Mr. Wrinkles gave me the evil eye, and I glared right back at him. “This one calls me Mr. Wrinkles.”
Bastet burst into laughter. “You have to admit, it isn’t exactly inappropriate. Pretty fitting, if you ask me.”
The cat harrumphed. I never thought cats could harrumph, but before that day, I didn’t think that they could talk, either.
“Looks like you two go back a long time,” I said.
Bastet laughed softly. “This one, especially, has been around a very long while. It’s pretty common knowledge, isn’t it? That they were beloved, back in the old kingdom. Still are, apparently, which just works in their favor.”
I gestured at my face, especially around my eyes. “That doesn’t quite explain that thing he did once. With his eyes, I mean, the lasers. Surely not all cats can do that. Is he blessed, or does he have special powers because he’s one of your special ones? One of your chosen?”
Mr. Wrinkles tilted his head at me. “Imagine, a cat being chosen. Who said that I was one of hers?” He glanced at Bastet quickly, the two of them sharing a brief, sardonic smile. “I could just as well have been blessed by another god.”
“Enough chitchat,” Bastet said, taking the skillet off the heat, setting it down on a pad. “Quilliam, right? You go have a talk with my roommate over there. I’ll save you both some dinner.” She glided over to the beaded curtain, parting it and sticking her head through. “You two cuties hungry? I made some food. Come sit down and introduce yourselves.”
I frowned at the back of her head. “I don’t mean to complain – well, I suppose I do – but how come they get to be cuties? And I’m just a brat?”
“But you are a brat.” She turned to me with a grin, then made an expanding gesture with her fingers, working outwards from her cloud of hair. “Your head is big enough. We’ve only just met, sure, but I know plenty about you.”
“As do I.” Mr. Wrinkles licked at the back of his paw, then made a sound halfway between a chuckle and a purr. “I know that he likes to take long showers sometimes, when he gets – excited. What he does in there, however, we’ll never know.”
Bastet burst out laughing, and I was sure that I went beet red. Stupid traitor cat. I excused myself, walking over to the man, Dantaleon still clasped in my arms. I must have looked like some idiot schoolboy, clutching a book that was far too big and far too complex for me to grasp, both in size and in breadth.
“Greetings,” I said, scolding myself on the inside for sounding so awkward and dumb. I was the son of Lust, one of many. It struck me that I knew how to seduce, how to charm and cajole, but that I didn’t know the first thing about how to approach someone with respect and deference.
Wow, I really was a brat.
The man grunted, hardly looking up at me, turning the page with an expression that told me he was far more interested in reading than in whatever I had to say.
“Bastet told me to come speak to you,” I said. “I’m not entirely sure why, but it has to do with magic. And books.”
Something tensed in the man’s face, and I could tell he was trying his best not to look so curious. He tilted his head slowly to glance up at me, and I stared into his eyes, beady and black, like some bird. I tried not to focus on his nose, or the tufts of white hair at his temples, features that only made him look even more, well, birdlike.
“Books, you say?” His eyes traveled between my face and the book in my arms. Dantaleon said nothing, no doubt still exhausted from his arcane exertions. “I might be willing to listen, if you let me have a glimpse at that thing in your hands.”
I froze. I was taking enough risks carrying Dantaleon around on my own. He was unaccustomed to this much contact, and it’d only be a matter of time before he woke up in a confused daze and attempted to incinerate me. What more would he do to this man? Still, Bastet did say he was a god. And the pieces were there, though I couldn’t quite put things together in terms of his identity.
“Quilliam,” I said, by way of a very belated introduction. “My name is Quilliam, and this is Dantaleon, my mentor. I don’t think he’ll very much like being handled, truthfully speaking.”
The man gave me a small smile, then shrugged. “Those are my terms, princeling. Let me browse your mentor, and I will be more inclined to help you with whatever you require.” He tapped the end of his nose.
Princeling. Bastet was right. Their situation was, politely speaking, less than ideal, especially for entities so accustomed to luxury and worship, but they definitely knew what was going on out there, out in the world. It didn’t matter that they kept a low profile. Bastet had eyes everywhere, possibly through every cat in the city, perhaps even beyond. And this man had his – birds, maybe?
But I stood my ground, pressing Dantaleon closer against my chest. “I’m sorry, but it wouldn’t be right for anyone involved. A mage’s book of shadows is the essence of who they are. And in my mentor’s case, this tome is literally, entirely who he is, body and soul. You would need his permission to look at his spells. Also, there’s the very present possibility that he’ll wake up and blow your hands off at the wrists.”
“How disappointing, though you do have a point.” The man sighed, then gave me a wry smile. “But a demon with a conscience, eh? You’re quite the interesting specimen, princeling. In any case, you should be so lucky to have such a
