he savored it. His shoulders relaxed. His long hair was
soaked through and trailed down his back in thick ropes, and when he moved his head left, his hair
tickled his skin. He almost laughed—he would have laughed if he still did that. But he did not.
The tickle grew into a rush of needle-pricks that surged through his whole body, bringing life
to this dried-out husk of a body. He’d been in the desert so long, too damn long. He hated the desert.
And suddenly the rage returned, a welcomed friend.
He tightened his grip on the dagger, bent forward, and ran the blade across his left foot and up
his calf. The pain was excruciating. Pain—he’d forgotten physical pain, too, forgotten how hard it
was to breathe, how muscle rebelled, and skin trembled as it was breached.
Beads of sweat broke out on his brow but his hand never wavered. He never let the sharp
edge leave his flesh as it traveled up his thigh and across his abdomen. He wanted to scream but he
didn’t stop.
He reminded himself of his greater mission, of what he had come to do—what he’d waited
eons to accomplish—and he cut. Across his shoulder, his throat, down the other side. He closed his
eyes, focused. The rain fell harder, pouring over his skin, washing all the blood away. It could not
wash away the anguish.
He sliced the blade down his right leg and across his foot. He trembled and shuddered so hard
that the knife fell from his hand and landed with a soft thud in the mud.
He could do this. He knew he could. But as his skin stretched apart and the pain burned
beyond endurance, he had a moment of doubt.
A sharp sting started on his left side, and after a moment of agony, a hoof emerged above his
left foot. Then another appeared above his right. Long scaley hind legs slid out from his shins. Front
hooves tore from his hands.
He gave in to the need to scream, but the sound of his torment was quickly absorbed by the
roar of the ocean. He fell to his knees, aware he was losing consciousness and grateful for it, the pain
was so unbearable.
As the world darkened, his body ripped apart in a violent mocking of birth. The last thing he
saw was a long, forked tail emerge from his gaping abdomen. Its form slithered free, then fell to the
mud. It was now split off from his being, separate and sentient for the first time in history.
Him, but not him.
 Early that rainy morning, Felicity awoke knowing the time had come to face what was perhaps
her most crippling fear: waffles.
Waffles had terrified her ever since the fateful morn she attempted to prepare them, from
scratch, as a newlywed, using the brand-new waffle iron received as a wedding gift. In the end, her
efforts produced a stack of miniature, charred, manhole covers with vaguely waffle-like textures.
Felicity’s new husband, Richard Hume, had walked into the kitchen, pointed, and doubled
over in laughter. Once he’d stopped guffawing and making jokes about calling the fire department, he
got serious.
“Felicity. Have a seat.” He gestured to a kitchen chair while he stayed standing. He explained,
in his closing-argument tone of voice, that he was terribly disappointed in her. He asked how she, a
woman with a college degree, failed to grasp the simple operating instructions of a waffle iron. He
suggested she never again try to make waffles, then announced that he’d be taking himself out to the
local pancake house before starting his day at the law office.
The Waffle Incident, as it would come to be known in their marriage, was forever included
when Rich decided it was time to recite the long list of her wifely inadequacies, which was usually
after he was caught doing something unkind, insensitive, or just plain shitty, and had to find a way to
turn the focus on her.
But that had been a long, long time ago, in another life, really. Way before she’d become a
badass Acolyte who’d successfully saved the world—twice! It was past time that she overcame her
waffle phobia, and when Tasha came over for coffee that morning at the butt-crack of dawn, Felicity
asked her to dig up her old waffle iron.
Tasha had come through. She’d remembered packing it away in a box while preparing to
remodel her house for the first time, before either of the Apep battles. And now, a couple hours later,
Felicity had successfully made three batches of delicious, fluffy-on-the-inside and toasty-on-the-
outside waffles. She was astounded at her success, and the fact that she’d only succumbed to two mild
anxiety attacks. But she’d worked through them, with Tasha’s encouragement, and her masterpieces
were happily being devoured by her family now gathered in the new dining room.
Her family?
Why not? Her family.
She glanced around the table, fighting back tears. Tom and Ronnie sat with their chairs almost
touching, holding hands under the table as if no one else knew what was going on. Tasha sat at the
other end, Alexander to her left and Bethany on her right. At that moment, Tasha said something that
made Alexander laugh while Bethany studied the tile samples she had laid out on the tablecloth near
her plate. This was one of those snapshot moments that Felicity knew she would remember for the
rest of her days.
Felicity placed the latest batch of warm waffles in the center of the table. She scooted P-
Diddy Kitty out of her chair and sat down just in time to hear Alexander give another little laugh.
“Luckily, I offered the tradespeople and crew a ‘no questions asked’ bonus,” he told Tasha,
right before he speared another waffle from the serving plate. “Felicity, these are seriously
delicious.”
Everyone agreed, with enthusiasm.
Tasha munched down on another mouthful of waffle with fresh strawberries and whipped
cream, then sipped her cappuccino. “It’s a good thing. You both saw how horrified the crew was
when they arrived this morning, right?”
Bethany looked up from her tiles and nodded.
“They just stared at the ruined cottage,” Tasha continued. “The same cottage that had been
moments away from finished perfection the last time they’d been here. Then they got a look at the
bashed-in front of the double-wide.”
“I told that nice Mr. Vaughn—he’s the roofing contractor— that we’d had a freak wind storm.”
Bethany nodded, proud of her own quick thinking.
“Well, you’re not wrong.” Tom said. “That wind, the lightning blast, how the usekh and the
Airstream were vaporized—it was all pretty freakish.”
Mention of the usekh’s destruction seemed to dampen everyone’s spirits a bit, everyone but
Bethany.
“This time, Tasha, you’ve got to go open-concept kitchen. And we’re going to Feng Shui the
living room, no matter what you say.” Bethany handed one of the tiles to Tasha. “If there’s any place
on God’s green earth that needs a good chi balancing, it’s your house.”
Tasha took the tile and nodded. “Abso-fucking-lutely.”
“I’ve been thinking a lot about houses,” Felicity said. She turned her gaze to Tom. “Now that I
no longer wear Bastet’s necklace, you don’t have to live with me.” She knew it was the right thing to
do, but speaking the words aloud made her sad. “I know you must be eager to get your own place,
have some privacy.” She forced a smile.
Tom put down his fork, looking far too serious for a man who’d just consumed half-a-dozen
waffles. “Ronnie and I have already talked about this, and, if it’s all right with you…” He paused to
look at Ronnie, and his entire face relaxed into a smile. “We’d like to stay here for a while. At least
until we understand what happened to the usekh.” He looked to Felicity. “I don’t want to leave you.”
The earnest and loving way he’d spoken brought tears to her eyes. How ironic, she thought.
For most of her life, men couldn’t get away from her fast enough. But not this one. Tom was a loyal
friend, and then some. He was part brother, trainer, and son. He was at the very center of her new
family.
“Then at least bring down one of the bigger beds for your room.”
Tom looked… embarrassed, which Felicity thought was adorable. Ronnie inclined her head to
his shoulder, as if encouraging him to answer. “Yeah,” he agreed. We’ll do that.”
“You can do it tonight. I’m seeing Cass so I probably won’t even be home until very late… if
at all.” Felicity took a big bite of waffle.
“You’re such a tramp!” Tasha pantomimed a high-five from across the table. “I’m so proud!”
Felicity chuckled.
“You know,” Bethany said. “A grown woman expressing her sexuality is healthy and normal
and excellent for keeping the sacral chakra clear. I know you meant it as a joke, but using the word
‘tramp’ to describe a mature woman exploring the richness of her sensual identity kind of feels like
just another way patriarchy keeps us down.”
Awkward silence fell over the table. Tasha lowered her gaze. Bethany wasn’t wrong, Felicity
realized.
“Amen to that!” Ronnie shouted.
“Shit. You’re right.” Tasha mumbled into the tablecloth. “I’m...” She raised her gaze. “I’m
sorry, Lissie. I guess it really is a slur, and I have no right to call you that. And the weird thing is…
I’ve used it to describe myself a hundred times! And what does that say about me?”
Bethany patted Tasha’s hand. “I’m reading an excellent book on how to use crystals to clear
our own internalized misogyny. I’ll lend it to you.”
“Yeah. Maybe my house isn’t the only thing that needs rearranging.”
The doorbell rang.
Felicity rushed to the front of the house, making sure to check her peephole. It was Cass. She
swung the door open wide. “Speak of the devil—and what handsome devil, at that! Come in out of the
rain. Would you like some waffles?”
He stepped inside, fidgety and wet from the storm. He wiped the rain from his brow. “I’m
sorry I didn’t call first, but I’m rushing out to a fire and was driving this way. I don’t know how long
it’s going to take but apparently it’s a big one, so I wanted to let you know I have to cancel tonight.”
He blinked his wet eyelashes.
Felicity didn’t say anything at first. She just stared.
He shifted. “You know I’m a volunteer firefighter, right?”
Felicity kept staring. How many times had she told herself that Cass was too good to be true?
In about a thousand ways? Even so, this was not how she thought things would end with them—in an
avalanche of bullshit.
“You know, Cass.” She widened her stance, as if needing to prepare to defend herself. “If you
don’t want to see me again, you can just say so. We’re adults here. There is no need to invent
ridiculous excuses.”
“What? No! I want to—”
Felicity reached around him to open the front door again, then pointed to the downpour.
“Explain how you’re off to fight a forest fire in this.”
“I, uh, I don’t know. I just got the call. Maybe it’s not raining up on the ridge, where the fire
was reported.” He looked remorseful. And confused. Felicity reconsidered her jump to the rejection
conclusion. Maybe she’d been a little fast, a little overly defensive. She studied him, seeing that he
was clearly holding something back, but who could blame the guy? It was obvious she hadn’t exactly
been a font of truthfulness in their relationship.
She relaxed her shoulders and took a deep breath. “Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”
“I get it. I do.”
“It’s just…”
Cass frowned and dipped his head to the side, waiting.
Was she really going to do this? Yes. She had to. Before they got serious. Before there was
more to lose. “Cass, I have something really important I’ve been meaning to tell you.”
“Are you okay?” He seemed legitimately worried. “Is it your stomach?”
Now she felt like a jerk. Cass really cared for her. He remembered the stomach problems
she’d had while being energetically connected with Misty McAlpine, the undead teenage Acolyte
who’d been possessed by Apep. “I’m fine. Perfectly healthy. I just—”
The bing! of a text message rang out, and Cass pulled his phone from the front pocket of his
jeans. “Gotta go. I’m sorry. Look, I’ll call you as soon as I can and we’ll talk.”
“OK.” Which it wasn’t, of course. How would it be OK to tell him—on the phone, no less—
that she’d been summoned by an ancient Egyptian goddess to save the world from destruction twice
since they’d met? That seemed like a conversation better shared in person.
Cass stepped out the door but immediately turned back. He reached out, cupped the nape of
her neck in his hand, and gave her a quick, but nice, kiss. “Whatever you have to tell me, it’ll be OK. I
promise.” He paused to study her, a puzzled expression on his face. “Hey! I knew something was
different this morning! You’re not wearing your necklace.”
She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Yep. Long story. I’ll tell you when we can really
talk.”
“Deal.” With a quick nod and forced smile, he was across the porch and down the steps,
splashing in the mud.
Felicity shut the door and stared. She stared at the old wood grain and the buffed and shiny
old brass doorknob, thinking that she had no idea how she’d explain the situation to him. Would he
believe a word of it? That she was the former Acolyte of The Ever-Living-Goddess Bastet, one who
no longer wore the fancy necklace but still faced some unknown mortal danger?
Hoo boy, she was not looking forward to that chat.
The Triumph of the Waffles was slightly less sweet after Cass left, though she tried not to
obsess over how he’d react to her dump truck full of secrets. He was a good man, and a fairly
straight-forward one. She just worried there wouldn’t be room in his world view for a woman with
the kind of baggage she’d been dragged around lately.
Tasha and Bethany were anxious to get back across the street to discuss the new house plans
with the architect, who had just arrived at the site. Before they left, Alexander assured them he would
approve any new costs without delay, and made sure Tasha had his cell phone number.
“I should have yours, as well, Tasha. In case there’s a construction issue we need to discuss.”
Felicity watched this exchange with a smile. It was no surprise that Alexander had a smooth
touch. What was a surprise was how easily his touch worked on Tasha, who recited her phone number
for him as she and Bethany walked out the door.
To think—only a month ago, Tasha swore in the name of all that was holy that she would never
again give her number to another man. Ever.
Perhaps ‘ever’ isn’t quite as long as we think it is.
The remaining posse members decided to move to the living room to discuss next steps. It
sounded as if Alexander planned to stick around for a while, which surprised Felicity.
“I appreciate you being here, but I know you have a job and a life back in Portland. I don’t
want to hold you hostage in Pine Beach.”
He waved away her concerns. “Oh, I’m going back to the city, but there are a few things I’d
like to ask you first.”
“Of course.”
Alexander leaned forward in the armchair. He shot a quick glance at Tom before he addressed
Felicity. He’d opened his mouth to speak when Tom jumped in.
“Wait. Before we get to the destruction of the usekh, can I ask about the lion? Seriously,
Felicity—where the hell did the lion come from?”
She smiled. “Lioness, actually. And the lioness was Little Mama.”
Tom’s lips parted.
Alexander’s dark eyebrows went askew. “Say what? You mean the small calico with the three
cute kittens? That Little Mama?”
 “The one and only. That was her. I mean, it still is her. She refused to back down in the battle
against Apep, and got herself mauled by one of the vultures. I healed her and I…”
“Felicity.” Tom pointed at her face.
“What? What is it?” She patted her cheeks and forehead, her imagination swinging from
spiders to ticks and back again.
“Your wound is almost healed,” Tom said.
“It is?”
Ronnie held out her phone, the camera on selfie mode. “Take a look.”
Felicity peered at herself. Sure enough, the deep and painful slice down her cheek had already
knitted together, leaving only a pale pink outline of the wound. “How cool is that?” She handed the
phone back to Ronnie. “What was I saying?”
“The lioness,” Ronnie said.
“Right! So I healed her. But I bled all over her while doing it.”
Felicity glanced around the room. Tom’s mouth now gaped open.
“And I cried on her, too, though I don’t know if that was part of it, with the snot from my nose,
which was… yeah.”
Tom shook himself. “But what happened?”
“She turned into a lioness.” Felicity shrugged. “Maybe that’s who she’s always been inside,
who she will always be, and the usekh just brought it out.”
Tom reached over and squeezed her hand. “Just like you, then.”
“Damn right just like her,” Ronnie said.
“Speaking of Bastet’s necklace…” Alexander shot a quizzical look Felicity’s way. “What
does your intuition say about its destruction?”
“How would I know? I’m no longer the Acolyte and I no longer have any of the Acolyte’s
powers.”
“What powers would those be?” Tom asked.
“For starters, the power to know things I have no way of knowing.”
“You mean your intuition?”
“Yes.”
Tom grinned. “What if your intuition wasn’t linked to wearing the usekh? What if that kind of
wisdom stems from who you are? Like Little Mama. What if it’s just you?”
“Excellent point,” Alexander said.
Felicity was stunned. She’d never been accused of being wise. When had that happened? The
label made her feel strong and powerful—yet so damn old at the same time—and she wasn’t sure she
was ready for it. After all, a ‘wise woman’ was just another term for crone. In fact, the word
‘wizened’ was synonymous with a person who appeared dry, shriveled, wrinkly, and in failing
vitality. And if that was wisdom, Felicity wanted no part of it.
“It would be easy, I think, to relax now that Apep has been fully destroyed,” Alexander said.
“Obviously, it’s the first time in history that it’s happened and the only time it will ever need to
happen. But…” His voice trailed off. He was always so careful to choose the right words.
“But what?” Felicity didn’t want any more buts in her life. Dry, shriveled, wrinkly buts…
“Let’s just say I’d like to know what you think about everything in general. What is your gut
telling you about the current situation? I’m sure we can all agree that you’ve been exceptionally
accurate with your sense of things.”
“No kidding,” Ronnie said. “Remember when Felicity kept going back to the piece of Apep’s
flesh in hiding, asking if it could somehow reanimate before the expected 63 year cycle was over, and
you both kept saying ‘no?’”
Tom and Alexander shared a sheepish look.
“So, Felicity,” Alexander gestured her way. “Please. What is your gut telling you right now, at
this moment?”
She sighed. She closed her eyes, straightened her back, and tried to concentrate. First off,
there was no more pain in her gut, because she was no longer connected to Misty, who had finally
moved on. No more pain in her gut was definitely a good thing. But there was no more heavy gold
necklace around her neck either, humming with energy, enhancing her physical strength, and
sharpening her mind. Felicity forced herself to focus. Come on now…what am I thinking? No. What
am I feeling?
She took a deep breath, and on the exhale, it was there, waiting for her. The knowing was faint
at first, shapeless, just a sense of unease. But the more she honed in on it, the clearer her sense of it
became, until it had coalesced into a certainty.
Felicity’s eyes flew open. “The balance of the universe has not been restored.”
They waited for more. They stared at her expectantly. But that was all she had. And she began
to feel stupid. Am I making this all up? No! No, I am not. The imbalance was there, and it had
nothing to do with Apep.
“Apep is gone,” she said. “Truly. There’s nothing left of him, anywhere.”
“And?” Tom reached over and stroked the top of her hand.
Felicity jerked to attention. “Forget it. This is ridiculous. I’m ridiculous. What am I talking
about, anyway?” She let go with a frantic laugh. “Listen. Pro tip: Pay no attention to the dry and
shriveled up old hag who has no fucking idea what’s going on at any given time.”
Ronnie, Tom, and Alexander exchanged glances, then Ronnie said, “Get to the point, you
badass goddess. I believe you. I believed you the instant you opened your mouth in my apartment all
those months ago and started speaking the truth. So just tell us the truth. Whatever you’re feeling is
real and it’s true.”
“Fine. But you’re not going to like it.” Felicity took another deep breath and braced herself for
their reaction. “A dark and powerful energy has penetrated this realm, which isn’t exactly a shocker,
right, since it destroyed the usekh.”
“Right.” Tom waited for her to finish her statement.
“I’m afraid it’s just getting started.”

