The Peculiar Pets of Miss Pleasance

by Delilah S. Dawson

  “One more,” she said.

  Careful not to step in the shards of porcelain and forgotten kitten mush, she flicked on the light. With the bag in one hand, she prowled the room, checking the kittens’ box, under the tables, and in the corners. The fifth kitten, a white one, had utterly disappeared. It was unsettling to think that a creature so rabid for her blood would be intelligent enough to run in the opposite direction. She held up the now-shredded hem of her nightgown and called, “Here, kitty. Here, puss. Come have some nice blood.”

  Thom stepped behind her, holding a damp cloth to the searing wound on the back of her neck. “What happened?” he asked, gently moving her braid aside and running the cool, wet cloth over her shoulders and down her back. She sighed and tried to relax, but her whole body was tensed as if to run, her breathing fast and high. For all the animals Frannie had dealt with in the bounds of the shop, creatures exotic and angry and scared, she had never feared one before, not even the venomous asp. But of these kittens—turned to blud creatures by some diabolical hand, and in her own house, no less—she was truly frightened.

  “I came to feed them, and they attacked me. The rest of the shop is fine. But how is it even possible? They’re the same kittens they were this morning, but . . .”

  “But changed.”

  “It’s unnatural.”

  She handed Thom the bag, and he grasped it so tightly his fist turned white. Remembering the bottle she’d kicked earlier, she hunted around under the butcher’s table in the center of the room. There was nothing unusual about the cheap green glass, except the residue of an opaque pink substance around the mouth. Frannie sniffed it, careful not to touch it.

  “Milk and magic and blood? Or blud? Someone’s been here.” She took a deep breath and moved to the door, checking the locks as her face went red with anger. “Someone’s been in my house. Someone did this to my kittens.”

  “But why, lass?”

  She took the bag back from him, cinching the neck of it tightly and fetching the twine from its drawer. Around and around she wrapped it as the kittens tried to claw and hiss their way out of the gunnysack prison. She tied it off with an overabundance of knots and set it on the floor, then turned the kittens’ crate over on top of it. Then, for good measure, she fetched the iron doorstop and put that on top of the crate.

  “D’ye think leaving the wee beasties alive is safe?”

  “I don’t have the heart for the alternative. It’s not their fault. I’ll drop them on the doorstep of King’s College tomorrow and let the university study them. I can’t keep them here, but I won’t see them drowned.”

  He pulled her into a fierce hug, and she melted into his arms. “You’re the bravest, biggest-hearted creature I’ve ever known.”

  She nuzzled into his chest and flinched when he caressed her back.

  “You’re hurt, Frannie.”

  “I’m a mess.”

  “Let me doctor you.”

  “I’ll get the kit.”

  He held her away, his hands warm on her shoulders and thunder in his eyes. “No, Frannie. No. It’s time to go. Someone wants to hurt you, lass. I can’t imagine why, but they’ve been here, and you can see the lengths to which they’ll go to harm ye. We must go next door or, at the very least, an inn. I can’t keep you safe here if your enemies can steal inside while we sleep.”

  She shrugged out from under his grasp, feeling suddenly tender and wounded and past exhaustion. All the panic and strength drained out of her, and she thought of the loose kitten, waiting in the shadows and licking her blood from its teeth. As she pulled the first aid kit from its drawer, she thought carefully about how to proceed with the man she wanted to stay.

  “I’m not leaving. This place is my life. The animals are my livelihood. This house is all I have left of my family, and no one and nothing will drive me out. Besides, if someone can get in here, they can get in anywhere. They can follow me anywhere. Better to fight them here, where I know every nook and cranny. If I’m going to die, I’m dying on my terms.”

  Thom rubbed his eyes tiredly and handed her the wet handkerchief stained with red. “Don’t mistake bravery for foolishness, my lass. I’ll stand by ye and fight for ye, but I fear your stubbornness will kill us both.” He leaned against the doorway, his head against the wood and his mussed hair sparking in the gaslight. “What is it you want of me now?”

