“What—?” But the miniature horse didn’t have a chance.
A swarm of second-graders whooped as they ran up the hill and completely bypassed the play equipment. The tumble of messy hair, gap-tooth smiles, and untied shoes headed for one goal.
The miniature horse.
They descended upon her, sticky hands patting, short arms hugging, while they asked a million questions a minute.
Xtelle looked up in absolute terror and shock. Bathin cleared his throat and then laughed his head off.
The miniature horse narrowed her eyes and mouthed, “Hoove you,” as the children clung to her in delight.
“That’s, uh, maybe you kids should step back,” Ryder said, as he and Delaney arrived with the children’s teacher and several parents.
“Step away from the dog,” Ms. Hen said. “Oh, sorry. Is that a pony?”
“C’mon, kids,” Mrs. Ingrath, their teacher, instructed. “Everyone needs to take a giant step backward.”
“Mother may I?” a billion little voices asked.
“Yes, you may,” Mrs. Ingrath said.
All the kids took one largish step backward. Xtelle stood shivering in the hole they had made, surrounded by little people.
“Nicely done,” Bathin murmured.
Mrs. Ingrath smiled and blushed just a little. He really was the thing dreams were made of. I mean, who wouldn’t fall into that big ole pit of handsome and charming Bathin was projecting?
Me. That’s who.
“We all know we’re supposed to ask before we touch an animal,” she parroted for the class. “Is the pony tame? Is it a pet?”
“Yep,” he said.
Xtelle stomped her foot and neighed, except it sounded a lot like “kill you,” instead of whatever a miniature horse was supposed to sound like.
“It’s not a pet,” I said. “But it won’t hurt the children.”
“Itloveschildren.” Bathin’s eyes glittered with joy.
The mothers all looked up through their lashes at the demon like he was the first skinny-double-shot-extra-hot latte they’d seen in a year.
“Is it yours?” one of them asked.
I felt…well, not jealous that they wanted his attention. He was a demon after all, a trickster, and gorgeous.
But he was also someone who took things away from people for his own benefit, someone who delighted in doing harm.
I guess I was annoyed they couldn’t see past his beauty to his inner scoundrel.
“It’s mine,” I said.
Bathin’s eyebrows shot up, and his half smile spread into something wicked.
“It’s not very tame or child-friendly,” I added. “It would be best if the children gave it some room.”
A collective “Awwww…” broke out, but that was it. That was enough to pull their attention away from the demon and the pony, and back to the park around them.
“You want me”,Bathin mouthed as some of the children scattered to the play equipment and sand box.
