"The CIA draft estimate doesn't say who is organizing the coup," said Rubens. He had obtained a copy of the draft from one of his usual sources even as Collins was leaving the Puzzle Palace; she had undoubtedly said it wasn't prepared as a personal challenge to him.
Johnny Bib wrinkled his nose, fighting back a sneeze. He seemed to loathe the CIA people so badly he had an actual allergy to them.
"Are they holding back?" Rubens asked.
"They're not smart enough to hold anything back."
"Smart and devious do not go hand in glove, John. Who's the leader of the coup? Vladimir Perovskaya, the defense minister?"
Johnny Bib stifled another sneeze by burying his nose in the crock of his arm. Rubens wondered if the agency ought to add etiquette and manners classes to its basic training regime.
At last the arrack was mixed, and Lord Southam poured their glasses and served them, then took his seat by Mirabella. "A toast," he said, lifting his glass. "To the four loveliest ladies at Vauxhall tonight." The men said heartily, "To the ladies."
Mirabella took a very small sip of the punch, but as soon as she had inhaled the strong fragrance, she sneezed not once but twice. "Please pardon me, oh dear," she said, woebegone.
Giles grinned mischievously. "Sorry, Southam, but she's ferreted out your secret ingredient. Cardamom."
Mirabella sighed. "It's true, I'm afraid. Cardamom always makes me sneeze." She darted Giles a wicked glance and said, "But I shouldn't have told your secret, sir, I have more discretion."
"Everyone knows you sneeze at cardamom, the secret was out," Giles replied.
"I beg your pardon, Mr. and Miss Smythe, I didn't know," Mirabella argued.
Lord Camarden said, "Mirabella, Giles, if you think we all came here to listen to you two squabble, you are much mistaken, we hear enough of that at home. Southam, I compliment you on your arrack, it's fortifying and the taste is pleasing on the tongue."
Lord Southam nodded, then said to Mirabella, "Please forgive me for inflicting respiratory distress upon you, my lady. And now I must find another secret recipe that won't make you sneeze."
"That's very kind of you, sir, kinder than our Monsieur Danton," Mirabella said, sniffing a little. "It enrages him that I have this odd reaction to cardamom, which is one of his favorite spices. He has accused me of imagining it, and keeps making dishes with it, thinking I won't notice."
"And do you?" Lord Southam asked.
Lady Camarden said, "Once we had lamb with a sweet sauce, and Mirabella sneezed so much that I was obliged to dismiss her from the table. It was really quite embarrassing, with Lord and Lady Liverpool there."
"I did try to hold the sneezes, back, Mamma, but all I succeeded in doing was a sort of deep hiccuping into my napkin," Mirabella said plaintively. "It fairly made my ears ring."
"Your ears and your nose were very red," Giles commented.
Tait's Edinburgh Magazine, edited by William Tait and Christian Isobel Johnstone, page 366
The Countess resided for the most part upon her estates, for the Duke rarely invited her to court. His premier, it is true, paid frequent visits to his sister, but, still, too few to gratify the yearnings of his affection.
"My dear Count," said the Duke to him one day, "no man can serve two masters. I observe you are frequently absent."
The minister blushed to his eyes.
"You see the Countess frequently. The Countess, however, is well aware of the number of things you have to attend to; why does she come to court so seldom?"
The minister was seized with a fit of coughing.
"I suppose I must bring this tale to a close, and wind up your little romance with a marriage, in proper forms. You love the Countess, of course?"
The minister stammered out, "Your grace, it is an intimacy of old standing. I love her - yes - certainly - as a brother."
"And supposing I were to coerce you into marrying the fair Countess, would you be very angry with me?"
"Ah!" sighed the minister, "if the Countess-! I should be the happiest of men! But the Countess-"
"Well, well!" said the Duke, "I owe the Countess a kindness. I am sorry to find that she avoids the court. Perhaps, because I see little company, she thinks I bear her a less kindly feeling than I do. We shall speak of this matter again."
Next day, when the minister entered the Duke's apartment, his grace opened, hastily, a sort of concealed door in the paper-hangings of the wall, and said, "Quick! Get in here! The Countess is coming. I mean you to be of the audience. She shall confess. You shall hear all, and then decide for yourself."
The minister would fain have protested against playing the eavesdropper; but before he could do so, the Duke thrust him through the aperture, and closed it, just as the Countess entered the room.
After a few of the usual compliments had been interchanged, the Duke began, with a comical air, to complain bitterly of his minister's negligence; and entreated the Countess, as she was intimate with his friend, to give him a hint to that effect.
The Countess entered into the joke without betraying any embarrassment.
Upon this the Duke continued, "But, by the way, my fair Countess, among my father's papers I find an expression of his wishes which concerns you. He has there enjoined me, not only to watch over you like a brother, but also to exercise the privileges of a parent, and to see to providing you with a husband."
Wilhelmine bent her beautiful eyes upon the ground, unable to say one word in answer.
"And, empowered by ties so dear to me, I take the liberty of inquiring whether your heart has already made choice of any one?"
The Countess was silent.