  “Come to bed,” she said. “Bring your little knife, and lock my door, and tend my wounds, and keep me safe so I can sleep. We’ll worry about it by the light of tomorrow.”

  Thom threw a wry glance at the crate on the floor, the bag writhing with hisses underneath it. With a deep sigh, he scooped Frannie up and carried her up the stairs, just as he had carried her home from the theater.

  “If a kitten kills me in my sleep, lass, you’ll get what you deserve.”

  15

  Something pulled at Frannie’s consciousness. An annoying sound, and a threatening one, breaking through her dreams. She struggled to sit up, but Filbert was curled up in the crook of her neck, and Thom was wrapped around her like a winter blanket, his bare chest and muscled arms radiating the heat of the fires he so often fought. Shrugging out from her cave of warmth and resettling the kitten at Thom’s shoulder, she realized what had woken her.

  The sound of tiny claws, scritching under the door.

  By the time she was across the room and ready to grab the lost white bludkitten and stuff it into her ewer, the cheeky thing was already gone. The door across the hall was open, and Casper stood there, looking even more debauched and beautiful than usual, his shirt undone down the front and his breeches unbuttoned. Frannie tried not to stare and failed.

  “You been scratching at my door?” he mumbled.

  The spell was broken, and her eyes snapped up to his bloodshot ones. “Go back to bed, bounder. And if you see a kitten, watch out for its teeth.”

  “I’d like to feel your teeth. Want to join me, darlin’?” He gave her a dimpled, sleepy smile, and she slammed her door and spun around in a huff.

  Thom watched her from the bed, propped up on one elbow, with her grandmother’s quilt artfully draped over his waist. With one wide thumb, he stroked Filbert’s head, and Frannie blushed when she remembered what else that thumb had stroked last night.

  “I am plagued by attractive men and bludkittens,” she muttered to herself. “And I’m not wearing nearly enough clothes to deal with either.”

  She went to her closet, fingering the ripped indigo taffeta of last night’s gown. The first time in years that she’d gone out, and someone had barely missed shooting her with an arrow. But who would wish her ill? All the trouble someone was going to, trying to harm her. Charles was lazy if nothing else, and these shenanigans weren’t his style. An incendiary device through her window. A viper on her doorstep. An arrow at the theater. And a crate of her beloved kittens, birthed and raised by her hands, turned into fierce, foul creatures that hungered for blood. Had she been alone last night, had they found her sleeping, who knew what might have become of her? She shivered as she pulled out a thick tweed skirt and jacket. She would also wear high boots and her most heavily boned corset. She had meant it when she had told Thom she wouldn’t leave her home—but she wasn’t a fool, either.

  Thom had saved her, again and again. But could it be a coincidence that the two handsome men in her house had arrived on the same day as the first threat against her? She couldn’t think of anything anyone could want from her, aside from the rooftop garden, which no one knew about, not even Maisie. And if that was the ultimate goal, wouldn’t setting the building on fire be a bad idea?

  Frannie realized she was simply standing in the light of her window, her hand sweating under the thick leather glove as she gazed at the gray sky.

  “Pensive much, little dove?”

  She turned to Thom, trying to shake the fancies from her head.

  “I can’t puzzle it out. There’s no good answer. There’s no reason to want me dead.”
<
br />   Thom stood, scratching the ice-blond hair on his chest down to where it disappeared into his kilt, which was the only thing he wore. He caught her staring and winked before sitting to strap on his belt and pull on his stockings and boots.

  “I must work today, lass. They need me, and I need the job. I’ve a friend at the precinct, and I’ll be asking him to patrol the block, tell him I saw some unsavory characters hanging about.” She opened her mouth to protest, and he held up a hand. “No. I’ll not tell the Coppers the truth or ask them to come inside. I know how much your secret means to ye, and I’ll keep it to my death. But at the very least, they’ll be nearby should something happen before I can get back tonight.”

  “You’ll come back?”

  He shrugged into his shirt and tucked it loosely into his kilt. When he held out his arms, she went to him willingly, and he pulled her close on his lap. “What’s your favorite food, lass?”