The new Creature moved in silence across the sodden meadow, keeping to the shadows of the
tree line. It was ravenous, starving, having been denied for millennia. But it was free from The
Ancient Thing now, fully unleashed for the first time, on its own with nothing holding it back. It had
no conscience and no fear of consequence. There was only hunger.
It stalked the field, going any direction it desired. No one and nothing reined it in. It slunk one
way, then another, until it caught a whiff of them on the breeze. It was a large group, just on the other
side of the fence. A herd, huddled together for the safety they would never again have.
The Creature leapt the wire barrier in one bound, sensing the discomfort ripple through the
beasts of the field. They felt the danger, though could not see it. Skulking low to the ground, twitching
in jubilant anticipation, it was an unstoppable hunter.
And then it was upon them. Its sharps claws ripped through tender flesh. Its ears delighted in
the frantic beating of their terrified hearts as its nostrils sucked in the delicious copper scent of their
blood. It opened its mouth, gorging, feasting. After waiting an eternity, finally, finally, it could feast. It
could thrive. It could fulfill its destiny.
 CHAPTER THREE

Finally, they got a break from the rain. Felicity allowed herself to hope that Cass’s fire had
been put out. She waited for a call that hadn’t come. She was equal parts worried about him and
worried about herself. She couldn’t shake the feeling that he was hiding something, and hey, didn’t
everyone just finish telling her that her feelings were real and true? Well, those real and true feelings
were now preventing her from trusting Cass, and she had to trust Cass completely in order to tell him
the truth about herself. The whole situation sucked.
She and Tom ate their lunch in silence. Sure, they were still exhausted from their battles, not to
mention all that had led up to the final confrontation. And she suspected that Tom felt a little lost now
that Ronnie had gone into work for a late shift. Felicity briefly wondered if Ronnie would quit her job
now that she and Tom had a guaranteed income. She should ask. Except, of course, it was none of her
business. But would she let that stop her? No, she would not. They were her family now, and she
would make it her business.
Felicity stifled a laugh, which produced an unintentional snort.
Tom looked up from his soup. “Noodle go down the wrong pipe?”
“It’s all good. Just thought of something funny.”
Tom nodded and resumed staring into his bowl.
His cell phone ring broke the silence. Tom looked at the screen, held the phone to his ear, and
his whole face lit up. “Marhaban!” His eyes got wide as he listened. “Of course! Yes. Text me the
address and we’ll be right there.” He hung up and jumped to his feet.
“Going somewhere?”
“We’re going somewhere. That was Ronnie. Dr. Nguyen’s partner is a big animal vet, you
know, the kind that does farm animals.” He pulled out his truck keys.
“Ronnie goes on field calls with him sometimes, right?” Felicity was already on her feet and
pulling on her coat before Tom could verify.
“A farmer had something attack his sheep. The vet says he’s never seen anything like the
wounds. They’ve called the sheriff to investigate it as a mutilation.”
Felicity followed Tom outside and climbed into his truck beside him. “And we’re driving out
there because…?”
They fastened their seatbelts and Tom backed the pickup out of the driveway, then headed
toward the interstate. “Ronnie said the farmer chased the predator off with his shotgun and got a
glimpse of it.”
“And?” Felicity knew from experience that when Tom dragged out information like this, one
drip at a time, it never ended well. “Just cut to the chase. Are we talking alien mutilation?”
Tom laughed. “Hate to disappoint. The farmer said it was a monster.”
A small crowd had gathered by the time they arrived, mostly neighbors and looky-loos.
Ronnie spotted Felicity and Tom on the perimeter of the field and waved them over. She stepped
about twenty yards away from where the vet and sheriff’s deputies examined the dead flock.
 “Maybe I’m just paranoid.” Ronnie whispered, then looked over her shoulder to make sure the
vet didn’t need her. “But I don’t believe in coincidences anymore.”
“You and me both.” Tom surveyed the carnage.
Felicity didn’t dare. She might be a badass goddess but she wasn’t sure she could handle the
mass slaughter of innocent creatures. She kept her gaze on the tree line and mumbled, “Yeah, I’m
fairly certain that monster attacks are new thing in Pine Beach.” That feeling in her gut was no longer
run-of-the-mill bad. It was horrendous. Sickening.
Ronnie motioned for them to follow her. “We moved one of the sheep to get a better look at its
wounds and found a strange footprint beneath the body. The poor thing must have fallen right on top of
the print and died, because its body kept the impression from getting washed away by the rain.”
The imprint was very distinct. And large. Tom bent down to look closer. “A cloven hoof.”
“Way too massive for a goat or even a wild hog,” Ronnie said.
Felicity took a picture of it with her phone. “What else did the farmer say, Ronnie?”
“That it walked on four legs and had a long, straight tail. Oh, and he said it was a reddish
color.”
“Sounds like a deranged deer, which would be creepy, for sure.” Felicity felt a shiver race up
her spine.
“The farmer would know what a deer looks like,” Ronnie said.
Tom began to say something, but hesitated.
“Spit it out.”
He looked up at Felicity. “I’ve seen something like this before.”
“Say what?” Felicity crouched down beside him. “Where’ve you seen this?”
Tom gave his head a slow shake. “I can’t remember. For an instant there was something in the
back of my mind, but now it’s gone. I don’t know. I’m sorry.”
Felicity stood up again, realizing her knees still didn’t hurt, even without the necklace. Nice.
Maybe she wasn’t ‘wizened’ after all. “It’s okay, Tom. We’ll figure it out.”
That night they all gathered for dinner at Felicity’s, everyone but Alexander, who had gone
back to Portland, and Felicity missed him. She thought maybe Tasha did, too. Her BFF seemed tense
that evening, scattered.
“So you’ve got a bad feeling and some dead sheep. Maybe there’s no connection and you’re
overreacting.” Tasha ate her last bite of mashed potatoes.
“Don’t forget the forest fire in the rain part,” Bethany added.
Tasha shrugged. “Not sure there’s anything supernatural there. I’ve read that big forest fires
make their own weather and can generate enough heat to keep burning even in rain.”
But Felicity wasn’t swayed. “You know what? No. I’m not overreacting, Tash.”
Tasha pushed peas around her plate. “All I’m saying is that we’ve spent so much time
planning for the worst to happen that maybe we’re just seeing boogey men under the bed.” She
dropped her fork and looked around the table. “The necklace wasn’t needed anymore, so it self-
destructed. Big deal. Unfortunately, the Airstream became a shish-kabob in the process, but shit
happens. And then some coyote with mange got into the sheep pen, and the rain made the footprint
look funny. Maybe it’s all as simple as that.”
Felicity shook her head, more certain that ever. “Again, no. It’s all related to the overarching
“something bad” that’s about to happen. I just need to put the puzzle pieces together.”
 Tasha snapped. “I can’t do this again. I just can’t!” She stood, throwing her napkin on her
plate. “I can’t go on another ‘ooohhh, there’s something spooky out there’ adventure with you. I…”
Tasha rubbed her face, clearly frustrated and bone-tired. “Look, all I want is my little house back in
one piece and my stupid single life and a good night’s sleep and some goddam normal…” Tears filled
her eyes. “Whatever. I must sound like a selfish, whiny bitch, but I’m telling you—I cannot see a
monster around every corner anymore the way you do, Lissie! I can’t keep seeing every little accident
as a clue that fits into some super creepy big picture. I need normality. I need certainty.” She shoved
her chair into the table. “I’m just done with this crap. I’m sorry. I’ll see you guys tomorrow.” And she
walked through dining room and out the front door.
The rest of the posse was silent.
Finally, Ronnie sat up a bit straighter. “Like I said, I believe you, Felicity.”
“I do too.” Bethany’s voice was steady and serious.
“We’ll figure this out together,” Ronnie said. “And then we’ll face whatever this is the way
we always do—together.”
Before Felicity could even respond to her friends’ show of support, the front door opened and
shut. Tasha returned to the dining room and stopped at the end of the table. She held herself too rigid.
Her jaw was set too tight. And her hands shook.
“So, my bad,” she said. “You’re right, Lissie. Something’s going on out there.”
“What happened? What’s wrong?” Felicity jumped up.
“It’s snowing.” Tasha glanced around the table, barely holding it together. “In August.”