Roderick, from his hiding-place, pricked up his ears - his heart beat violently. "Ah!" thought he, "whom will she name? Oh, that I were the man?"
In his anxiety to catch her answer, his excellency the prime minister bent his head forward against the paper-hangings, so that his nose came in contact with a cloak of the Duke's, which was hung against it. Now, the Duke was a desperate snuff-taker; and, as ill-luck would have it, some particles of snuff found their way to the nostrils of Roderick, who never snuffed, and produced in him a strong inclination to sneeze. The distress of his eavesdropping excellency may be easily conceived.
The Duke, who had no conception of the agonies of his friend, pursued the conversation, and at last inquired whether her heart was really free, as seemed to be the case; and whether she would permit him to wed her to a nobleman of high character, whom he hoped in this way to attach permanently to him.
At this climax, the Countess was about as much perplexed with her heart as the minister behind the paper-hangings was with his nose.
"Suppose," said the Duke, "that I meant my friend Roderick?"
The Countess colored deeply, but for her to answer was impossible.
"How! said the Duke, "a cloud gathers on your brow! You dislike him, then?"
"By no means," said the Countess; "I esteem him highly."
"As a sister might a brother, eh?" continued the Duke, with a significant smile. "And how would you act, supposing he were to throw himself at your feet - to supplicate your hand - my prayers joined with his."
Again Roderick leaned his head against the paper-hangings, eager to catch her answer; and alas! as he did so, a whole pinch of snuff from the Duke's cloak flew up his nose. To keep from sneezing was now impossible - every effort the unhappy listener made was abortive, especially when he heard Wilhelmine say, "Believe me, your grace, Roderick will never do so. He has no thought of such a thing, and never had."
But the tickling in Roderick's nose became so extreme, that, with the very first jerk of his head, bang it went down through the paper-hangings.
To recede, or to put anything like a face upon the business were equally impossible. The Duke was completely paralyzed as he had been by the earthquake in the bake-house in the days of old. Nor was Wilhelmine one whit less taken aback by the apparition of the sneezing head. Meanwhile, the minister went on sneezing lustily through the whole in the wall.
Bursting with laughter, the Duke released his friend from his prison. All that Roderick could say to his laughing friends was, "Well, I never could play a part in an intrigue. The layers of snuff upon your grace's cloak have ruined all. I will, however, make what amends I can." And with this he threw himself at the feet of his fair sister, who could not say "No" to him for laughing.
Lily in Wonderland by Kelly Fitzpatrick, pages 81-82
She unfastened the tiny clasp, releasing her chest from the lacy confinement. Cupping one breast with his hand, he teased the other with kisses until she couldn’t take anymore. Toby finally covered one nipple with his mouth and Lily’s body was overcome with a strange convulsion he’d never witnessed while making love, and then she sneezed.
Toby broke away from her when she sneezed again, and then again. He looked perplexed. “Did you just…”
“Ahhh choo!” Lily sneezed again. “Yes, I sneezed, sorry.” She pulled him back to her by his tie and held him by his shoulders.
“I thought you, uh, never mind.” He shook his head.
She sneezed again, and then again, spraying the area with a fine mist. “Sorry.”
“Are you okay?” he inquired.
“I think I need a tissue.”
Toby got up and left the room, coming back with a roll of toilet paper. She sneezed again as his radio squawked. He handed her the roll and walked away to answer the call while she blew her nose.
Toby sighed. “I have to go. Some animals rights activist or, as I call them, teenagers, released all the chickens at the feed store.”
Lily sneezed again. “Just as well.”
“The pollen count is high today,” he explained, putting himself back together.
“Are you suggesting I have allergies?”
“If it’s any consolation, that’s the nicest set of knockers I’ve ever seen, live or on television.”
“Ah-ah-choo! Thank you.”
“They’re real, aren’t they?” he guessed, strapping his gun belt back on. Toby was no expert, but he wanted the real deal, or he thought he did until he saw her breasts. If they were fake he’d learn to live with it.
“Of course, everything about me is real, good, bad, and ugly.”
“It all looks good from here,” Toby said under his breath. “Except your nose - it’s red, and your eyes are watery.”
“Just leave before you see something unflattering. I mean - more unflattering.”
“I’ll be back when my shift is over,” he promised.
“So when you get off, I’ll get off,” Lily said, trying to sound alluring, but it came out nasally.
Myrddin had spent the early evening scouting out the area and felt he had a grasp of its dimensions. The houses were much smaller in this quarter, indicating that the poorer members of Roman society had once lived in this area of the city, and it was from here that the waterworks that had fed the baths had been controlled and maintained. Although Myrddin would have chosen the task for himself, he'd allowed other men to keep an eye on the prison house for him, though their attention had needed to be sporadic so they wouldn't call attention to themselves. Godric had pulled them all back within the last half-hour in preparation for the rescue.
Myrddin stepped closer to the entrance, sniffing with distaste. A hundred and fifty years of neglect had left the tunnel, which had clearly once been an outtake for the sewer system, dripping in grime and smelling of mold. Myrddin sneezed violently three times.
