But I also can’t do this alone. I need backup—someone who actually knows what they’re doing with exotic animals.
I pull out my phone and call Joy. If anyone can connect me with help, it’s her.
She answers on the first ring. “Laney! How’s the pet-sitting going?”
“I’m in over my head,” I blurt, watching Hamlet successfully open my pantry door while Peanut provides scathing commentary. “I need help. Someone who knows what they’re doing—and I’ll pay, of course. That I’m desperate doesn’t mean I’m expecting free labor.”
“I know exactly the right person.” I can hear the smile in her voice. “His name is Ryder. He’s an orc firefighter who volunteers at animal rescue centers. If anyone can handle your chaos, it’s him.”
An orc firefighter. That might have startled me once, but now that Joy married Grum, I have firsthand knowledge that orcs aren’t the monsters some people whisper about.
“Can you send him my way? Use all your skills to talk him into this gig?”
“Consider it done. I’ll have him call you.”
After we hang up, I look around at the whirlwind of fur, feathers, and pet paraphernalia surrounding me. Help is coming. Someone who knows what they’re doing.
From the living room, Peanut announces, “Help! Help! Chaos!”
Even the bird knows I need support.
But looking around at all these animals who’ve been entrusted to my care, I feel something more than panic. I feel determined. This matters. Their families are counting on me, and I’m not going to let them down.
I just need a little help to make sure I do this right. I stand and straighten the tiny tree on the counter. “Okay, team,” I tell the menagerie, “we’re going to have a very merry, very alive Christmas.” Peanut whistles the first three notes of “Jingle Bells,” and I choose to take it as a good omen.
Chapter Three
Ryder
The alarm cuts through the firehouse like a blade at 3:17 a.m., and I’m moving before my brain fully catches up. Muscle memory takes over—boots, gear, truck—while the computerized voice announces what we already know from the smell of smoke drifting through the bay doors.
“Structure fire, 1247 Elm Street. Possible entrapment.”
Thrall’s already behind the wheel of Engine 19, and I swing into the passenger seat as Chief Brokka’s voice crackles over the radio with additional details. Apartment building, second floor, elderly resident unaccounted for.
The others might see routine, but I see Velara’s face from our last safety inspection. The eighty-three-year-old minotaur moveswith a walker and has a tabby cat named Applesauce who sleeps at her hooves every night.
“Building’s probably from the sixties,” Kam says from behind me, already thinking structure and strategy. “Balloon-frame construction, gonna go up fast.”
I’m thinking about something else entirely. About Applesauce, who won’t understand why her owner isn’t moving fast enough. About how scared animals get when their world fills with smoke and chaos.
The scene comes into view three blocks out—the orange glow painting the night sky, neighbors clustered on the sidewalk in bathrobes and jackets thrown over pajamas. Fire department protocol says assess, strategize, execute. My gut saysmove.
Brokka is barking orders before we’ve even rolled to a complete stop. “Thrall, Kam, primary search. Durga, continuous water on that second floor. Ryder, crowd control and medical.”
Crowd control. Right. I scan the gathered residents, quickly identifying Velara in a worried hug with a younger woman who’s probably her daughter. Relief floods through me, followed immediately by a different kind of worry.
“Velara!” I jog over, my gear making me sound like a walking hardware store. “You okay? Any injuries?”
“I’m fine, dear, but Applesauce—” Her voice breaks, and I see everything I need to know in her red-rimmed eyes. “I couldn’t find her. The smoke was so thick, and I couldn’t see—”
“She’s still inside?”
Velara nods, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Second floor, apartment 2C. She hides under the bed when she’s scared.”
The daughter starts explaining how they barely got her mother out, how the hallway was already filling with smoke, and how there wasn’t time to search for a cat. All valid points. All irrelevant.
I key my radio. “Chief, we’ve got a cat still inside 2C. Elder confirms location.”