Gentle fluffs of snow kissed The Ancient Thing’s shoulders, and he thought it felt so much
nicer than raindrops upon his still-raw skin. In this frozen form, water was soft and icy, its touch like
a whisper that soothed as it chilled. In fact, he now felt cold. After all that time in the desert, he’d
forgotten how it felt to be cold.
He looked down at the angry red lines his blade had made. He was nearly healed, except for
where The Creature had ripped his flesh as it emerged. The knitted-together wounds were still sore,
and the clothes that lay folded at his feet would irritate. But he needed to get down to the beach to
accomplish this task and didn’t want to draw attention before he got there.
He dressed and began walking. His movements were stiff as he made careful progress down
the rocky cliffside. At one point, his stomach growled, and a wave of dizziness nearly knocked him
sideways. It took him several minutes to discern this was hunger he experienced. He hadn’t fed his
physical body since he’d arrived. He’d have to do something about that, afterward.
The dark and cold air must have chased everyone from beach. It was deserted, but for the
squawking seabirds, which was just as well. He had work to do and would prefer not to be seen
doing it. Not yet.
He walked to the water’s edge and crouched down. He used his fingers to dig a small hole in
the sand just beyond the reach of the tide, and forming a scoop with his palms, he filled the hole with
seawater. He spit into the divot, then used one fingertip to stir the seawater and saliva into a slowly
moving vortex. He spoke a few words in his ancient tongue and stepped back. The water continued to
spin in the hole.
A few moments later, the tide moved inland, eventually merging with his handiwork. He
watched as the little eddy was carried out with the tide. It continued its journey, farther and farther
away from shore.
He turned his attention to the hand at rest by his side, then moved one finger in a circling
motion, faster and faster, until he jerked the finger upward and a waterspout sprung from the sea,
stretching skyward in a perfect spiral. He spun two fingers now, pleased that the waterspout grew
taller, wider, so powerful now that it smashed into the three sea stacks just offshore without
weakening. Huge boulders broke from the smallest of the rock formations and crashed into the
frothing waves. It crumbled, disappearing beneath the tide, as the swirling vortex continued on its
path.
He heard a commotion in the nearby harbor, shouts and frantic voices raising the alarm. Small
boats tried to cast off and race away for safety, but the attempt was pointless. He sensed the panic
spreading among the people, like a contagion, as his terrifying creation careened closer to the shore
and the town beyond.
The Ancient Thing smiled.

Everyone was still on the porch, staring in awe at the accumulated snow, when simultaneous
alerts rang out from their cell phones.
Felicity nearly jumped out of her skin. “What the hell?” Those alarms were skull-rattling. She
read the extreme weather warning that now flashed across her phone screen.
“Is it because of the snow?” Ronnie shivered when an icy wind whipped across the porch.
Tom wrapped both his arms tight around her.
“No idea,” Felicity said. “Tash, do you think they’d send out an emergency alert about snow?”
“Snow in August, maybe.”
“Then they’re a little late.” Tom gestured to the farmhouse yard. “It’s stopped.”
Felicity jolted when another cascade of alarms rang out. A new warning flashed across all
their screens.
“Um,” Bethany said, frowning as she read. “I didn’t know we got tornadoes on the Oregon
Coast. We used to get them all the time back in Lehigh Valley, Pennsylvania.”
Tasha released a squeak of distress. “They’re few and far between, but there’s been nothing in
Pine Beach for decades. My dad used to talk about the one that hit when he was a kid.” Tasha began
to pick at her nail beds, something Felicity hadn’t seen her do in months.
“You OK, Tash?”
“Nope.”
They all heard the low rumble. It reminded Felicity of the sound of a garbage truck lumbering
down the lane, just without the actual truck.
“Shit on a stick, people.” Tasha’s breathing was ragged.
Dark clouds gathered and swirled to the west. Then, over the rise, a twisting funnel of water
and debris appeared. It was headed directly at them.
“We’re right in the path!” Bethany was on the verge of losing her shit, and Felicity didn’t
blame her. “We need a basement! Now!”
“Follow me!” Felicity ushered everyone inside, through the kitchen, and to the entrance of the
narrow stairwell. She watched them scramble down the steps, but hesitated in the doorway.
Her cats.
“Mojo! Circe! Valkyrie! Everyone hurry!”
 The rumble became a bone-rattling roar, as if they were standing directly beneath a jumbo jet
engine. Her ears popped from the sudden drop in air pressure. This was bad.
“P-Dids! Rick James! Teena Marie!” She craned her neck around the corner to watch for the
cats. “Gumbo and Melrose! Alphonse! Scratch and Sniff! Now!”
“For fucks sake, Lissie!” Tasha screamed from the bottom of the stairs. “Leave the cats and
get your ass down here!”
Felicity was torn. She had to keep her cats safe. That was the single most nonnegotiable duty
of any cat lady. Should she rush through the house in an attempt to corral them? No. She didn’t have
time. Desperation strangled her. She couldn’t allow them to die. She refused to abandon them. So she
turned on her heels and was about to run through the house when she heard the first tell-tale scamper
of approaching paws, the sound of cats running down the main stairs. She could only hope it was all
of them, since there wasn’t a second to spare.
The feline herd took the corner into the kitchen so fast that half of them skidded out on the
wood floor. But everyone rebounded and the crowd clamored down the basement steps in single file.
That’s when Felicity noticed that Mojo had held up rear. The big, black cat took one last look behind
him to ensure no cat was left behind. “Mojo, now!”
She slammed the door behind them and they ran down the stairs together. Felicity immediately
began counting cats. She’d only gotten to number seven when the lights went out.
“Electric lines must be down,” Ronnie said, unnecessarily.
Bethany began to whimper. “Little Mama and the babies! Oh, my goddess, what will they do?”
Felicity followed the sniffling sounds in order to navigate in the pitch black. She crouched
down next to Bethany and put her arm around her shaking shoulders. “Listen to me. I know cats. They
will hide, Bethany. They’re smarter than we’ll ever be and will feel what’s coming and take cover.
You cannot go out there now to try to save them.”
Felicity slid her butt to the icy concrete floor and pulled Bethany against her shoulder. The
basement was even colder than the porch, but it was solid and dry, and Felicity was grateful. Within
seconds, she and Bethany were surrounded by cats, bundles of terrified, shaking fur seeking out a
warm spot to hide. In the darkness, she heard Tom’s resonant voice speak to the cats in soothing
ancient Egyptian, and it seemed to calm them. It calmed everyone.
There was a commotion to her left as Tasha made her way through the sea of cats to sit down
next to Felicity. She threw her arms around Felicity’s neck and held on tight as the walls vibrated and
the roar became so loud it was painful. “I’m so sorry I didn’t believe you, Lissie!” Tasha shouted. “If
we’re all gonna die, I don’t want you to be mad at me for eternity!”
Felicity rested against the farmhouse foundation, which doubled as the basement wall, one
arm around Bethany and the other clutching Tasha. “I’m not mad, Tash! I get it. Really. This shit is so
strange that it’s hard for me to believe me half the time.”
The roar overhead grew louder still, shaking the foundation and the very earth supporting it.
Felicity sensed the barometric pressure bottom out, and prayed they would be spared a direct hit. In
other words, she prayed for a miracle.
They huddled together for what felt like an eternity, the house shaking, ears popping, but after
what was likely no more than a few minutes, there was nothing but the sweet sound of silence.
“Everyone okay?” Tom asked the darkness.
They each replied that they were fine and several cats meowed their gratitude or voiced their
displeasure.
“I’m almost afraid to see what’s happened,” Tasha whispered. “Plus, I’m having a wicked
case of déjà vu.”
Bethany jumped to her feet. She ran through the darkness and up the stairs, then lunged for the
kitchen door and flung it open. A pale beam of ambient light reached into the basement. Ronnie, Tom,
and Tasha just blinked, unmoving. Felicity got up and followed Bethany, the cats at her heels.
She reached the kitchen and stopped in her tracks. Everything seemed fine. Nothing had
smashed or cracked or fallen. She turned on her phone’s flashlight app to be sure, seeing that there
was no evidence of a typical windy evening on the coast, let alone a killer tornado. She checked the
rest of the house, moving from room to room as fast as she could with flashlight beam leading the
way. Absolutely everything was in its place.
She arrived downstairs just as Bethany bolted out the front door. Felicity chased after her and
as her feet hit the lane, the moon came out. Bethany made it across the street, through the yard, and
into the double-wide, which appeared to be intact. Felicity turned to check on Tasha’s house to see
the place was completely… fine. Nothing at all had blown around, not the extra two-by-fours, not the
stacked drywall, not even a single roofing shingle.
The others came out on the porch. Bethany poked her head out the double-wide door with
three kittens squirming in her arms.
“We’re all OK!” she shouted. “Little Mama and the babies are good!”
Felicity stood in the lane between the farmhouse and Tasha’s property, thinking something
wasn’t making sense. Granted, she only had moonlight to illuminate the area, but anyone could see
that the roof of the abandoned junkyard had been ripped away. She marched farther up the lane to find
a slew of downed Douglas fir and Oregon maples, then spun in a full circle to get a better sense of the
tornado’s path, which proved simple enough. All she had to do was trace the trail of destruction, a
trail that seemed to stop at the wooden post of Tasha’s mailbox, skipping the farmhouse and the
entirety of Tasha’s property before it got back to business.
That was odd, Felicity thought, walking back toward Tasha’s. She’d definitely heard the
raging tornado directly overhead. They’d all heard and felt it. So why—and how—would a natural
phenomenon like that simply dissipate at the border between one property and the next? It didn’t add
up. “It just stopped,” she mumbled to herself. “Vanished. I don’t get it.”
Tom had strolled over to Tasha’s mailbox, and Felicity joined him. He pointed to the symbol
of the wadjet eye still visible on the old galvanized steel. In mustard, no less. “Here’s your answer.”
Felicity shot a glance toward her house. “Did you protect the farmhouse, too?”
Tom nodded. “Right after the crocodile attack.”
“Then the tornado was magically conjured.”
“That is a distinct possibility.”
“It the only possibility, Tom. What other kind of tornado would be blocked by wadjets?”
Felicity was understanding more of the individual pieces, even if the big picture wasn’t yet in focus.
“This thing is powerful, whatever it is. Powerful enough to reach directly into our realm and destroy
the necklace, with enough juice to set the mountains on fire, make it snow in August, and whip up a
tornado in its spare time.”
By then, Bethany, Ronnie, and Tasha had joined them at the mailbox. For a moment, they all
just shook their heads, baffled.
 Then Ronnie hugged Felicity. “Correct, yet again, I see.”
Felicity forced a smile. She appreciated Ronnie’s backup, but this was no time to rest on her
laurels. She studied the faces of her Goddess Posse minus one and knew that this time, she was in
way over her head.
“Goody for me,” she said.

The Creature sat in silence under a large tree, waiting, completely hidden by the long shadows
of dawn. It had grown bigger than ever before, having gorged itself to satiety and beyond. Now, it
reclined. It grew in size and strength. And it listened.
Its stretching skin had begun to itch, but it refrained from scratching, which could disturb the
soft tickle of the cool breeze. Even when the itch crossed into pain, it did not twitch. It had more
control, too, now that it was separate from The Ancient Thing, that softer part, the half made of
squishy flesh and weakness. It sat with the pain, waiting. It grew. It listened.
Then, the voice came. And the voice said, “Run.”
 CHAPTER FOUR