Gareth put a hand on Myrddin's chest and pushed him away from the entrance. "What's wrong with you?"
"I don't know." Myrddin sneezed three more times, and his eyes streamed with tears. The first sneeze had caught him by surprise, but he'd managed to stifle the subsequent ones in the elbow of his coat. He didn't need Gareth's restraining hand on his chest to know not to approach the tunnel again, and he blew his nose into the dirt beside the road, trying to eject the vile smell of mold from his nostrils.
Gareth was disgusted by Myrddin's weakness. "I can tell you right now that the whole plan would end in an instant if we sent you in there."
Myrddin shook his head. "I can go if I have to, if it's the only way to rescue-" Another sneeze overtook him.
"As I said." Gareth gave a low laugh. "You would have been the perfect man to send because you still need to remain hidden from Modred and his men. But as it is, it's impossible." He turned on his heel to survey the rest of the men, who'd gathered in a semicircle around him. And then he sighed. "Maybe I should be the one to go, since my presence in the rescue party will be a way to prove to the king that I have not defected to Modred."
"No, my lord. We need you out and about, in case Modred demands your presence. I'll send two of my own men," Godric said. "They can reassure the king of your allegiance, and that in speaking of Myrddin's death, you were acting on Myrddin's own advice."
Though he'd been willing to go, Gareth looked so relieved it was almost comical.
"So what am I supposed to do?" Myrddin said.
"Keep watch?" Godric said.
Keeping watch went against Myrddin's nature, and he kicked at the cobbles beneath his feet in frustration. It wasn't as if Godric wasn't right, however. Myrddin never would have imagined that he could be undone by a few sneezes, but that certainly seemed to be the case.
Kale to the Queen: A Kensington Palace Chef Mystery by Nell Hampton
Suddenly the door to the storage unit opened and I heard someone walk in. I froze at the sound of his voice. I recognized it immediately. It was one of the thugs in the alley who had threatened Michael.
"I swear he will do anything to avoid paying the debt," the man said. "Even go to prison for the rest of his life."
"We both know he didn't do it. Haregrove doesn't have the guts," said a second man whose voice I didn't recognize. Two voices surprised me. I thought I only heard one person enter the room.
"That's what I'm saying. He's hiding behind this murder thing to keep from paying us. Well, it won't work. Anton's got people in prison. They'll beat it out of him just as quickly as you and I would."
My nose had a sudden tickly sensation and fear spiked down my spine. I put my finger under my nostrils to try to keep as quiet as possible.
"Dead or not, Deems owed Anton too much money. If we can't beat it out of Haregrove, we're going to have to go after the family."
"Now you know I don't go for that kind of thing," the man whose voice I recognized said. I peered around the shelf to see his large back. He held up his cell phone in his hand, and I could tell he was using the speaker option. It was why I had heard two voices but only saw one man. He wore a white T-shirt and black slacks. I could see apron strings around his thick waist. The man clearly worked in the palace kitchen.
"I'm not the one pushing this," the second man said. I couldn't see him so I had no idea who he might be. "It's Anton. Deems knew this when he got involved."
"But he didn't kill himself," the big guy said. "So how can we take it out on his family?"
"Look, I heard they got a nice insurance settlement. That's just about what Anton needs to cover the debt. If we can't shake down Haregrove, then we shake down the wife. Either way, he's going to get his money."
I took a step back when my nose tickle flared up again. I held my nostrils closed and looked up. I heard somewhere if you look up you can prevent a sneeze. My heart raced as the tickle continued. I held my breath so as not to give in and then - achoo!
Crap.
I froze but couldn't stop the next sneeze. Achoo, achoo, achoo!
Great, I thought as the world tilted under my sneezing fit. I'm going to die from sneezing.
I grabbed a clean tissue out of my pocket and wiped my nose. My eyes watered, and I awaited my fate at the hands of the enforcer. But nothing happened. I held my breath and listened. No one was talking, but he wasn't walking this way, either. I peered around the corner. He was gone.
Swallowing hard, I chewed on my bottom lip and tiptoed toward the door. He hadn't come running toward me. Was he lying in wait to see who I was? The door didn't have a window so I couldn't tell. I considered hiding in the room for the next hour, but I knew I had to get back to the test kitchen to make dinner. Clearly no one would harm me in such a public place. Would they?
Then I remembered that Mr. Deems had been murdered on the premises, which meant that, public or not, if someone wanted me dead, I would be dead.
Not a happy thought.
I blew out a long breath and lifted my chin. Well, here goes nothing. I pushed the door open and walked quickly and confidently to the kitchen door across the hall. The man wasn't there. No one noticed that I left the room.
What did that mean? Did my sneezing spook him? Or was I lucky enough that he left before I started?
The Fallen: War has Just been Declared... Against Hell by Alexander W. Quinn
With a smile hidden by the shadow, Ryan flung his hands in front of him, rolled up imaginary sleeves to the weathered tank top he was wearing, and shot his fingertips outward. If they could have seen him through the unnatural darkness, he would have seemed ready to stand over an orchestra pit, conductor's baton raised and ready to engineer some great symphony. Here, though, it was not music that Ryan Osborn was prepared to unleash, but it was rock and roll. It began with a tremble, a slight rumbling that one could excuse as a strong stomach vibration. But it grew, and grew quickly.
