Thetroubleallstartedthe day the cat appeared in her garden, as most trouble did.
Ladybug jerked up sharply from where she was bent over her worktable, hearing the somewhat-familiar yowl of the little cat she fed each day.
It wasn’t her pet, not truly. The cat was a stray, as feral and untamed as the wilds beyond the neatly manicured medicinal garden it had chosen as its home. Ladybug put out a dish of food each morning and evening, hoping against hope that the cat would decidethatparticular day was as good as any to retire from its life outdoors. To leave behind an era of roughing it, living like a little gremlin in the dirt, choosing instead to snuggle with the owner of a big Victorian before the fireplace and eat her homemade food in the warmth of the big work kitchen instead of under the garden bench . . . but that day had yet to arrive.
She had only ever managed to trap the beast once — taking it to the vet to be spayed and vaccinated, and since then, the small cat fled at the tiniest hint of her approach. Anzan had proven able to scoop her up with little effort, possessing both the preternatural ability to sneak silently and an Araneaen’s terrifying speed, forcing down her dewormer and other necessary supplements throughout the year. He’d also rigged a solar-powered heat system for the shed, giving the garden cat a warm shelter through the harsh winter, and likely delighting both the groundhog who lived beneath the outbuilding and the birds who nested in the eaves.
She fretted less as a result, but hearing her little friend’s sharp sound of distress now sent Ladybug hurrying to the work kitchen window in alarm.
They’d hit that patch of unseasonably warm weather in February, when the sun shone brightly each afternoon, melting the dregs of snow and ice that remained from January, turning the outside into a muddy, mucky mess. It was only a matter of time before another cold snap reminded them that while spring might be on the way, winter still had a bit of icy breath in store. The warm spell meant more animals bustling about, and there could be any manner of predator in the garden.
The cat was there, Ladybug could see from the window, her little tabby body curled beneath the stone bench on the flagstone pathway, hissing up at something unseen.It could be a hawk, or a coyote, or a loose dog. Whatever it was, they needed to go. Stepping through the doorway, she prepared herself to shoo away some sky predator, or perhaps a wandering tomcat, searching out a receptive mate.
A black shape leapt down from its perch high atop the garden wall, landing gracefully before her on the flagstones as she yelped in surprise. Itwasa tomcat, but the realization did not leave her feeling any less unsettled. The tabby fled.
The black cat circled and stretched, trapping her in his citrine-green gaze, meowing insistently. A strange prickle moved up her neck.No. It can’t be.Ladybug, never breaking eye contact with the unwanted newcomer to her garden, felt for the door behind her, stepping backward over the threshold and quickly swinging the door shut on the still-meowing cat.
That was the beginning of everything. The beginning, and simultaneously, the last day of peace in her home.
Behind her, Anzan watched silently, shining black eyes blinking like a ripple on a wave.
“Little bug? Is something wrong?”
His voice was measured as always, but there was a hint of levity there, one perhaps only she would recognize. Steady and low, with the reverence he always paid her . . . but there was something in his inflection that telegraphed his amusement with the tableau he’d stumbled upon during his never-ending quest for more caffeine.
“No!” she answered a touch too forcefully, turning from the door. “Nothing at all. Everything’s right as rain.”Maybe you’re wrong.
Despite the relative warmth and shining sun, Anzan was bundled in one of the modified black turtleneck sweaters that had temporarily replaced his favored black t-shirts. Two arms were busy pouring himself what was undoubtedly his tenth cup of coffee of the day, while the remaining two had crossed over his muscular chest, waiting for her to say something.
Ladybug could feel the weight of his many eyes watching as she crossed back to her worktable, heat moving up her neck.It’s fine. You have orders to fill. Just put it out of mind.On the other side of the door, the black cat continued to meow. Anzan hadn’t moved from the coffee machine. His lower arachnid half was utterly still, his many jet-black legs completely unmoving, his equally dark hair falling like a curtain over one shoulder, and if it weren’t for the white markings on his heavy black carapace, he might have been able to disappear into the shadows of the room. He was still watching her, but she refused to look up.
“Little bug . . . do you want me to —“
“No,” she cut in again, shaking her head and ignoring the hand he raised, indicating the door. “No, there’s nothing you need to do. Nothing’s wrong. Just the invigorating sounds of nature on this very nice afternoon.”
The cat began to scratch. The sound of nails scrabbling against the wood was punctuated by a particularly long yowl, dramatic and demanding. Ladybug grit her teeth. She heard the almost imperceptible snort of Anzan’s laughter, held in only to spare her dignity.
He thinks he’s going to come sashaying in here and sleep on the end of the bed. He thinks you’re a pushover. We’ll see about that.She had her ear buds and would tune out the racket as soon as Anzan left. Sighing, she looked up at last.
“You know, if we open your veins, you’ll probably bleed coffee. I don’t understand why you don’t just bring the machine upstairs.”
She never turned away from the root before her, diligently cutting away the eyes to use for future shoots, but she sensed Anzan crossing the kitchen. One of his solid arms slipped around her waist, careful not to disturb her work, his cool lips lowering to press a kiss to the back of her neck.
“It gives me a reason to come down to see you,” he murmured against her skin, nosing into her hair before pulling away suddenly. “Does it bother you? I will stop if you do not wish me to, little—“
“Don’t be silly.”
Carefully placing her cutting knife on the board, she spun in his arms, teetering on her tiptoes to reach his mouth. Uncertainty scrunched his brow, and she reached up to smooth the furrow away, tangling her fingers in his silky, black hair. It was true. If he didn’t come down for coffee throughout the day, she’d not see him until evening, despite both of them being in the house all day.Alone, together.
“Of course, it doesn’t bother me. I just don’t want you to feel as though you’re not allowed to move things, that’s all.”
She would never get tired of looking at him. Ladybug knew that was likely a rude thing to say, let alone to think, objectifying him in such a way, but she couldn’t help it. Watching his intense focus as he fixed things around the house, his sharp features slack in sleep the few times she actually caught him napping, even the self-satisfied grin he wore when he occasionally convinced her to leave her worktable and snuggle with him randomly in the middle of the day. She would come back to her kitchen a short while later after placating his need for closeness with her hair plaited like a crown, the unruly tangle of frizz elegantly transformed in his numerous hands.
He was her favorite work of art, proof of the miracle of existence, the ultimate magic, right here in her kitchen — filling his coffee cup a dozen times a day. Currently, he had an arm around her waist, hand resting on her hip, another palming her cheek, the third holding his coffee, leaving the fourth hand free to tuck up into the confines of his sweater, making a show of shivering against her.
“I don’t understand how you can work down here,” he grumbled against her hair, breaking the moment as she rolled her eyes. “Little bug, I can see my breath.”
Ladybug pulled back, laughing. He was ridiculous. “You areridiculous.”