While Ronnie was at the computer store configuring the laptop and components she’d ordered,
the rest of the posse engaged in some retail diversion at the Pioneer Place shopping mall. Felicity
was determined to not lose all perspective now that she had disposable income, but couldn’t resist a
nice pair of knee-high boots in a rich, butterscotch-brown leather. And she couldn’t say no to the
finely tailored raincoat she’d run across about ten minutes later, the one that made her feel like a
British Cold War spy.
“That’s it. I’m stopping now,” she told Bethany and Tasha, right before she saw a gorgeous
hand-tooled belt she knew Cass would love. On the way out the door she said, “I really mean it this
time. Don’t let me buy anything else. Tasha, swear to me.”
“Sure, Lissie. As you know, swearing is my specialty.”
Tasha seemed to have zeroed in on home furnishings and housewares, gazing at some lovely
stoneware and cutlery, rugs and coffee tables, kitchen gadgets and furniture. She became mesmerized
by a set of king-sized ivory Egyptian cotton sheets on display in a luxury linen store, but after
hemming and hawing, she opted not to purchase them and walked away.
Felicity grabbed her hand. “Let me get them for you! As a housewarming gift! Please.”
Tasha grimaced. “Don’t be ridiculous. Did you even see the price tag? They cost more than
most people’s paychecks.”
“But I want to, Tasha.” She put her hands on her hips. “Lissie. Four stores ago you made me
swear not to let you buy anything else.”
“Well, yeah. But these are a gift for my BFF.” Felicity waited for the final answer. She had
little hope Tasha would give in. She prepared herself for a lecture on how most Americans were not
able to afford a single household emergency or how nearly half of all those over age 55 hadn’t saved
a dime for retirement.
But then, something happened. Tasha exhaled deeply. She smiled. And she said, “Sure. Why
the hell not?”
Felicity hugged her and then grabbed the sheet set. When the salesclerk rang up the total,
Felicity nearly choked. For sheets? A used car maybe, but sheets? She pulled herself together and
paid, thanking the Goddess for her retired-Acolyte nest egg.
Bethany was on the lookout for any and all things adorable for the baby or the baby’s room,
now and at any point in the child’s future, up to and including adolescence. She stopped on occasion
to give a wistful glance at the designer heels and what she called “body con” dresses. But she refused
to buy anything for herself.
“You deserve a little treat, Bethany,” Felicity said.
“No. This is the baby’s moment, and anyway, I won’t be buying clothes for myself until my
body has bounced back.”
Felicity and Tasha glanced at one another over Bethany’s head, and Tasha wrapped a
protective arm around the new mama’s shoulders as they walked. “Please be patient with yourself,
sweetie. It won’t happen overnight, and I’d hate to watch you beat yourself up over what a tag says on
a pair of pants.”
Bethany’s pursed her lips, and frowned. “Oh, I have no intention of doing that to myself. Not
at all!” She turned to Felicity, then back at Tasha. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot, and it’s OK if I’m
never the size I was before the baby. Of course my body will change—I’ve grown a whole human
inside me! Isn’t that amazing? And, obviously, stuff in there had to get rearranged in order to do that,
so it’s totally worth it.”
A few moments later, as they strolled past an expensive lingerie shop, Bethany burst into
tears.
That’s when Tasha whipped out her phone and began searching for something. “Found it!” she
said. “The swankiest maternity and new mommy boutique in town. But it’s eight blocks away.” Tasha
herded them to the escalator, and as they headed down they passed Ronnie, who was riding up. They
stared at each other and laughed, and after a quick check of the vicinity, Ronnie jumped both escalator
railings and ran down to join them.
“Hey! What’s going on?”
“We’ve been shopping!” Felicity held up her bags. “How’d the computer go?”
“Great. I just finished getting everything loaded in the Jeep in the parking garage. Let me tell
you, Alexander can make shit happen, you know? I’ve been looking everywhere for that particular
external hard drive—SSD and HDD with a PCIe expansion slot—and everybody said it was on
backorder for months! But I walked in the store today and there it sat, waiting for me. I couldn’t
believe it. Alexander’s just…”
“Wonderful.” Tasha stared at her phone. “Our Uber’s already here.”
“Good call. We don’t want to lose our parking spot,” Ronnie said.
While Tasha helped Bethany in the front seat of the Uber, Ronnie pulled Felicity aside.
“Where are we going?”
“We’re on a mission to cheer up Bethany.”
Ronnie nodded. “Then let’s roll.”
The boutique saleswoman was sweet and patient, and Felicity appreciated how encouraging
she was with Bethany. The woman made the mistake of assuming Felicity was the grandmother-to-be,
however, and her face froze when she realized she’d been wrong. But Felicity smiled at her.
A couple months ago, hearing she looked old enough to be Bethany’s mother would have sent
Felicity spiraling. But the truth was, she did look old enough, because she was old enough! With a
decade to spare! Felicity was flattered that someone would mistake the beautiful and kind Bethany for
her daughter. No spiraling necessary.
Tasha’s plan worked, and by the time they left the boutique, Bethany’s mood had been lifted by
an assortment of gender-neutral toys and accessories, decorations, gadgets, and supplies, all to be
shipped out to Pine Beach. In addition, Bethany clutched several fancy shopping bags with handles
made of pretty grosgrain ribbon, which were packed with hair and skincare products for mother and
baby, imported soaps, non-toxic soy candles, and three satiny nursing nightgowns, a dress with
ingeniously hidden nursing access, cashmere socks for both mother and child, and three silky-soft and
flattering nursing shirts in pastel shades that were a perfect complement to her peachy complexion.
When they got back in the next Uber, Bethany was all smiles.
The driver dropped them off back at the parking garage. They took an elevator to Ronnie’s
Jeep and they bundled in for the long ride to Pine Beach.
“Did you get everything you needed, Ronnie?” Tasha leaned in from the back seat to talk to
Ronnie, who was driving. Bethany was in the front passenger seat, where she could stretch out her
legs.
“I did. It’s gonna be really great for when I go back to school.”
“Is that what you’ve decided to do?” Felicity asked.
Ronnie nodded. “Yeah. I already gave my notice to Dr. Nguyen. She was totally supportive. I
think I’d like to get my degree in computer engineering, you know, if the world is still here.”
“You’ll be the best!” Bethany said.
Tasha patted Ronnie’s shoulder. “That’s awesome. I’m so happy for you.”
“Yeah. It’s all because of Alexander, you know. He’s been super generous. Way too generous.
Aside from Tubastet, I don’t think I’ve ever known someone like him, a man who says what he plans
to do and then actually does what he says.”
“It does take some getting used to,” Tasha said, relaxing back into the seat again.
“So, Tasha.” Felicity attempted to sound casual. “What’s happening with Alexander?”
“Oh, he’s the best!” Bethany said.
Felicity saw Tasha start to tense up, then stop herself, stretching her neck from side to side.
“He’s been very helpful,” was her response. “It’s been nice to have him around. I’ve enjoyed it.”
Felicity tried not to show her shock. Never, ever had she heard Tasha give that kind of
measured, thoughtful response about a man. It was either “what a low-life scum wad” or “I think he
might be the one, Lissie” and nothing in between. “That’s… that’s great to hear, Tash,” she said.
As they neared Pine Beach, Bethany said, “Thanks for spoiling me today. I’m sorry for being
so ridiculous.”
“I didn’t see any ridiculousness,” Ronnie said. “Did you, Felicity?”
“No. Did you, Tash?”
“None at all.”
“See? See what I mean? You’re too good to me.” Bethany turned to look out the window.
Felicity could see she was trying not to cry. “I’m lucky to have all of you.”
“And we’re lucky to have you,” Ronnie said.
Bethany wiped her eyes, and in a small voice she said, “I’m completely terrified.”
Tasha leaned forward again and patted her back. Bethany continued to stare out the window.
“I’m thrilled and excited, of course, but it’s getting real. This baby is coming and I don’t know what
I’m doing.” She turned around to look at Tasha, then Ronnie and Felicity. “Pretty soon, I’ll look down
to see a human being squirting out of me and that’ll be it. I’ll be a mom. Forever. And if that isn’t
terrifying, I don’t know what is.”
Tasha’s front yard was once again a beehive of activity when they arrived, swarming with
construction workers and machinery, so Ronnie pulled the Jeep into the driveway of the farmhouse.
They all climbed out and began extracting their many shopping bags.
“Sorry I couldn’t give you door-to-door service, Bethany.” Ronnie grabbed a box from behind
the rear seats.
“You guys, I’m not an invalid! I’m just… fat. And tired. And hungry. All the time. And my
ankles are as big around as redwoods.” Tears popped into her eyes. “Ugh, you’re right. I’m a fat
mess.”
 “Give me those.” Felicity took the bags from Bethany. “You’re not a mess, sweetie, and you
certainly aren’t fat. We just had a long day of shopping. C’mon in the house and I’ll make you lunch.”
“Do you have any ice cream?” Bethany sounded hopeful. And a lot more cheerful.
“I do, in fact. And since it’s a dairy product full of calcium, I hereby proclaim it a suitable
lunch for all!”
Everyone laughed at that. The laughter died when they reached the porch and Richard Hume
stepped into view.
“Well, if it isn’t the whole cackling coven!”
“Charming as always, Rich.” But now what? Felicity could ignore him, simply pretend he
wasn’t there. But she knew all too well how Rich operated, and could already see how he’d follow
them inside, prop his muddy shoes on the couch, and ask what brand of beer she had on hand.
Instead, Felicity dropped the bags at her feet and turned to the others. “You all go in. This will
only take a minute.”
“Oh, no. Bethany needs to hear this, too.” Rich bumped his back against the door, blocking
their way like the bully he was.
Tasha helped Bethany settle into one of the porch chairs, then sat beside her. Ronnie hung near
Felicity, clearly serving as her wing woman, which was appreciated.
“You’ve got our attention. Say what you came to say and then leave.”
Rich let out a breath. “As I’m sure you know, the Pine Beach Gazette endorsed that harpy
McFadden for mayor instead of me.”
The news flash landed with a thud. The women just glanced at each other, not sure why they
should care. “We haven’t been following local political news. Sorry. Please step away from the
door.”
“This means my campaign is dead in the water. Everything I’ve ever dreamed of is ruined.”
For a split second, Felicity almost felt sorry for the little, lost SOB. But then he opened his
mouth.
“This is because you bitches kept my wife from me when I needed her at campaign events.”
Again, the announcement got no response.
“I’m leaving Pine Beach!”
Not what Felicity was expecting, but welcome news, nonetheless. She smiled politely. “Best
of luck to you. Please step aside.”
Rich puffed out his chest and widened his stance, causing Felicity to back up a step. He
peered at her, snarling. “This is all your fault. Without that endorsement, my donations dried up and
now I have to withdraw from the race! Your jackass lawyer is forcing me to sell the house, too, which
leaves me little choice but to start fresh somewhere else.”
“I have a few suggestions,” Ronnie muttered.
“I’m going somewhere bigger!” When Rich stretched his arms wide, Felicity briefly worried
that he was about to razzle-dazzle them with jazz hands. “I’m going to a city that will appreciate me.
Somewhere far more interesting than this boring, podunk town where nothing ever happens.”
Tasha snorted.
Felicity wondered what Rich would say if he knew the fate of the world had been decided—
twice—in this boring, podunk town. “Well, go on. Who’s the lucky city?”
Rich’s face lit up with a greedy grin. “Vegas, bitches! I’ve already got the appointment to take
the Nevada Bar.”
Felicity checked on Bethany’s reaction to this big announcement, but she looked as
disinterested as the rest of them. With a sigh, she turned back to Rich. “Be sure to leave a forwarding
address with our lawyer.”
Rich pivoted to Bethany. “You know, babe, it’s not too late for you to come with me.”
His young, pregnant wife didn’t even look up at him.
“I know these crazy broads have held you hostage and brainwashed you, so I’d be willing to
accept your apology and chalk it all up to hormones. I mean, it’s not like you’ve got anything better
waiting for you, a soon-to-be-single mother, right? I’d be willing to give you another chance. We
could get a nice condo with a pool and a gym so you can work out and get your body back. Whad’ya
say, babe?”
Felicity could not believe he’d just spewed such vile and cruel ridiculousness. Wait. It was
Rich Hume. Of course she believed it.
Bethany struggled out of her chair, took the two steps required to reach Rich, then raised her
sweet face to him, producing one of her magical, shiny smiles. “I have to pee,” she said, shoving her
shoulder into his side and making her way into the house, but not before giving a cheery yell over her
shoulder. “Bye, Rich!”
Tasha and Ronnie grabbed their bags, blew past Rich without a word, and joined Bethany
inside, which left Felicity alone with her ex-husband.
“Well, there’s your answer. Safe trip.” Felicity entered the house and saw Rich open his
mouth to speak. She shut the door in his face and locked up.