"What are you doing?" Mikal asked nervously, groping about in the darkness and grabbing onto Katrina's arm. "This is not caution!"
"Maybe not, but it sure as hell is fun." Small bits of debris and mortar dropped from the ceiling, coating the lot of them in a chalky ash, all of them except for Ryan, who stood on the threshold of the mysterious room. He felt the debris and the dust as well, but it didn't fall upon his head or shoulders, it drifted up his nose, tickling the tiny hairs and making him cough and sneeze slightly. The distraction played against the miniature earthquake and the rumbling of the Tower fell quiet.
"That helped us how?" Mikal asked.
"Well," Ryan answered, wiping his nose with the torn shoulder strap of his tank top, "the room is indeed upside down."
Mr. Darcy's Decision: A Sequel to Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice by Juliette Shapiro, page 56
Elizabeth and Jane could not have dreamed of more. Neither, even in stretching their imaginative capabilities, could have foreseen the romanticism that defined what was now theirs. Like the girls they had once been, but were fast growing away from, they sat for a while and shared secrets of kisses, of little particulars of their husbands' mannerisms and publicly unknown ways. Jane, with the assurance of confidence only a close sister could promise, was explicit in her depictions, diverting Elizabeth with the amusing but little known fact that Charles Bingley always reacted to his wife's first application of scent, with a sniff, then a sneeze and a curse.
"Oh, his poor face, Lizzy. It is never my intention to laugh at him, but I find him, with his nose red and eyes streaming, a most humorous sight and for some reason I am always reminded of our first meeting. When first acquainted with Charles, I would never have imagined this human aspect."
"I understand you completely, Jane, our dreams of marriage are never colored by the things that make the reality of matrimony so much an adventure."
"You do not think it odd then that my endearment is increased by so mundane a thing as Charles's sneezing."
"No, not at all," said Elizabeth, "for all Fitzwilliam's looks and attributes, I think I savor most the way he frowns before laughing, and he always does it, Jane."
Tiffany was scrubbing away at the sideboard in the dining room because Miriam had told her to polish it until she could see her reflection in it. She had furniture polish stuck under her fingernails. She paused to scratch some out and sneezed violently.
At that point, she saw James and Ethan walking down the outside corridor. James continued on, but Ethan stopped. "That was a loud sneeze." He looked amused.
"I have allergies. I shouldn't be doing this," she said, hoping to gain his sympathy.
One eyebrow quirked upward. "Allergies?" he repeated. "What sort of allergies?"
"I'm allergic to furniture polish."
Ethan laughed. For some reason he seemed to find it particularly funny. "More like allergic to work." With that, he left.
Miriam picked up two empty platters from on top of the sideboard and threw them at the spot where Ethan had just been. They missed, and shattered all over the door post.
Hours later, Fitch and Brenna were thrust laughing into the Casa Mata honeymoon suite by their enthusiastic festival minders. The door was shut on them amid shouts of encouragement and giggles. Fitch was about to tell Brenna he was thrilled to be alone with her, when he began to sneeze.
Flowers - everywhere. While he and Brenna had been making their debut appearance as a faux married couple, the room had been stuffed with blooms. All colors and all varieties were piled high on every surface. He sneezed again. And again.
"Are you all right?" Brenna stared at him.
He wanted to reassure her, but he couldn't catch his breath! He could only shake his head and wipe at his streaming eyes as he sneezed another time, and then another.
When he felt Brenna shoving him, he went blindly, trusting her.
Fresh air rushed past his face. He leaned his hands on the wrought iron railing of the balcony and breathed the clear evening air into his lungs. He felt Brenna gently patting him on the back as the burning in nostrils began to subside.
"Are you allergic?" she asked.
"I wasn't when we were outside." He caught his breath, straightened, and brushed his eyes with his sleeve.
Kay gave a sigh of relief as she breathed deeply of the musty perfume of hay coming from below. It smelled a good deal sweeter than traffic fumes. She carried the scent with her like a gentle balm when her weary mind finally left behind the traumas of the day and succumbed to sleep.
A fit of coughing roused Kay some hours later. It was pitch-dark. She glanced at the luminous hands of her travel clock. Two o'clock. Her nose tingled, and she raised her hand to rub it. She'd never suffered from hay fever in her life. Marion's brand of hay must be a stronger variety than any she had ever encountered before, she thought with a wide yawn, which ended abruptly in a violent sneeze.
Thoroughly wide awake now, Kay leaned out of bed, feeling for the box of tissues which she had left on the floor beside it for the night.
Her nose twitched with the threat of another sneeze, but she paused in mid-grope as the smell assailed it again, much stronger this time, and more intense. Not sweet and musty, but acrid, and choking. Her throat closed against it, even as her mind registered the fact that it was not hay she was smelling, but...