  She didn’t even have to think about it. “Frosted cakes from the bakery on High Street.”

  “I’ll bring some tonight, if you don’t mind the company.”

  She smiled and looked down, running a finger down the V of his shirt. “So long as you’re coming for me, not because you feel you must.”

  “Oh, I must. I can’t kiss you if you’re not around, aye?”

  “But I don’t want to be a chore.”

  He put a finger under her chin, and she let him lift her face until their eyes met. His were the gold of baked bread in the center and green as grass around the outside, and they crinkled at the corners with his smile. “Taking care of his woman is a man’s most serious job. I failed it once. I’ll not fail it again.” Shivers trilled up her spine as he brushed his lips over hers, sure and soft but still as searing as a brand.

  “Thom, I—”

  He stood, pulling her with him and gently cradling her face to kiss her again. “Until tonight,” he murmured. “I’m bringing cakes. Be careful, little love.”

  She watched his kilt as he sauntered out the door, amazed, surprised, and worried all at once. His boots sounded on the stairs, and she imagined him making his way through the pet shop, pausing to pat the puppies or poke a finger at the mynah that still echoed his voice after a night in his company. The door closed with a jangle of the bell, and she moved quickly to the window to watch him walk down the street. His hair was a bird’s nest, but his jacket hid the mess she’d made of his shirt, at least, with blood and kisses and wrinkles. Halfway up the sidewalk, he turned to her and blew a kiss, and she drew back from the window, cheeks aflame at being caught out.

  Here she was, mooning out a window for a man she hadn’t even known for a week. Her mother had told her, when she was young, the story of how her parents met. Her mother had come into the pet shop as a nanny with two little hellion boys under her care. Her father had outright refused to sell them a kitten, on the grounds that the spoiled children would bring the creature to harm.

  “What do you recommend, then?” her mother had asked.

  “Gelding” had been his response.

  Her mother had been so impressed that she asked if he needed any help around the shop, with cleaning cages or handling the creatures. He hired her. The next day, she gave her notice to a frazzled High Street duchess and moved into the room Casper now used, bringing nothing but a secondhand valise and an extra hat.

  “It was love at first sight,” her mother had always said with a sigh.

  When Charles had first arrived with Bertram for tea, all those years ago, Frannie had thought she finally understood what her parents had meant. She had been infatuated with the exotic charmer, with his slick ways and pretty words, his sly winks and dark eyes. But now she knew the difference between girlish fancy and a woman’s intuition.

  Charles had hurt her and left. Thom kept coming back just to keep her safe. Four days suddenly seemed like more than enough time to start falling in love with a real man.

  Frannie was jumpy as hell all day. She startled, one hand to the high neck of her blouse, each time the bell rang over the door. Every time a bird squawked and flapped, every time a puppy yipped, she sidestepped as if the white kitten was diving for her flesh. She searched the shadows for adorably malevolent eyes and flinched when a shadow passed the glass in the door. And every time her work took her near the display of tall glass jars, she couldn’t help feeling that the small green snake was watching her. Waiting. The next time a dark daimon came in, perhaps she could sell the pretty thing for a quick profit and be done with it.

  Aside from the anxiety, it was a good day for the shop. She sold a corgi pup to a teen girl who’d been blinded in an automaton accident as a child, and watching the girl’s radiant smile as the wee thing leaped all over her, licking joyfully, brought tears to Frannie’s eyes. A charming Bludman and his wife stopped in for a crow, and another orphan brought by a green parakeet in exchange for some cookies and a copper. She packaged up countless bags of seed, biscuits, and treats, slipping lemon candies into the hands of impatient children. Lizards and finches and tortoises left for new homes, snug in pink-and-white-striped boxes tied with black ribbon.

  At dusk, she checked outside for last-minute customers before locking the door and flipping the sign. Back in the kitchen, she sipped tea and pulled a bit of string for Filbert to chase, the smell of a shepherd’s pie perfuming the air. Frannie noticed the bludkitten lurking in a corner and readied herself to catch the little menace, should it come after its once-brother where he played by the fire. When Casper appeared suddenly in the doorway, she couldn’t help gasping. His stocking-clad feet had been silent on the stairs, and when the white kitten leaped from the shadows to land on his foot, he poked it with a toe. It sniffed him and hissed and bolted back up the stairs before Frannie could shriek a warning.