Tom joined the women for lunch and afterward, Tasha and Bethany headed back to the double-
wide for a well-earned nap. Ronnie was in the room she shared with Tom, organizing all her new
purchases. Felicity and Tom made quick work of the kitchen cleanup, and they’d just turned on the
dishwasher when Alexander arrived.
He carried a huge and clearly heavy box that he set down on the coffee table. Then he rushed
to Felicity and Tom, giving them each a big hug. “It’s so good to see you guys!”
“You left yesterday.” Felicity said.
“And I texted you that we were fine.” Tom added.
“I know, but look what I missed! Two entire natural disasters! I’ve been worried, so I think
I’ll stay, work from Pine Beach for a while if that’s OK.”
“Of course!” Felicity gestured for everyone to sit in the living room. “You probably already
know this, but your team was over early this morning setting up the upstairs guest bedrooms, so we’re
all ready for you. Stay as long as you’d like.”
Alexander settled into an armchair and dropped his gaze. When he looked up he offered
Felicity a shy smile. “Thank you, but I think I’ll stay with Little Mama and her babies. Seems I’ve
grown quite attached to Jellybean.”
All right, then.
She couldn’t help herself. This was her family, after all, and it was her responsibility to keep
the ship afloat on calm waters, so she had no choice but to butt in. “Alexander? I should probably tell
you… well, you could be barking up the wrong tree. You might even be in the wrong forest. Tasha
is...she’s wounded and cautious, to say the least.”
 Alexander considered that for a moment. “Aren’t we all, to some degree? And I assure you,
I’ve barked louder and longer for much, much less.”
Felicity wasn’t sure what to make of this exchange. She adored Alexander. He’d been nothing
but self-effacing, generous to a fault, and kind, to everyone, including Tasha. But with Tasha in
particular, he’d been sweet, flirty, and attentive. “Look, I just want to be sure that it’s not just a thrill-
of-the-chase thing with you. I mean, you probably don’t get a lot of women shutting you down.”
Alexander angled his head, his dark eyebrows arching high. “Maybe this is where I should
explain who I am, and who I am not. I’m a simple man with very high standards for my own behavior
and that of those I choose to bring into my life. I’m certainly not a player. I don’t do wild parties or
the club scene.”
“You really don’t, do you?” There was a hint of wonder in Tom’s voice, like he’d just had an
epiphany. “Nothing like your mother, right? She was a lot of fun at a party, that one.” He smiled to
himself, as if enjoying a particularly fond memory.
“My mother?” Alexander straightened, gripping the chair arms as if holding himself back.
Tom didn’t seem to notice.
“Wait,” Felicity said. “How did you know Alexander’s mother?”
“Minerva was my liaison last time I was here, back when Betty was the Acolyte. It varies, of
course, and it’s more common to skip a generation and have the grandchild as the next liaison, but
Minerva was very young. She hadn’t even met Alexander’s father when I knew her.” Tom grinned,
oblivious to Alexander’s growing exasperation. “You know, it’s funny, but she’s the one who taught
me to dance the 20th Century dances.”
“You danced with my mom?”
“Well, sure.”
“That’s not in any of the records.”
“Yeah, that woman could really move.” Tom’s smile widened. “We had a great time.”
“There is no mention of dancing with my mother in any ledger or documentation you
provided to the collection.”
Finally, Tom caught on. “Oh. No! Hey, we just danced… not, you know, danced. I swear. I
only met her in person on a couple of occasions, not like all the time I’ve spent with you.”
Alexander relaxed his grip on the chair arms.
“She was mostly in London while I was outside of Edinburgh and then traveling with Betty.
All I’m saying is that Minerva was full of life. She sure loved her martinis.”
Alexander leaned in. His next question came out in a slow growl. “You got drunk with my
mom?!”
“Uh…” Tom’s guilty expression would have been comic if the conversation wasn’t heading
downhill, and fast.
“Hey, Alexander!” Felicity decided it was time for diversionary tactics. “What’s in the box
you brought?”
“Oh. Right.” Alexander stopped frowning, took a deep, cleansing breath, and reached out
toward the coffee table. “Oddly enough, I have no idea. The box, and its contents, are for you. It was
delivered by an overnight hand-courier to my office. It’s from Betty Sinclair.”
Felicity wasn’t sure she’d heard that correctly. “Someone hand-carried this all the way from
Los Angeles?”
 Alexander nodded. “Well, yes. Clearly the 30th Acolyte was very eager for you to have
whatever is inside.”
Felicity headed for the kitchen for the shears, then carefully sliced open the packing tape at the
seam. She pulled off the heavy flaps of the lid and removed two layers of protective paper. Only then
did see the handwritten note on delicate lavender paper. She read it aloud. “‘Alexander shared the
glorious news of the final defeat of Apep. Once again, you have done the impossible and are to be
truly commended.’ Felicity looked up. “Betty is such a treasure!”
“Keep going, Felicity,” Tom said.
“‘As we discussed during your visit, I have spent a lifetime learning to listen to my
intuition. Today, I suddenly knew that these are now for you. Fondly, Betty.’”
“These what?” Tom asked, leaning in to see inside the box.
Wrapped in tissue paper were three separate tube-shaped cardboard packages, each one far
heavier than Felicity expected. She removed them one at a time and placed them on the table.
Alexander whisked the empty box away as Felicity unrolled them.
She looked down at the three ancient Egyptian Sinclair Scrolls.
“Oh, my Goddess.”
She wasn’t sure how to react. Felicity was profoundly touched that Betty had given her what
was certainly her most precious possession. But honestly, the gift terrified her, too. Because Felicity
believed in Betty’s intuition, which meant that Betty thought Felicity would need all the help she
could get to face whatever lay ahead.
Well, damn.
Felicity reached out to touch the fragile parchment, hoping no one else noticed the unsteady
tremble of her hand.

Tasha knew Felicity was eager to keep reading Betty’s scrolls and it was clear Tom and
Ronnie were looking for some privacy, so after everyone shared a simple supper, she, Alexander, and
Bethany quickly returned to the trailer.
“I really appreciate you letting me stay with you again. It just seems with everything
happening it’s best if I’m nearby.”
Alexander had just pulled a full-sized suitcase out of his car, and Tasha’s stomach did a little
flip as she watched him roll it down the hallway into the third bedroom. What did it mean that he was
here? What did it mean that she was letting him stay here? What the hell was she doing?
His deep voice rumbled down the hallway. “Jelly-boo!”
Tasha’s left eye began to twitch. What the fuck was a “Jelly-boo?” Did Alexander have
nicknames for the kittens?
“Hey, hey, it’s the Fluffster!” His voice carried from the end of the hallway. “And here comes
her sister, the one and only Miss Big-Bad-Muff-Tuff!”
“Sweet baby-talking Jesus.” Tasha mumbled to herself as she fled into the kitchen. She had to
get her shit together, like right now. She would get the armor back in place where it belonged. She had
to snuff out this little spark between her and the kitten whisperer before it flamed into something
dangerous. Dangerously hot.
“Get it together… get it together…”
“You OK out there, Tasha?” Bethany looked up from her perch on the couch and peered over
the kitchen island.
“Yep. It’s all good. Never better. Thanks for asking.”
Time to rip off the Band-Aid. There was no room for a man in her life, especially one who
would take over every last facet of her existence the first chance he got. Like how she wore her hair.
Which weekdays she met with accounting clients. What color to choose for the bathroom rug!
Oh, hell no. No man would ever again control even the tiniest facet of her life. Because she
would never again allow a man to get away with that shit.
Nope, nope, and nope.
Alexander was all smiles when he returned to the living room. “Ladies, I sincerely hope I’m
not interrupting your plans for the evening.”
“Oh, please. My plan is to hit the hay.” Bethany shoved herself off the couch before Alexander
could reach out to assist her. “Don’t think I’m rude, Alexander, but I’m exhausted. It’s been a long,
long day.” Bethany gave a big yawn and waddled off. “Nighty-night, you guys.”“
“Good night. Sleep well, Bethany.” Once her door was shut, Alexander turned to Tasha. “I
guess that leaves just you and me.”
He shot her a wide, white smile, which only deepened his already-deep dimples and added
extra sparkle to his smoky-blue eyes.
An image flashed in Tasha’s brain. Alexander was The Big Bad Wolf, standing on the other
side of her kitchen island, and he was about to say something along the lines of, “the better to eat you
with, my dear.”
Enough. She was being ridiculous. Alexander was no wolf and she was no blushing, virginal
teenager. Hell, she hadn’t been a blushing virgin as an actual teenager, so what was it about this man
that got her so flustered? Hormones. It had to be her hormones. They’d been all over the place lately.
She and Bethany might have been on the opposite ends of the estrogen spectrum, but they were both on
wobbly footing.
Tasha took a step toward the living room just as Alexander approached the kitchen. They
stopped in front of one another. Tasha suddenly didn’t know what to do with her hands. Her knees felt
as flimsy as a store-bought tortilla.
“CRIBBAGE?” Yeesh. She’d been way too loud, so loud that Alexander looked taken aback.
“Cribbage?” she repeated, this time at sane-person volume. “Do you play?”
OK. That was awkward. Just because she loved the game her grandfather had taught her didn’t
mean a sophisticated attorney like Alexander would have any interest in a stupid, old-fashioned
pastime like cribbage. He probably had no clue what she was talking about. And then it dawned on
her—maybe she’d stumbled upon the secret sauce! She could put an end to this whole thing by letting
him see the true Tasha Romero, and the complete dork-fest she really was!
It was so pitiful it was sure to work.
Alexander’s eyes darkened. One corner of his mouth trembled. “Penny a point with muggins?”
Oh. My. God. Tasha’s heart skipped a beat. Her stupid, stupid heart.
“You’re on.”

The Ancient Thing was tired. He sat beneath a tree, his back to the rough bark of the trunk.
Though it was night, he didn’t feel hidden by the darkness. There were lights everywhere in this
place, from the fire-less torches that lined the roads, to the strange yellow light spilling from the
openings of every dwelling, to the wagons that roared by with such terrible speeds.
He did not want to be seen. Not when he was struggling so in this physical form, longing for
rest. Not here. Not yet.
He cupped his hands in front of his lips and gently blew into them, capturing his breath in his
fingers. At first, there was nothing. But after several attempts, the expelled air began to come out as a
fog, and he was momentarily mesmerized, watching it rise up and fade away. Which gave him an idea.
He once more blew into his cupped fingers, then opened his hands while reciting a few words in his
ancient tongue. His foggy breath floated away from his hands and into the night.
He cupped his hands and blew again.

Tubastet walked in silence for a while, just happy to have Ronnie by his side. They held hands
and kept their pace unhurried, just enjoying an after-dinner stroll on a late summer night. It felt
somehow luxurious to be exploring the abandoned fields around the farmhouse, the acres that used to
be part of a dairy, to have no real destination. The evening coastal mist was just rolling in and it gave
everything a gentle, sleepy quality.
“It feels strange,” he said.
“What does? Holding hands?” Ronnie gave his fingers a little squeeze.
“No, that feels wonderful.” Tubastet raised their interlocked fingers and kissed her knuckles,
because he could. “I mean it feels strange not to be rushing around, worried that time is running out
and the clock is ticking down toward another dangerous battle.”
“Although it may be. If what Felicity is feeling is right, and I think it is, that’s exactly what
we’re looking at.”
“Oh, I think she’s right. Things are out of balance and something powerful has been able to
interfere in this realm. But…” He wasn’t sure how to put the sentiment into words.
“But?”
He stopped walking and pulled her close. “It’s not all on my shoulders.” He released a breath
he didn’t know he’d been holding. “Whatever is happening, we’ll figure it out and face it together, all
of us, just like you said.”
Ronnie wrapped her arms around him. “You’re not alone anymore.”
He cradled her beautiful face in his hands. “No, I’m not. And not only do I have you—which
is such a miracle I still can’t believe it—but I have everyone else, too.”
“Your Goddess Posse.”
He laughed. “Who would’ve ever thought I’d end up with my own Goddess Posse?” He
leaned in, pressing his mouth to hers. Ronnie blossomed beneath his lips, as she always did,
tightening her arms around him and pressing the full length of her warmth against the front of his body.
They held the kiss for a long moment, holding each other, and when they moved apart,
Tubastet saw that the mist had thickened into a legitimate fog. “We’d better head back in.”
They turned toward the farmhouse and walked hand in hand, a bit quicker than they’d walked
on arrival. It wasn’t long before the fog became so dense that they couldn’t see more than a few
inches ahead.
“Are we heading in the right direction?” Ronnie stopped, then turned in a slow, full circle,
keeping a hand on his hip. “I hate to say it, but I have no idea where we are.”
“We should have reached the house by now.” Tubastet grasped Ronnie’s hand in his. “Let’s
not separate.”
“You’ll get no argument from me on that one.”
They forged on, the fog so impenetrable it pressed in on them like a suffocating blanket.
Tubastet was certain now—this wasn’t right. “Chikusho!”
“It must be pretty bad if you’re breaking out the Japanese.”
“This fog isn’t natural.”
“I was afraid of that. It’s even getting hard to breathe.”
He tugged her closer. “I just wish I knew which way to go.”
Meerrroow.
They looked down just in time to avoid stepping on Mojo.
“Well, hello handsome. What brings you out on a night like this?” Ronnie bent down to give
his big head a scratch.
Tubastet crouched down to give the cat’s ears a well-deserved rub. “How gallant of you to
come to our rescue. After you.”
Puuurrrppp. Mojo turned on his heels, and with tail sticking straight up, cut a path through the
miasma.
“Thank you, my man.” Tubastet wrapped an arm around Ronnie’s waist, and they followed the
big black cat back to the farmhouse, which, as they soon learned, was to their left, not their right.
They’d really gotten turned around out there.
“You know, cats have such an innate sense of direction that some believe they can feel the
earth’s magnetic field.”
“Would that make your top-ten list of things you miss most about being a cat?”
His smile was hidden by the haze. “Absolutely. Right after catnip.”
Once they reached the corner of Felicity’s property, the fog instantly dissipated. It was like
stepping through a curtain.
Ronnie pointed to the wadjet Tubastet had painted on the corner fence post of Felicity’s
property. “I believe we have our answer. Not natural.”
They’d left Felicity hours before, right after dinner, when she had pulled out one of the
Sinclair Scrolls and spread it across the dining room table. And that’s exactly where they found her
now.
“Have you moved at all?” Ronnie asked.
“No.” She didn’t look up. “Did you have a nice walk?”
“Right up until we got hopelessly lost in a freakish fog.” Tubastet sat in one of the dining room
chairs, and Ronnie sat beside him.
“Yeah, I heard it was bad out there.”
Tubastet and Ronnie exchanged a look. “Heard?” he asked. “Who told you?”
Yooooowwwlll.
Valkyrie was all too eager to claim credit. But that didn’t explain how Felicity knew. Or did
it?
Tubastet reached forward and placed his hand on Felicity’s shoulder. Finally, she
straightened, blinking at them. “Did the cats tell you?” he asked.
“Tell me—?”
“About the fog.”
 “What?” Felicity’s shot a glance at Valkyrie. “Don’t be ridiculous. I can’t understand the cats.
You’re the only one around here who’s fluent in feline. I probably just glanced out the back windows
and saw it rolling in.”
“It stopped at the wadjets, Felicity.”
“Oh.” Felicity sighed. “That’s not good.”
“But you’re not surprised?”
“No. I’m not.”
“Any idea what it all means?” Ronnie asked.
“Not really. These scrolls are amazing, but… I just don’t have all the pieces put together yet.”
Felicity returned to the scrolls, immediately enthralled with her reading.
Tubastet observed how Mojo settled close behind Felicity’s chair and Gumbo lay at the other
end of the table while Valkyrie kept watch along the left side, Teena Marie sliding in on the right.
Interesting. He stood and Ronnie did, too. “Good night, then, Felicity.”
“‘Night.” Felicity didn’t bother to look up, which meant she wouldn’t noticed that all eleven
cats had arrived in to lounge in the dining room. It might have been his imagination, but it certainly
appeared they’d formed a perfect circle around her, protecting her. But from what?
That was the question.