"Do I need to sign a new lease or are you giving me notice?" Shane asked. His previous landlady, Ginny Martin, had passed away and his lease had expired while her will was in probate. There was a shortage of housing in Bozeman, Montana; if he got kicked out of his apartment, he would most likely have to return to Sugar Creek Ranch, his family's cattle spread.
Rebecca, who held her body stiffly and had an anxious, worried look hovering in her eyes, glanced over her shoulder at her two boys before answering.
"I'm not here to kick you out," she told him. "I thought we'd see how it goes until the end of the month. Aunt Ginny always spoke so highly of you."
"All right." Shane nodded with a deadpan expression that didn't reflect his relief. It looked like, at least for now, Ginny was still looking out for him.
"I have to get my boys to school." She glanced at her phone to check the time. "We're running late. As usual."
"Okay. Well. Nice meetin' ya." Shane opened his door, about to walk back inside and get back to the business of finding a beer and lying back down on the couch, when Rebecca stopped him.
"Wait." She waved her hand at him. "This wasn't a social call."
Rebecca jogged over to the spot where her sons had been waiting for her, picked up the squirming kitten, and headed his way with her two boys following along behind her.
Great, Shane thought. I threw one back and four jumped into the boat.
"We found this poor little kitten under the front porch this morning." Rebecca held up the wiggly, bedraggled kitten for him to see. "Is it yours?"
Shane got within three feet of the scraggly black-and-white kitten and started to sneeze.
"No." He shook his head. He had always been highly allergic.
"Then we can keep him," the younger of the two boys said to his mom.
"I'm sorry, Caleb," Rebecca said in a soft, but firm, tone. "We can't.”
She handed the older boy the keys to the car. "Carson, you and your brother wait for me in the car. I'll be right there."
The kitten was making a high-pitched cry and Shane had a feeling the little creature was hungry, thirsty, and missing its mom.
"I'm not sure what to do with him." Rebecca tried, unsuccessfully, to soothe the kitten. "I can't just lock him up in the house. I don't have a kitty box or food. Is there a shelter in town? Do you know?"
She talked so fast that Shane couldn't figure out when he was supposed to respond. That high-pitched crying noise was making his headache worse. While he was trying to figure out a solution to the problem, the kitten finally managed to twist out of Rebecca's hands; the moment it hit the ground, the kitten bolted through the crack in his front door, into his house.
"Oh!" Rebecca exclaimed. "I'm so sorry! I'll go get him."
The last thing he wanted was for his new landlady, who held the fate of his address in her hands, to venture into his dungeon. No one went in there and that's how he liked it.
"No." Shane blocked her path. "You're late. Get your boys to school. I'll catch the kitten."
"Catch?" She had turned away, paused and turned halfway back to him, the expression on her face concerned.
"Not in a mean way. I'm allergic." He tried to reassure her. "But I love all animals."
Rebecca hesitated for a moment longer, appearing to be conflicted. "Are you sure?"
"Yes." He frowned at her, not liking how distrustful she was of him. "I've got this."
She thanked him, seemingly relieved to have a solution for the kitten, and without glancing back at him, jogged toward the carport on the other side of the house.
Shane scratched his long beard with a yawn as he shut the front door of his house.
"Damn." The soldier stood in his galley kitchen, noticing, as if for the first time, how truly messy his small garage apartment had become. It was a dump. And it smelled.
On his way to the living room, Shane picked up the clothing and trash on the floor. If the kitten wanted to remain hidden in this disaster zone, he could do it. The first thing he really needed to do was get some light into the place. So Shane did something that he hadn't done in months - he opened the curtains and let the sunlight in.
Balls of dust were kicked up into the air when he yanked open the curtains. Coughing, Shane waved the air in front of his face. Dust was going up his nose and into his throat. After he got his coughing under control, Shane began the task of finding the kitten.
He'd always had horrible allergies, and now, with the dust stirred up and a kitten on the loose, he was sneezing one sneeze after another.
"Quit it!" Shane snapped, frustrated at his own nose. He grabbed a roll of toilet paper out of the bathroom, knowing that a box of tissues hadn't entered his apartment ever, and blew his nose every couple of minutes while he tried to find the kitten.
He searched the living room, picked up the trash as he went. The kitten wasn't there. Shane made a second cursory inspection of the tiny bathroom before he headed into his cramped bedroom. He tried to flip on the single overhead light, but then realized that the bulb had burned out sometime last month. Or maybe it was the month before that.
"Recon." He spoke to his companion. "You haven't seen a renegade kitten, have you?"
Shane tried to open the curtain covering the window in the bedroom. When it didn't move, he yanked a little too hard and the entire structure, curtain and curtain rod, crashed onto the ground at his feet.
More dust sprayed into the air, making Shane cough and sputter. "Damn it!"
This day was not going according to his usual plan. He should still be sleeping off his hangover, not worrying about a stowaway kitten.
Shane used a dirty T-shirt he found on the floor to wipe his eyes and his face. Then he balled up the T-shirt and threw it back down on the floor. Recon had lifted his head and was watching him curiously. That was when Shane noticed that his canine companion was harboring the kitten.