  “Mischievous little puffball,” he said with a winning grin.

  “Catch it! It’s a killer!” she cried, snatching Filbert into her lap with one hand and grabbing a meat mallet with the other.

  Casper just laughed. “Barely gummed me. Honestly, girl. You look like you just saw a ghost.”

  “That . . . thing. It’s a bludkitten. They all are, except Filbert. They attacked me last night.”

  He swallowed down a laugh and scratched his stubble. “Ah, yes. Bludkittens. Of course. The most vicious creatures in London!”

  Dropping Filbert into her pocket, she spun around and pulled down her collar to show the nasty scab that had formed where the kitten had ripped into her neck. “What do you think did that?”

  “I’m not the expert on animals.” He gave her a searing, knowing look. “But I noticed that Thom stayed overnight.”

  She gasped, mouth open, then went to the corner for her broom. She shook it in his face, and he backed away from the dusty twigs.

  “You paid for the week, and that gives you three more nights as a lodger here. I’m an honest woman, and I’ll honor the bargain. But after that, you’re out, lad. Calling me a liar and a strumpet in one breath isn’t something I’ll readily forgive.”

  “I’m sorry, Frannie. Really. I—”

  “You’ll keep to your room when you’re here. No more mucking up the bird seed and neglecting the pups, trying to get on my good side. I don’t have one when it comes to gadabouts.”

  He smacked the broom aside, knocking it to the ground. “Is that why you left last night? I arrived at my box with the Magistrate and a bottle of champagne and found it empty.”

  She drew up tall, her hands balling into fists. “Someone shot a crossbow at me, and I took that as my cue to leave. You might have noticed, if you’d ever looked away from your adoring crowd.”

  He opened his mouth to shout back and froze, his entire posture changing from self-righteous anger to solicitous concern in the span of a heartbeat. “Someone shot at you?”

  “Aye, with an arrow. It ruined my best dress and barely missed me, and Thom carried me home in the crowd at intermission. Did you not find the arrow in the seat?”

  “No m
atter how full of myself I might seem, I’d have noticed that.”

  He moved to a stool and sat, his eyes far-off.

  “Why you, Frannie? Do you have any enemies?”

  “Thom asked me the same question, and I’ll tell you the same thing I told him. I have no enemies. Nothing worth taking. Nothing worth killing for.”

  He snorted. “Speaking of making a killing, you wouldn’t believe how badly I beat Edwin’s ass last night. Trying to trick me with a new song. Like I don’t know them all already. You did see that part, didn’t you?”

  She took Filbert from her pocket and set him on the table, and he rubbed his face against her finger and purred, as a kitten should. “That was cruel of you. That poor man. Nobody likes someone so superior.”

  His mouth quirked up. “Oh, plenty of girls like it fine. Just not, as you so astutely pointed out, the nice ones.”

  “Don’t you have to go ruin another musician’s day?” She glanced pointedly at the back door.

  “I don’t play tonight. Do you want to—”

  “I have plans.”

  “Oh?”

  “Plans that don’t include my lodgers.”

  He stood and laughed wryly, running a hand through his hair.

  “And you think I’m cruel,” he muttered.

  “I told you not to set your cap for the likes of me.”

  The look of defeat and pain in his eyes struck Frannie to the heart, but she didn’t look away. “I’ll be upstairs, getting drunk and writing poetry,” he said bitterly over his shoulder.

  She felt a little guilty but not enough. “Watch out for bludkittens.”

  “No need.”

  And he was gone.

  16

  She had the table perfectly set when Thom arrived. The hot pie placed just so, the fluffy crust marked with an X. Fresh salad from the garden upstairs and warm bread from the baker across the street. A bottle of white wine as yet uncorked. Candles reflecting off silver goblets. Two plates waiting for the first time in years and a third, empty plate for his promised cakes.