Felicity was still at the dining room table pouring over the Sinclair Scrolls when Tom and
Ronnie found her early the next morning. She couldn’t believe it was already light outside. She’d just
pulled an all-nighter of translating, learning, and note-taking.
“Did you sleep at all?”
Tom was seriously worried about her—it was in his voice and all over his face—and Felicity
hated that. But what would be the point of lying? She must look awful. Worse than awful. “I… no.”
But she had to keep going. Betty sent her these scrolls for a reason, because there was information she
needed here, somewhere. She just had to find it.
“Let me make you something to eat, OK?” Ronnie was already headed into the kitchen. “What
are you in the mood for? Eggs? Oatmeal? Yogurt and fruit?”
Felicity was too tired to decide. Ronnie glanced over her shoulder and said, “Eggs it is.”
“What you really need is rest.” Tom dropped into the chair beside her.
“I’ll sleep when I’m dead, isn’t that the saying?” Her joke fell flat. Likely because she looked
like she had one foot in the grave.
“Have you found anything?”
“A lot, but I’m not sure how it all fits together yet. Something has broken into our realm, but I
don’t know who or what it is. Could we be facing yet another pissed-off Egyptian god?”
“That can’t be it. Gods can’t just pop in and out of this world anymore. We’ve talked about
this.” Tom rested his hands on the table. “Apep was always trapped here, right? He was the
exception. And only Mahaf and Wepwawet can bridge the realms, and then only in discharging their
specific duties.”
“But you used to be able to bridge the realms,” Felicity reminded him.
“Only because I wore Bastet’s usekh. It was the mechanism that physically allowed the travel,
which is why I could not leave unless it was around my neck.”
“Right. Of course.”
 “In fact, the usekh was the only object in existence that could do that.”
Something stirred in Felicity’s sleep-deprived brain, an answer just beyond her grasp. “So the
usekh acts like a supernatural elevator of sorts?”
Tom considered that for a moment. “Sure, I guess so. But its power only works for one person
at a time and only for the wearer.”
One person at a time and only for the wearer. Felicity straightened in her chair, the puzzle
pieces sliding around in her mind, rearranging themselves and interlocking. She looked up at Tom.
“No one was wearing the usekh when it was destroyed.”
“Correct.”
Click.
“Oh, my goddess, Tom! Someone—you or the Acolyte or Bastet herself—always wore the
usekh.”
“Except when I put it on or took it off the Acolyte, yes.”
“What’s going on out here?” Ronnie stood in the kitchen doorway. “Is scrambled OK?”
“How long does that transfer take, Tom? Exactly how much time is the necklace not in contact
with human flesh while being moved from one neck to another?”
Tom thought a moment, mimicking the movement of releasing the usekh from his own neck and
securing it around another’s. “Under ten seconds?”
“Hello? Scrambled?”
“Awesome!” Felicity bounced around in the chair and smacked her palms on the table.
“Scrambled it is,” Ronnie said, turning back to the stove.
“Do you realize what this means? It means that when I placed the necklace on the little table in
front of the Airstream, it was the longest amount of time it had ever been without a wearer! The
longest time it’s energy wasn’t tied to a single person.”
Tom seemed to follow. “Sure. I guess you’re right. It was the first time it wasn’t around a
neck.”
Of course she was right! “So if the usekh’s energy wasn’t focused on either an Acolyte or you
—for first time in its history—where was it? Was it just spreading out across the universe? Available
for the taking? Could someone from the Realm of the Gods use it to physically travel, hitch a ‘ride’
down to this world?”
Tom’s eyes widened. “Uh…”
“Is it possible?”
“I’ve never considered that. Let me think.” Tom paled. He swallowed hard. “Yeah, I guess
someone could do that. Mierda!”
Felicity jumped up. Tom jumped up with her. They stared at each other, breathing hard.
“The lightning strike wasn’t someone reaching into this world to destroy the usekh, was it?”
Felicity asked him. “It was someone riding the energy of the unattached necklace down to earth, like
an elevator. It was someone arriving.”
 CHAPTER FIVE

Tom tried to convince Felicity to grab a few hours of sleep, but she was running on pure
adrenaline now. She couldn’t wait another minute, so she went to the harbor without a chocolate cake
as an offering. But she did bring Tom this time, which she hoped would count for something.
The harbor had been damaged, boats smashed, pilings uprooted. The news said a waterspout
had come ashore, morphing into a tornado once it cleared the beach. Reports estimated it to have been
the strongest tornado in the area since 1894, maybe the strongest ever. Luckily, there had been no
casualties.
Felicity stopped in her tracks. Something was wrong with the view from the harbor. One of
the Seal Sisters had been destroyed! Those sea stacks had been standing guard around this land for
thousands of years, and now one of the sisters was gone! Guilt swamped her. Did I do this? Is this
my fault? Should I have refused to take off the necklace?
“Not your fault.”
She looked up at Tom, who’d stopped with her. “How’d you know what I was thinking?”
“Because I know you.” He reached for her hand. “You removed the usekh from your neck
because that’s what an Acolyte does after she is victorious. You were doing your duty. And I placed it
on my neck because I thought I was returning to serve Bastet, which was my duty. But it wouldn’t
latch.”
“Then I should’ve put it back on!” That must have been her fatal mistake. “I didn’t even try,
Tom, because it came alive again in my hands and I was afraid to take on the responsibility again! I
was tired. I couldn’t do it. I didn’t want it. So maybe I fucked up everything with my weakness!”
“First of all, we don’t know if you could have put it on. The usekh has never returned to an
Acolyte’s neck once it’s been released. It probably would’ve done what it did with me—just refused
to latch. Second, it’s done. It’s over. We can’t change what happened and our job is to face whatever
the new danger is, in the here and now.”
“You’re right. I know you’re right.” Felicity took a deep breath, nodded to Tom, and they
resumed walking. A few minutes later, she said, “I’m glad you know me.”
He glanced down at her, amused.
“It feels good to be known and loved anyway.”
He broke out into a smile and draped an arm around her shoulder. “Doesn’t it, though?”
Farther down the pier, they saw The Aken. The boat hadn’t been damaged at all by the storm,
and Felicity figured it was probably magically protected in some way. As they neared, Mahaf the
Ferryman appeared on The Aken’s deck, shooting his customary scowl their way. His face appeared
darker than usual, Felicity noted. Meaner. He tilted his head the way he did when was listening to
things only he could hear, then glowered at Tom.
Felicity was about to speak when Mahaf held up a palm. They stopped where they were.
“You are to be commended, Tubastet-af-Ankh,” Mahaf proclaimed. “You have completed your
faithful service. Your former mistress is well pleased.”
 Tom gave a subtle bow, accepting the accolade. It was clear he was touched by Mahaf’s
words.
Before either of them could respond, though, Mahaf continued. “But since you are now fully
human and no longer serve your goddess, we shall never speak again.” With that, he turned his back to
Tom.
Felicity hadn’t realized Mahaf was such a drama queen. Maybe it was the lack of cake. Sure,
she was no longer the Acolyte and Tom was no longer a priest, but they really needed some
information, and she refused to leave without it. “O great Mahaf,” she said. “We come seeking your
knowledge. Please help us, even though I no longer serve Bastet, either.”
Mahaf tipped his head, listening again. Then glanced over his shoulder to Felicity. “Do you
not?”
“I… uh, well, I no longer wear the usekh. See?” She tugged at the neck of her T-shirt. “But
please, this is an emergency. I can feel that the balance of the universe is not yet restored. I can feel
something has come, something dangerous. Can you tell us what it is?” Felicity held her breath,
hoping he would take pity, if he was capable such a thing, and give her a freakin’ clue about what the
fuck was going on around here!
Mahaf turned to Felicity, then glanced around the harbor. “I am instructed to leave this place.
Soon.”
“Is that good news?” Felicity felt a moment of hopefulness.
Mahaf did not look pleased, however, and the hope crashed at her feet. But then he gestured
for her to approach. In shock, she took two steps toward the deck, and he leaned down, hovering
close to her face. His words were soft, low. “You ask ‘what is here’?”
Felicity nodded, not daring to speak.
He hesitated, but just for an instant, then hunched even closer, speaking in a whisper so faint
she could barely hear him. “Something far greater than I.”
With that, he turned away, disappearing below deck.

Felicity paced around her kitchen while Ronnie and Tom made those promised scrambled
eggs for brunch instead of breakfast. “Something far greater than I.’” Felicity finally dropped into a
chair at the bright white kitchen table. She’d already repeated those words a hundred times, in her
head and out loud, but she still had no idea what they meant.
Tom pulled out three plates from the cupboard. “I agree that it’s not much to go on.”
“So how are we gonna figure out who it is?” Ronnie portioned the fluffy eggs onto the plates,
adding two freshly baked biscuits.
“Or what it is. Thank you. This looks scrumptious.” Tom kissed Ronnie, then grabbed all three
plates and placed them on the table. He took a seat next to Felicity.
Felicity took one bite, but had just lost her appetite. “When we find it, we’ll know. I hope,
anyway. Maybe I’ll just start patrolling the streets of Pine Beach, on the lookout for supernatural
beings in disguise.”
Ronnie made a face. “What if they’re already headed someplace else?”
Felicity jumped up without warning, her elbow hitting Tom’s shoulder. He dropped a biscuit
before it could reach his mouth. “That’s it, Ronnie!”
“What’d I say?”
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as if she was a naughty child. He was entirely relieved of the burthen
of her support; he could start well and unweighted in the race. She
would pay for Harry too. Her father was impossible at present; he
was dreadfully worried about money matters—he was ill. She was
doing her best for Laurence and Harry. Surely, he knew that, and
that she would rather be with them than here. But as she glanced at
her magnificent surroundings, and at her silver tea equipage, just
brought in by two powdered servants, with a request to know “if there
were any orders for the carriage?” her heart misgave her.
Would not Laurence think that she preferred all this—that this
wealth was her attraction, luxury her idol—an idol that had cast out
him and poor little Harry?
She made a sudden decision. She would go and see Laurence.
Yes, that very evening partake of his frugal dinner—a chop, no doubt
—and coax him into a better frame of mind, and a better humour with
herself. She would wear her usual evening toilette, and give him an
agreeable surprise. The idea pleased her. She swallowed down her
tea, ran quickly up to her room, and rang for Josephine.
“Josephine,” she said, as that very smart person appeared, “I am
going out to dine with a friend—an old friend that I knew when I was
at school. I want to look my very best, though it will not be a party,
only one or two. What shall I wear?” beginning to pull off her velvet
morning-gown.
“Well, miss, for two or three—a quiet dinner, but smart no doubt—
your primrose satin with the chiffon body, just lighted with a few
brilliants. I’ll do your hair in the new knot, and run the diamond arrow
through it.”
This simple toilet occupied a considerable time. What with
dressing Madeline’s hair, lacing her gown, arranging her ornaments,
it was nearly seven before the great business was completed; but it
was finished at last, to Josephine’s entire satisfaction.
“Well, mademoiselle, I never saw you look better—no, nor as
well!”
 Madeline could not refrain from a smile as she glanced at her
reflection in the mirror; but her present sweet complacency was but
momentary. There was a bitter drop in the cup. Was it for this, asked
Madeline—this costly dress, those diamonds, and such-like delights
—that she sacrificed her home?
“No!” she retorted angrily, aloud, and much to Josephine’s
astonishment. “No, it is not.”
Yet even so she was but half convinced. She was presently
enveloped in a long crimson velvet mantle reaching to the ground,
and trimmed with furs that were as much an outward and visible sign
of Mr. West’s wealth as his house and carriage—Russian sables.
Then she tied a scarf over her head, took up her fan and gloves,
and, in spite of Josephine’s almost impassioned appeals to take a
footman and go in the brougham, set out in a hansom alone. She
herself gave the reply through the trap, in answer to the “Where to,
miss?”
And the attendant footman could not catch the address.
There was a flavour of wild adventure about the whole expedition
that made her heart beat unusually fast. The idea of taking Laurence
by storm in his musty chambers, of cajoling him into a more
amenable frame of mind, of dining with him tête-à-tête, of trying the
effect of her much-augmented charms upon her own husband—for
she had now fully learnt to know the value of youth, beauty, and
dress—all carried her away out of her usual somewhat languorous
frame of mind.
She felt a little nervous as she stepped out of the hansom in the
vicinity of the gloomy old Temple, and proceeded to Laurence’s
chambers, as before, on foot.
Fortunately the pavement was dry, and her dainty shoes were
none the worse.
She came to the door, and rang a pretty loud peal this time,
smiling to herself as she thought of Laurence sitting over his solitary
meal, probably by the light of an equally solitary candle.
 The door was opened by a curious jerk, and by some invisible
agency, and she beheld before her, half way up the stairs, the
bearded beldame, carrying a heavy tray, who, unable to turn her
head, shouted out querulously—“If that’s the washing, come in. I
hope to gracious you’ve done his shirts a bit better nor last week.
They were a sight; and his collars! deary, deary me!”
And thus ejaculating, she rounded the staircase, and was lost to
view; but still she shouted, though her voice did not come like a
falling star.
“You can go in by the other door, and lay them in his bedroom, and
leave the basket.”
Madeline was half suffocated with suppressed laughter as she
tripped quickly up after this authoritative old person, and as she went
she removed her head gear, and when she came to the top landing,
she rapidly divested herself of her long cloak.
The old woman was already in the outer office, which was lit, and
had deposited her load upon a table when, hearing a rustle and a
footfall, she turned and beheld Madeline—in other words, a tall,
lovely young lady, wearing a yellow evening dress, with diamond
buttons, diamonds in her hair, and carrying a huge painted fan in her
exquisitely gloved hands. No pen could convey any idea of her
amazement, no brush seize the expression of her countenance, as
she staggered back against the nearest desk, with limp arms,
protruding eyes, and open mouth, which presently uttered, in a loud
and startled key, the one word “Laws!”
 CHAPTER XXIV.
AN UNEXPECTED HONOUR.