"Recon." The ex-soldier walked over to the side of the bed he rarely used. "Didn't I just ask you about this kitten?"
The kitten was curled up tightly in a ball between Recon's legs. The only way the kitten could have gotten up onto the bed was if Recon had put the kitten in his mouth like a chew toy and lifted him.
"Look, buddy. Don't get attached. You hear me?" Shane stared at the odd pair. "That kitten's not staying."
But, when he reached his hands out to take the kitten from the safe haven, Recon growled. Recon never growled at him.
"What was that?" Shane asked, surprised. He pulled his hands back.
Recon rested his head on his paws, providing complete cover for the sleeping kitten.
The soldier stood by the bed, stumped by his dog's behavior. Recon was acting as if he was protecting a favored toy. Recon had always been friendly to cats and kids; he looked big and scary, but he was a sweet dog. But he'd never adopted a kitten before.
"Listen to me, Recon. I'm going to clean up and then I'm coming back for that kitten. So be prepared." Shane pointed his finger at Recon with a sneeze. "You can't keep him."
"I really appreciate you trying to fix this for me," Rebecca said. "My sons make a ton of laundry."
"Boys tend to do that." Shane pulled the dryer from the wall.
"Yes, they do."
Before he opened the back of the dryer, Shane pulled the discharge line - the large silver tube hooking the dryer to the vent - out of the wall. "Well, here's some of the problem."
"Oh, my gosh." Rebecca peeked over his shoulder. "Is that all lint in there?"
"It's packed." Shane began to pull the tightly packed lint out of the line.
"You know, I had a brand-new front-loading washer and dryer, but I sold them because there was a washer and dryer listed in the will. I had no idea that they were the same washer and dryer that Aunt Ginny had when I was a kid."
"Your aunt liked to hang on to things, that's for sure." The memory of Ginny brought a brief smile to his face.
Shane sneezed several times, and once the discharge line was unclogged, he pulled some tissues out of his pants pocket and blew his nose. He was still sneezing from Top and his eyes were driving him nuts because they were so itchy.
"Is that from the lint or the kitten?"
He sneezed again. "I've never been allergic to lint."
"Shane."
"Yeah?"
"Have you seen your eyes?"
"No." He blew his nose again. "But they itch like crazy."
"They are swollen. And red."
"That explains it, then." Shane pushed the dryer sideways so he could remove the back.
"I'm going to get you some over-the-counter allergy medicine. I always have some on hand because of Carson."
"No need to bother." He knelt down by the dryer. Rebecca heard him, but ignored him. She disappeared into the house while he unscrewed the back of the dryer.
Once the back was off, Shane was sure he'd found a second cause of the problem. He had cleaned a large ball of lint out of the discharge line connection that was located inside of the dryer when Rebecca returned.
"That's disgusting," she exclaimed. "How has this dryer not caught on fire?"
"Luck."
"Here - take these. Generic Benadryl."
Shane decided to just go along with Rebecca; she had that motherly look on her face and he knew better than to fight those instincts.
"Thank you."
"You're welcome."
"Hi."
Shane was in the middle of a sneezing fit when Rebecca showed up at his door. Top had been home for a couple of weeks and one of her favorite places to sleep was curled up in the space between his shoulder and neck. He tried many different sleeping configurations - Recon and the kitten in the living room and him in the bed, or Recon with him in the bed - but nothing worked. Someone was unhappy unless they were all together. So Shane had given up and given in, and the kitten got to sleep where she wished. And he just dealt with the sneezing and swollen, itchy eyes. It wasn't the worst thing he'd ever dealt with in his life.
"Hi." He sneezed again.
"Bless you."
"Thank you."
“Kitten?"
He nodded as he blew his nose.
Rebecca showed him a pile of papers in her hand. "I have the new lease for you to review and sign."
He nodded. "Come on in. I'll look it over and sign it now."
Rebecca handed him the papers and immediately dropped to the ground on her knees to show Recon and the kitten some attention. Shane sat down on a bar stool at the small kitchen bar and began to read over the lease. It was standard - no real surprises. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Top turn upside down in front of Rebecca, her black-and-pink paw pads up in the air, batting a feather toy the landlady was holding.
"Top! You've already gotten so big!"
Shane hadn't expected it to happen so quickly, but he had fallen in love with that little rascal of a kitten. Yes, he had to load up on boxes of tissues and allergy medicine, but he didn't mind. Top was the funniest, sweetest little soul he'd ever encountered. And Recon and the kitten were best friends.
Matters of the Heart by Danielle Steel, pages 165-166
Hope felt better when she got back to the house, and decided to empty two closets that were full of ancient dusty linens. She was sneezing incessantly at the top of a ladder when Finn found her there late that afternoon. She had been easy to find when he heard the sneezing, and scolded her when he found her.
"What are you doing on that ladder?" he said with a disapproving scowl, as she blew her nose for the hundredth time and looked at him.
"Getting rid of this mess." Shelf by shelf, she was pulling the yellowed linens down, tossing them to the ground, and as she did, a cloud of dust rose each time, and made her sneeze again. "This stuff must have been sitting here for a hundred years. It's filthy."
