“Wasn’t expecting to find you here, Wulf.”
Eadwulf turns to see Caleb gazing at him, a bemused expression on his face.
“I’ve grown to like cats, I guess,” Eadwulf says, shrugging.
“It’s what comes of being around them all the time. Don’t think I’ve got a single item of clothing that isn’t covered in cat hair these days. I’ve just accepted the inevitable.”
Caleb doesn’t acknowledge the dig, but his blue eyes are dancing. “Are you alone?”
“Yeah. The archmage is busy. She wouldn’t have time for a cat show, anyway.”
“It’s not just any cat show, it’s the annual Rexxentrum Cat Show,” Caleb protests.
“Funnily enough, I don’t think she’d care much.”
Caleb grins. “Maybe she’d change her mind if she knew I was competing.”
Eadwulf’s ears perk up at that. “Oh? With which cat?”
“It’s a secret. Let’s keep it a surprise for later, shall we?” Caleb says airily, but for some reason, his ears are very red.
“If you like,” Eadwulf says, his eyes narrowing at Caleb. Most of the house cats are pretty enough, but not enough to enter a show as prestigious as this—not that Eadwulf would ever say that aloud, for fear of being permanently banned from Caleb’s house. The point is, Eadwulf knows all of the cats by heart. How could Caleb have a cat he doesn’t know about yet?
He doesn’t have to wait very long before he finds his answer—Caleb’s entry is an absurdly beautiful cat, all sleek lines and sinuous curves. Its short white fur has a spectacular gloss to it, and curiously enough… its eyes are a shade of violet Eadwulf knows like the scars on his own arms.
“He’s gorgeous, isn’t he,” Caleb murmurs, hands clasped together in delight as the cat preens, sauntering before the judges with an unmistakable lift to the delicate chin. His cat is announced as a purebred Xhorhasian Blue, of all things.
“That’s one hell of a cat,” he says with a straight face. “Must have imported him straight from Rosohna.”
Caleb’s answer is interrupted by the announcement of the next entry to the competition. The next cat is a stunning shade of creamy beige, long-legged and graceful, treating the judges to a single disdainful glance before flicking its elegant tail and padding away.
“Contestant number nine is brought by Eadwulf Grieve, a Blumenthal shorthair in the rarest of colors,” the announcer yells to the cheering crowd.
Eadwulf has to press his lips together to keep from laughing aloud as Caleb turns to him, an expression of utter betrayal on his face.
“I had no idea you kept cats of your own, Wulf; were mine not enough for you?” Caleb says, looking for all the world like a ruffled Johann on an especially grumpy day.
“Listen. You’d think a cat with a scarred eye wouldn’t make it into a fancy competition like this, but I believed in her.”
Caleb’s eyes soften, though he still looks distinctly annoyed. “She is all the more beautiful for it, I think.”
“She is,” Eadwulf agrees. “So if someone’s taking home that spellbook today, it’s definitely going to be me.”
“We’ll see about that,” Caleb growls.
Eadwulf shrugs. “Your cat might want to think very hard about conceding.”
“I think he’d happily put up with a bit of domestic unrest in exchange for new spells.”
“That’s because he has no idea what’s coming for him,” Eadwulf says, amused.
Their bickering is interrupted by the third entry—a cat no less elegant than the first two that preceded it, another shorthair with exquisite golden fur, and with honey-colored eyes to match. Huh.
Eadwulf looks down at the row of onlookers. Recognizes a very familiar face. A bald, very well-dressed goblin in a pair of large spectacles. Just as the new entry is announced as a Golden Nicodranian.
“Caleb,” Eadwulf says with a minute jerk of his chin.
He turns, confused, before following Eadwulf’s gaze. He pales. “Oh, shit. Yussa.”
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