A dapper man-servant (hired) next came upon the scene, and his
astonishment was no less profound, though more skilfully concealed.
He looked politely at Madeline, and said in his most proper and
parrot-like tone of voice, “Who shall I say, ma’am?”
“Say,” returned the young lady, giving her fringe a little pat, her
chiffon frill a little twitch, and smiling slightly all the time, “say Miss
West.”
“Miss West!” bawled the waiter, flinging the door open with a
violence that nearly tore it from its ancient hinges, and then stood
back, eager to witness the effect of his announcement on the
company.
Madeline was scarcely less surprised than they were. She beheld
a round table, decorated with flowers, wax candles, and coloured
shades—really, a most civilized-looking little table—the room well lit
up, its shabbiness concealed by the tender rose-coloured light,
looking quite venerable and respectable, and, seated at table,
Laurence and two other men—one of whom she knew! Horror! This
was a great deal more than she had bargained for. She had never
dreamt of dropping in thus upon a cosy little bachelor party!
And who shall paint their amazement? They were talking away,
just between the soup and fish, and Wynne had been regretting the
absence through illness of Mr. Jessop, whose vacant place awaited
him. There had been a little professional discussion, an allusion to a
big race, a society scandal, a commendation of some excellent dry
sherry, and they were all most genial and comfortable, when the
door was flung wide open, and “Miss West” was announced in a
stentorian voice.
 And who the deuce was Miss West? thought the two guests. All
looked up and beheld a lady—a young lady—in full evening dress,
and literally blazing with diamonds, standing rather doubtfully just
within the doorway. Laurence Wynne felt as if he was turned to
stone.
“Madeline!” he ejaculated under his breath. Madeline, looking like
a fairy princess—but surely Madeline gone mad?
What could he say—what could he do? He might cut the Gordian
knot by explaining, “Gentlemen, this beautiful girl, who has dropped,
as it were, from the skies, is Mrs. Wynne—my wife”—if she had not
heralded her entrance by her maiden name. He might have done
this, but now, as matters stood, his lips were sealed. He must take
some step immediately. His friends and the waiter were staring at
him expectantly. They evidently thought that there had been a
mistake.
“Miss West!” he said, suddenly pushing back his chair and rising.
“This is, indeed, an unexpected honour. What can I do for you?
There is nothing wrong at—at home, I hope?” now approaching her,
and shaking hands.
“No, no,” trying to speak calmly, and casting wildly about for some
plausible excuse. “I thought I should have found you alone.” Then,
colouring violently, “I—I mean disengaged, and I wished to consult
you on some—some family business.”
“If you will honour me by taking a seat at table, and partaking of
our—er—bachelor fare, Miss West, I shall be entirely at your service
afterwards,” he said, conducting her to a vacant place opposite his
own. “May I introduce my friend Mr. Treherne”—(Mr. Treherne had
seen her on the stairs, and hugged himself as he noted the fact)
—“and Mr. Fitzherbert?”
“I think Miss West and I have met before,” said Mr. Fitzherbert,
smiling and bowing as he rose simultaneously with Mr. Treherne,
and then subsided into his chair. This was nuts. The beautiful Miss
West coming quite on the sly to Wynne’s chambers—and Wynne
such a staid and proper Johnnie too!—and finding, to her horror,
company! It was altogether most peculiar.
However, Mr. Fitzherbert had his wits about him, and was full of
society small-talk and presence of mind, and soon he and the lady
were conversing vivaciously of mutual friends, and the awkward
edge of this extraordinary incident had been blunted.
Soup was brought back for Miss West. The waiter waited as a
waiter should wait. The dinner was well chosen and excellent
(supplied from a neighbouring restaurant).
Meanwhile the good laundress watched the whole proceedings
with her eye glued to a crack in the door, and suffered no look or
gesture to escape her. She owed this to the whole of her
acquaintance, for surely such a sight as she enjoyed was rarely
seen. Three young bachelors, in evening dress, sitting by
themselves so nice and proper, and then a grand young lady, in a
beautiful dress and jewels, walking in unasked, and taking a place
among them! What could it mean? It was surely not the thing for a
lady—and she looked that—to be coming alone, and on foot, to
chambers in the Temple, and especially to see Mr. Wynne, of all the
quiet, reasonable-like men, who never looked at a woman! Oh, it
beat all, that it did! And how grave he seemed, though he was talking
away pleasant enough.
Thus we leave her, with her eye to the door, thoroughly enjoying
herself for once in her life.
It was more than could be said for Laurence Wynne. Never had he
felt so uncomfortable. What would Fitzherbert and Treherne think of
Miss West? If the story got round the clubs, Madeline’s reputation
was at the mercy of every old woman—ay, and old man—in London.
What on earth did she mean by descending on him at this hour, and
dressed as if she was going to the opera?
He stole a glance across the candle-shades. She was conversing
quite at her ease with Mr. Treherne, who was looking all the
admiration he no doubt felt—and no doubt Madeline was beautiful.
 What a complexion, what eyes, what clean-cut features, what a
radiant, vivacious expression—and all set off by youth, a good
milliner, and diamonds.
“Who would dream,” he said, as he slowly withdrew his gaze, “that
she was the same Madeline who, two years previously, had been
Miss Selina’s slave, and had attracted his notice and commiseration
in her darned and shabby black gown? or that she was the same
Madeline who had pawned the very dress off her back not twelve
months ago? She could not be the same.” He looked at her again.
The idea of such a thing was grotesque nonsense. She, this brilliant
being who had suddenly presented herself at his humble
entertainment, had surely never been his hard-working, poverty-
stricken, struggling wife. If she had, he could not realize the fact.
This magnificent-looking young lady was a stranger to him. This was
a woman—or girl—of the world.
There she sat, this charming, unchaperoned young person, dining
with three bachelors in the Temple with as much sangfroid as if it
were a most conventional and everyday occurrence.
The truth was that, the first shock recovered, the fair guest was
actually enjoying herself extremely. She was extraordinarily
adaptable. For one thing, she liked the risqué, unusual situation—her
two amusing, clever, mystified supporters on either hand, who were
doing their utmost to take it all as a matter of course, and to be
unusually agreeable and entertaining. And she liked looking across
the table at her husband’s handsome, gloomy face, and remarked to
herself that this was positively their first dinner-party, and that it
should not be her fault if it did not go off well!
Laurence’s silence and gravity implied that it was all very wrong;
but it was, nevertheless, delightful. She felt quite carried out of
herself with excitement and high spirits, and more than once the idea
flashed across her mind—
“Shall I tell—shall I tell? Oh, it would be worth anything to see their
faces when they hear that I am Mrs. Wynne!”
 But Mrs. Wynne was not very good at telling, as we know, and,
without any exhausting effort of self-restraint, she was enabled to
hold her peace.
 CHAPTER XXV.
PLAIN SPEAKING.

All went merry as a marriage bell. The dinner was a success.