"And you're a fool," he said angrily. "Now get off that ladder. I'll do that if you want. If you fall, you'll kill the baby." She stared at him in surprise, and then smiled, touched by his concern.
"I'm not going to fall off, Finn. The ladder is perfectly solid. We found it in the stables." It was the only one tall enough to reach the top shelves in the closets, because the ceilings were so high. But he was serious, and held the ladder for her, as she reluctantly got down. "I'm not a cripple, for heaven's sake, and I'm only a few weeks pregnant."
"I don't care. You have a responsibility to all three of us now. Don't be stupid," he said, and climbed the ladder for her. And in less than a minute, as he did the same job, he was sneezing too. And a moment later, they were both laughing.
Maxwell guaranteed that finding the damned exit would discourage the seekers. It was in the airport's basement, a dank and depressing place with rusted, leaking pipes and Asbestos floating through the air. As one neared the door, a confusing and thorn-laced labyrinth of dead plants, outdated office furniture, and boxes of unfiled paperwork lay in wait. Only a contortionist could safely navigate the booby-trapped room.
Or Maxwell himself. Not even Lucifer knew the secrets of the basement exit. Confident in his intelligence, Maxwell launched himself headlong into the winding deer paths between the dangerous cliffs of paraphernalia.
The second his foot landed on the cracked, dirty cement floor, a swell of heavy, mildewed math textbooks lost their precarious hold on a flimsy metal shelf. The sharp corners plowed into his head. The crash echoed around the basement. Down he went under their spore-laden weight. Plumes of dust puffed into the air and silently settled on his fallen body.
Maxwell flushed with fury and embarrassment and allergies. Sneezing and itching, he somehow worked his way from underneath and balanced on his ever-shifting stack. The mold swelled Maxwell's eyes and nose until he couldn't see or breathe. Virulent, raw, red welts rose on his skin under the attack of his scratching fingernails.
No one had managed to reach the exit.
Once showered and slathered with expired calamine lotion, he returned to his office and again took up the offending report.
Irene opened the door to Andrew's old room and turned on the battery-operated lamp on the side table. There was also a bed and a small bureau, plus a window and a tiny closet. The wind rattled the glass pane as she stripped the blue-and-white quilt off the single bed, smoothed out the sheets, and placed the fresh quilt on top.
Then she frowned. Pink. The quilt was pink. Not just one shade of pink, but at least a dozen different ones, all laid out in an intricate pattern of flowers. It had been her grandmother's quilt, passed on to her mother. Irene had taken the first quilt off the stack in the hope chest without paying attention.
Then she chuckled at the thought of strapping Sol Troyer wrapped up in a pink flowered quilt.
Her laughter subdued when she heard footsteps on the stairs. She fluffed the pillow, then looked around for something to quickly dust the furniture. She pulled open the top drawer of the bureau, which of course was empty since Andrew had moved all his clothes to the addition. Then she saw a stray sock in the back corner of the drawer. She snatched it, shut the drawer, and began wiping the dust off the dresser.
"You really don't have to do that."
She turned to see Sol standing in the doorway, his hands in his pockets, his shoulders still slumped but not as much as before. "I don't mind," she said, wiping off a small clump of dust. When was the last time anyone had cleaned in here? Mamm must have been right that it had been since the wedding. "It will only take a-" Dust flew up her nose and she sneezed.
"Gesundheit," Sol said.
But Irene wasn't done. She never sneezed only once. Usually it was five, six, sometimes even seven times before she was done. Andrew had counted thirteen one time. That had been miserable and Irene had been out of breath by the time she was finished.
"Gesun-”
She sneezed again, held up one finger, and continued to sneeze until she thought her head would explode. Finally, she finished, her eyes watering and her nose running.
"Wow." Sol stepped into the room. "Are you okay?"
She nodded, sniffing. "Ya. Sorry about that."
"Are you allergic to dust?"
"Nee. I've just always sneezed like that." She glanced away, sniffing again. "It's pretty embarrassing."
"If that's the most embarrassing thing you ever do, then you're lucky." He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket.
She took the handkerchief and blew her nose. "Danki." She was about to hand it to him but thought better of it. "I'll wash it for you."
"That's okay-"
"I'm not giving this back to you after I blew mei nose on it." She glanced around. "I think the room is gut enough for one night." Then she spied some dust on the side table and started toward it.
"Here." He took the sock from her hand and gave the table a quick swipe. "Done."
Silverwood: The Door: The Complete Season 1 by several authors
Jeremy felt like his head was about to explode. He had to sneeze but he knew he couldn't let it out. He didn't know what had turned his friends and coworkers into such murder-happy characters, but he knew he didn't want to draw them with a sneeze.
He choked it back again and again, until his little gulping sounds finally caught Emilio's attention.
Emilio looked panicked and shook his head. "Don't," his boyfriend whispered.
Jeremy swallowed the sneeze one final time, a little cold saline liquid leaking from the sides of his eyes "I think I'm good."