There was no hitch; the laundress (with interludes devoted to the
crack in the door) safely brought up course after course. Now they
had ceased, and the company were discussing dessert, and many of
the topics of last season—Henley, Ascot, Mrs. Pat Campbell, the
rival charms of Hurlingham and Ranelagh.
“Wynne here never goes to these frivolous places,” said Treherne.
“I’m not a member, you see.”
“‘Can’t afford it,’ that’s his cry to all these delights. He can afford it
well—a single man, no claims on his purse, and getting such fees.”
“Fees, indeed! How long have I been getting a fee at all?” he
asked good-humouredly.
“There’s Milton, who has not half your screw—keeps his hunters.”
“Ah, but he has a private income. I’m a poor man.”
“You old miser! You don’t even know the meaning of the word
‘poverty.’ How do you define it?”
“In the words of the plebeian philosopher, ‘It ain’t no crime—only
an infernal ill-convenience.’”
“Well, I shouldn’t think it had ever ill-convenienced you much—eh,
Miss West?”
Miss West—born actress—made a gesture of airy negation, and,
turning quickly to Mr. Fitzherbert, asked him “if he remembered Mrs.
Veryphast last season, and her extraordinary costumes. She quite
gloried in her shame, and liked to know that every eye was fixed
upon her. She had one awful gown—pale yellow, with enormous
spots. She reminded me of a Noah’s-ark dog. It was her Sunday
frock; but it was not as bad as her hat, which was like an animated
lobster salad—claws and all.”
Then Mr. Fitzherbert had his turn, and told several anecdotes that
had already seen some service, but which made Miss West laugh
with charming unrestraint. Presently it occurred to the two gentlemen
guests that the lady had come for an audience, that it was nearly
nine o’clock, and, making one or more lame excuses, which,
however, were very readily accepted, they rose reluctantly, and,
taking a deferential leave of Miss West, with a “By-bye, old chappie,”
to their host, effected their exit, leaving—had they but known it—Mr.
and Mrs. Wynne tête-à-tête, alone.
“Well, Laurence,” exclaimed Madeline, with her usual smiling and
insouciant air, rising slowly, coming to the fire, and spreading her
hands to the blaze.
“Well, Madeline,” he echoed, following her, laying his arm on the
mantelpiece, and looking as severe as if he were going to cross-
examine a witness. “What does this mean? Have you gone mad, or
have you come to stay?”
“Not I,” she replied coolly, now putting an extremely neat little shoe
upon the fender. “Papa is away, and won’t be back until late, and I
took it into my head that I would come over and dine with you, and
give you an agreeable surprise; but”—with a laugh—“seemingly it
has been a surprise only; the word ‘agreeable’ we may leave out.”
“You may,” he said roughly. “I wonder you have not more sense! If
you had sent me a wire that you were coming—if you had even had
yourself ushered in under your lawful name; but to come
masquerading here as Miss West is—is too much, and I tell you
plainly, Madeline, that I won’t have it. What must those fellows have
thought of you to-night? Fitzherbert will blazon it all over London.
Have you no regard for your reputation—your good name?”
“There, there, Laurence, my dear,” raising her hands with a
gesture of graceful deprecation, “that is lecturing enough—that will
do!”
 “But it won’t do,” he repeated angrily. “I really believe that you are
beginning to think of me as a miserable, weak-minded idiot, who will
stand anything. There’s not another man in England would have
stood as much as I have done, and, by George! I’ve had enough of
it,” with a wave of his hand in his turn. “This visit of yours is the last
straw. If you have no regard for Miss West’s reputation, be good
enough to think of mine. I do not choose to have gaily-dressed
young women coming flaunting to my humble chambers at any hour
of the day. I’ve been hitherto considered rather a steady, respectable
sort of fellow; I wonder what people will think of me now? Your visit
will be all over the Inns to-morrow, and half my circuit will be
clamouring to know ‘who my friend was?’”
“Nonsense, Laurence! What an old-fashioned frump you are! Girls
do all sorts of things nowadays, and no one minds. It is the fashion
to be emancipated. Why, the two De Minxskys go and dine with men,
and do a theatre afterwards! Chaperons are utterly exploded! And
look at girls over in America.”
“We are not in America, but London, where people ask for
explanations.”
“Well, you can easily explain me away! You must be a very bad
lawyer if you are not equal to such a trifling occasion as this! Oh, my
dear Laurence,” beginning to laugh at the mere recollection, “I wish
you could have seen your own face when I walked in—a study in
sepia, a nocturne in black. Come, now, you can tell your anxious
friends that I’m a client, and they will be so envious; or that I’m your
step-sister, a sister-in-law, or any little fib you fancy. And as you so
seldom have the pleasure of my society, make much of me”—
drawing forward a chair, and seating herself—“and tell that old
woman of yours to bring me a cup of coffee.” There was nothing like
taking high ground.
“Yes, presently; but before that there is something that I wish to
say to you,” also taking a seat. “We won’t have any more of this
shilly-shallying, Madeline. You will have to make your choice now—
to be either Miss West or Mrs. Wynne, permanently and publicly.”
 A pause, during which a cinder fell out of the grate, and the clock
ticked sixty seconds. Then Madeline, who would not have believed,
she told herself, that Laurence could be so shockingly bearish,
plucked up spirit and said—
“I will be both for the present! And soon I will be Mrs. Wynne only.
Papa is not well now—worried, and very cross. I began to try and tell
him only two nights ago, and his very look paralyzed me. I must have
a little more time. As it is, I think, between my visits to the Holt farm
and here, I play my two parts extremely well!”
“Then you must permit me to differ with you,” said her husband, in
a frosty voice. “The part of wife, as played for many months, has
certainly been a farce; but, to put the case in a mild form, it has not
been a success. As to your rôle of mother, the less said the better.”
“Laurence”—aghast, and drawing in her breath—“how can you
speak to me in that way? It is not like you!”
“How do you know what I am like now? People change. And since
you are so much changed, you need not be astonished if I am
changed too!”
“And oh, Laurence, I am so—so angry with you about one thing!”
she exclaimed irrelevantly. “I went to the Holts’ on Tuesday and saw
Harry; he looks a perfect little angel!”
“Is that why you are so angry?”
“Nonsense! Why did you tell Mrs. Holt to refuse my money? Why
may I not pay for him?”
“Because it is not your affair, but mine.”
“Not my affair?” she repeated incredulously.
“No; it is my business to maintain my son. And I shall certainly not
suffer him to be paid for by Mr. West’s money!”
“It is mine; he gives it to me for my own use.”
“No doubt—to expend in dress and such things. Not for the
support of his unknown grandchild. You would be taking his money
under false pretences. Your father pays for his daughter’s expenses;
I pay for my son’s expenses.”
“And I may not?”
“No.” He shook his head curtly.
“But I am his mother!” she said excitedly.
“I thought you had forgotten that! Now, look here, Maddie, I am not
going to be put off with words any longer! You cannot run with the
hare and hunt with the hounds. You must come home at once. Tell
your father the truth, or let me tell him the truth, and make your
choice once for all. This double life, where all of it is spent in one
sphere, and only the shadow falls on the other, won’t do. Think of
your child”—with rising heat—“growing up a stranger to you! Poor
chap! he believes that Mrs. Holt is his mother. I—I try and see him;
but what good am I? I’m only a man, and not much of a hand with
small children. Madeline, this cursed money has poisoned your
mind! Admiration has turned your head. You are no more what you
once were——”
“Don’t say it, Laurence!” she cried, springing up and laying her
head on his mouth. “I have been waiting, waiting, waiting, trying to
bring my courage to the sticking-point, and hoping to bring you and
my father quietly together. I see I have been wrong. I—I will tell him
to-morrow—yes, there is my hand on it; and if he turns me out, as is
most probable, I shall be sitting here making your tea to-morrow
evening! You believe me, Laurence?” standing over him as he leant
his head in his hand, and looked into the fire.
“There have been so many to-morrows, Maddie. I’m like the man
in the fable about the boy and the wolves; but”—suddenly pulling
himself together, and confronting her—“I will believe that this time it
really is wolf.” Standing up and looking at her, he added, “I will
believe you, and trust you. And now”—ringing the bell as he spoke
—“you shall have your coffee, and I am going to take you home in a
hansom.”
“Home! It’s too early yet—ten past nine. Take me to the theatre for
an hour. Take me to the Haymarket; it will be such fun!”
 “Fun!” he echoed impatiently. “Supposing any one was to see you
—any of your friends—what would they think? They do not know that
I am your husband; they would only take me for some admirer, who,
presuming on your father’s absence, had escorted you to the
theatre, under the rose—that would be capital fun!”
“What harm would it be? I like puzzling people. I like to give them
something to talk about,” she answered recklessly.
“And I do not. And I suppose I know a little more of the world than
you do. You seem to think it would be a joke to fling down your good
name, and allow it to be destroyed from pure wantonness, but I shall
not permit it.”
“Laurence how you do talk! One would think you were addressing
a jury, or were some old fogey laying down the law!”
“I am laying down the law.”
“You must please remember that I am accustomed to be spoiled.
Now, my wishes are law in Belgrave Square, and you are going to
carry them out, and take me to see ‘The Notorious Mrs. Ebbsmith.’”
“Take care that you do not become the notorious Miss West.”
“Now, Laurence, you know you cannot really say ‘no’ to me.
Oh!”—with a slight start—“here comes the coffee at last!” as the
laundress, who insisted upon doing this little errand in person, in
order to have what she called “a rare good look,” fumbled at the
door, pushed it open with her knee, and marched in, carrying a small
tray, which she laid very slowly on the table, her eyes all the while
being fixed on the beautiful vision standing by the fire.
She had her face turned away; but Mr. Wynne, who was leaning
his head on his hand, and his elbow on the mantelpiece, confronted
her steadily and said, in a less cordial tone than usual, “There, Mrs.
Potts, that will do! You need not wait. Call a hansom as soon as you
go downstairs,” and Mrs. Potts very reluctantly shuffled out. She had
seen a good deal, but was as much at sea as ever.
The young woman had her hand on Mr. Wynne’s arm when she
went in, and was saying, “you know you cannot say ‘no’ to me, and
are going to take me to the theatre.” Was ever such a brazen piece!
He had his head turned away, and looked as if he’d rather have her
room than her company. The girls run after the men now, and no
mistake! It was scandalous! The haystack after the cow! Supposing
this young person’s folk were to know of her carryings on—and with
Mr. Wynne, of all men! It beat everything that Mrs. Potts had come
across right away into a cocked hat!
A few minutes later they were coming down the stairs, miss all
wrapped up in a long velvet cloak, which velvet cloak Mrs. Potts
having found in the outer office, had done herself the pleasure of
examining, and—low be it spoken—trying on. None of your “paletot
things,” as she expressed it, but a long mantle of crimson velvet,
reaching down to the floor, trimmed with thick, soft fur, and lined with
satin, smelling powerfully of some sweet perfume—violets. Mrs.
Potts, being squat and of short stature, was lost in it. But the time
when she was enveloped in a six-hundred-pound wrap was
indisputably one of her happiest moments. There was a pocket
inside, and in that pocket a dainty lace-edged handkerchief, which, I
am sorry to say, Mrs. Potts felt called upon to confiscate as a
souvenir.
It did not appear to be one of Mr. Wynne’s happiest moments, as
he pulled on his great coat, and followed the daintily tripping, high-
heeled steps of his visitor downstairs.
Mrs. Potts, who had naturally hung about the door below, did
herself the honour of seeing the couple into the hansom, and heard
the order—“Haymarket theatre.”
“So she had got her way,” said the charwoman, as she stood
boldly in the doorway and looked after them. Then she went upstairs
to Mr. Wynne’s room and finished the sherry, poured herself out a
cup of coffee, which she sipped at her leisure, as she sat
comfortably over the fire in Mr. Wynne’s own chair. One half of the
world certainly does not know how the other half lives!
“Really, it is very ridiculous of you to be so strait-laced and grumpy,
Laurence!” said his wife. “Think of all I am going to relinquish for your
sake!”—touching her furs. “This mantle, which makes other women
green with envy, cost nearly six hundred pounds!”
“Six hundred fiddlesticks!” he echoed incredulously.
“You can see the bill, if you like.”
“You ought to be ashamed to wear it, Maddie!”
“Not at all, my dear. It is for the good of trade. If some people did
not buy and wear fine feathers, what would become of trade?”
“Six hundred pounds! More than he could earn in twelve months!
And she paid that for an opera-cloak!”
“You really must make yourself agreeable, Laurence. This may be
the last time I shall play the fairy princess, before I go back to my
rags. No, no, I don’t mean that.”
“Something tells me, all the same, that this will not be your last
appearance in your present character. Not that I question for a
moment your good intentions, Maddie, or disbelieve your word. But I
have a presentiment—a sort of depressing sensation that I cannot
account for—that, far from your returning home to-morrow, our lives
will somehow have drifted farther apart than ever.”
“Fancy a clever man like you, dear, believing in such foolish things
as presentiments! They are merely remnants of the dark ages. I
hope we shall be able to get a box,” she added, as they drew up at
the theatre, “no matter how tiny; a stall would be too conspicuous.”
The Wynnes were late. The orchestra was playing during an
interval, and they had the great good luck to secure a box
overlooking the stage.
Madeline removed her mantle, and, taking a seat with her back to
the house, having glanced round with affected nervousness, said to
her companion, in a smothered whisper—
“Sister Ann, Sister Ann! do you see anybody looking? Do you think
any one recognized me by my back hair?”
Laurence had noted several familiar faces; and one man in an
opposite box had recognized him. But this was of no importance, as
he could not possibly identify Madeline.
Madeline whispered and laughed and chattered to him behind her
fan. He told himself that he was a sour, sulky brute to be so gruff and
irresponsive to the beautiful girl opposite to him, although he could
hardly realize that she was his wife as he glanced at her at this
special moment, as she sat with her head resting on her hand,
diamonds glittering on her gown and in her hair, a gay smile on her
lips, no wedding-ring on her finger. Could this really be Madeline
West, Mrs. Harper’s pupil-teacher, and his wife?
His acquaintance in the opposite box was astonished to see
Wynne over against him. Surely it was not to another man that he
was thus bending forward and stooping his head so politely, as if to
lose nothing of what was being told him! Ah, no—he thought not! as
presently a very pretty hand, wrist, and arm emerged from the
shadow of the curtain, and lay upon the velvet cushion.
He snatched up his excellent opera-glass, and noted a sparkling
bracelet and diamond rings. But no—there was not a wedding-ring
amongst them!
 CHAPTER XXVI.
MR. WYNNE MAKES A STATEMENT.

When the play was over the Wynnes prudently waited, and were
almost the last to leave. But, even so, when they passed through the
lobbies, a good many people were still to be seen. They were a
rather remarkable couple, and although Madeline had drawn her
lace scarf well over her head, it was of no avail. On the stairs she
came face to face with Lord Tony.
“Hullo!” he exclaimed, as he accosted her. “I did not know you
were coming here to-night. Rachel told me she lunched with you to-
day, and you were alone in your glory. Whom did you come with?”
And he looked as if he was expecting to see some of the party.
“I came in very good company,” she replied. “But, pray, who made
you my father confessor?”
“I only wish I was! Are you going on to supper at the Candy-tufts?
If so, we shall meet again.”
“No, I’m going home this moment.”
“How virtuous! Well, you’ll be in the Row to-morrow—riding—at
the usual hour?”
“I’m not sure.”
“I’ll look out for you about ten. Good night.” And he hurried off.
“Who is that?” inquired Laurence.
“Oh, a great friend of papa’s—Lord Anthony Foster.”
“Indeed! I shouldn’t have thought they had many tastes in
common.”
“Well, at any rate they have one,” she answered, with a flippant
laugh.
 “Yes, dense as I am, I think I can guess it!”
Mr. Wynne was also recognized by several of his own friends.
Why is it that there is always some one to see you when you wish to
escape notice, and, when you particularly desire to court
observation, there is never any one forthcoming?
No; and yet if you lose a front tooth, and, with a gaping chasm in
your neat front row, are en route to the dentist, you are bound to
encounter half your acquaintances.
Mr. FitzHerbert and Mr. Treherne were standing on the steps as
their friend passed, and wished him a cheerful good night.
He did not accompany Madeline; she would not permit it. She
must get home at once, before her father returned, she whispered;
“and supposing she were seen driving up, escorted by a gentleman,
a stranger!”
“All right, all right, Maddie,” wringing her hand. “But, mind you, it is
the last time. Remember, to-morrow! Send me a wire, and I shall
come and fetch you.”
Then, with a gesture of farewell, he stepped back, and she was
quickly whirled away.
Mr. FitzHerbert and Mr. Treherne were still endeavouring to light
up, and had not yet started to walk; the night was fine and frosty, and
they had not far to go.
“I’m coming your way. Hold on a minute till I get out my cigar-
case,” said their late host. And soon the trio were facing homewards,
discussing the piece, the actresses, the audience; but not a word
dropped from either gentleman’s lips with regard to Wynne’s
mysterious lady friend, though, like the celebrated parrot, they
thought the more. Wynne was a reserved sort of chap. For nearly a
year he had dropped out of their ken. Jessop alone was his
confidential friend. None ever dreamt of poking their noses into his
affairs, as a caustic reply, or a painful snub was sure to be the
reward of the experiment. He was of good family—that they knew;
and latterly some of his influential relations had been looking him up.
(Nothing succeeds like success, and the brilliant author of society
skits was now eagerly claimed by his connections.)
Nevertheless, they were exceedingly anxious to know more
respecting Miss West, the gay vivacious beauty, whose fame had
spread far and wide, whose riches and whose disheartening
indifference to the advances of the most eligible partis were alike
proverbial.
What on earth had she to do with a hard-working barrister like
Wynne, who rarely mixed in society? They asked each other this
question after they had left Wynne and his client tête-à-tête.
“Business?”
It was confoundedly odd that she should pitch on such an hour,
and on such an uncommonly handsome fellow as Wynne for her
legal adviser; and the funniest part of it all was, that Wynne was not
particularly pleased to see her, and treated her as coolly as if she
had been his grand-aunt by marriage! Talking of matters far different
from their inmost thoughts brought the trio to Mr. Treherne’s
chambers.
“Come up, you fellows, and have some devilled bones,” he said
hospitably; “the night is young!”
Mr. FitzHerbert never turned a deaf ear to such an appeal, but
Wynne on this occasion, rather to his friend’s surprise, said, “All
right, I’ll come up for a minute,” and sprang up the stairs two steps at
a time.
“I’m not going to stay,” he said, taking off his hat and standing with
his back to the fire, still in his top coat; “but I’ve just wished to have a
word with you two fellows. I want to ask you, as a special favour to
me, to say nothing to any one of having met Miss West in my
chambers.”
The two guests muttered, “Oh, of course not; certainly not;” but
without any great alacrity. This demand was decidedly a blow, for
they were only human, and were looking forward to describing the
scene with pleasurable anticipation.