But he wasn't. The fit seized him, and he let out a thunderous sneeze that would have sent the birds fleeing from the trees, had the forest not been so strangely devoid of wildlife. Cringing, he waited for the inevitable shouts of recognition and calls to come hunt them down.
He opened his eyes a moment later, but there was only Emilio, warmly patting him on the back of the hand. "We must be out of earshot," he whispered.
Tales of the Bounty Hunter: Star Wars Legends by Kevin Anderson
As 1435 Standard hours approached, Tinian stared at the display board. It wasn't too late to implement Plan Two. Come on, Flirt. Finish the job. The little droid still nestled under the navicomputer, running permutations into the Hound's failsafes. Maybe he had too many lockouts to juggle. Maybe he just kept outsmarting her. While they stayed locked in their game, the burden fell on Chen and Tinian.
On schedule, a message appeared. "Governor 10 Desnand's office to informant. Unauthorized pelt batting at Lomabu III is subject to severe penalty. We will pay forty thousand credits for immediate live delivery of Trandoshan bounty hunter."
Vader offered 800,000 for the Falcon's crew... but 40,000 was nothing to sneeze at.
Tinian bent low. "Flirt, we've got a bounty offer. Are you inside yet?"
After a few seconds, Flirt piped, "I'm still trying-"
Abruptly the bridge lights flickered off. Tinian sprang to her feet.
"Bossk just switched off all lighting in your wavelength range," Flirt exclaimed.
"You stay put," Tinian murmured. "And keep trying. Trap him in a meat locker, if you can-" She sneezed delicately, then harder. A third sneeze followed.
What was going on?
She groped out of the pitch-dark command bridge and into the passageway. Each breath grew more difficult. Her eyes stung. She squeezed them shut. Tears streamed out around her eyelids and trickled into her mouth.
Bossk flicked a comlink control. He could see perfectly by his infrared lamps. "Tinian, Chenlambec, are you all right? I've had a malfunction in one of my failsafes. Stay where you are. I'll be with you momentarily."
Good. The pollen was still allergenic. Eagerly, he marched up the corridor.
He found Tinian in the passage, crouched near the door of their cabin. She held both hands pressed over her face and stifled a vehement sneeze. "Are you all right?" he asked. "I'm terribly sorry. This system was designed to disable escaped acquisitions."
She looked messy. Her nose and eyes poured fluid. "No." She gulped and swallowed. "I'm not all right."
Very amusing. "It will take me some time to repair the malfunction. Meanwhile, the Pup has filtered air. The safest place for you and your partner is on board, on the next phase of our mission."
Tinian tottered to her feet.
"First hatch on your left," Bossk reminded her. "You'll find it by feel. I left it open."
Bossk slapped a control and opened the cabin hatch. Chenlambec sat on his bunk. If Tinian looked bad, Chenlambec's misery was magnificent. His face, neck, and chest fur lay in a soaked, tangled mat. "Get to the Pup," Bossk said gruffly, struggling not to laugh. "Tinian will fill you in. I'm headed for the bridge to try to fix things."
Tinian sneezed violently, then groped on up the dark corridor. She couldn't see, and every breath hurt. Bossk's apology had sounded false. Trandoshans never apologized.
She heard a miserable treble howl behind her. "Chen, are you there?" she wheezed.
He howled again.
"He wants us on board the Pup. It's got filtered air." She sniffed hard and swallowed.
His grumble sounded closer this time.
She groped to the open hatch and stumbled through. Her footsteps clanked: this had to be the scout-ship dock. Feeling her way along one bulkhead, she closed her hand around a breath mask. She shoved it over her nose and eyes, but it leaked top and bottom. It was the wrong shape for a human face.
She gasped out a short Shyriiwook oath and dropped the useless rebreather.
Long, strong, fur-covered hands closed on her shoulders and pushed her away from the bulkhead. Chen rumbled instructions.
"Okay. Take me in." She grabbed his big forearms and shut her eyes. Every time she cracked them open, they stung like they were full of biting insects.
Chen leaped up the ladder like a whirlwind. She let go and slumped on the Pup's deck, trying not to wipe her eyes. Her skin and clothing - and Chen's fur - were probably covered with the poisonous pollen.
A light came on. "Are you on board?" Bossk's voice rasped over the Pup's comm system. "Is it any better in there?"
The Pup started to vibrate. Bossk must be powering it up from the Hound's bridge.
"Much," Tinian shouted without getting up. "Thank... y'choo!"
"Shake yourselves," Bossk ordered. "Turn your ventilation and filters on full. That will help."
Chen announced that he'd found an air intake.
Tinian squinted. Chen contorted himself in front of the intake, sweeping every centimeter of his body across it three or four times. Then he started picking half-dried detritus off his fur.
If he wasn't going to stand on protocol, she wasn't either. She skinned out of her black shipsuit and flapped it in front of the vent, then shook her hair hard. At first, her sneezing and weeping got worse instead of better. Finally, they slacked off.
She cracked one eye open. It no longer stung. She exhaled heavily.
Chenlambec sat at the Pup's controls, studiously eyeing the board. Tinian slipped back into her shipsuit and then flopped down beside him. "Are you - choo! - ready?"
