Page 1

Chapter 1

Ship Cat

Lisbon, Portugal

1775

Fenric

T he black cat watched the two brothers while they spoke in low, hushed tones, their shiny green heads bent toward each other as they discussed what must be urgent matters. The cat, unimpressed, tail flicking, judged them from his perch atop a barrel on the dock, unperturbed by the hectic activity on the pier.

Hundreds of people awaited the call to board, some for passage, others merely employed by the dock companies to manage cargo.

The two identical brothers were High Court Sidhe, and he recognized their magics as if they were shouting their identities to the world around them. The cat watched the brothers with intent, as they were by far the most interesting thing to see on the pier that morning. They stood near the ramp that led onto the deck of the triple-masted ship, sails tied up and out of sight, but the impressive size of the vessel stirred a hint of excitement that challenged the cat’s usual ennui.

Despite the newness of the ship and the wealth the captain projected with the pristine decks and immaculate crew uniforms, all ships had one thing in common—rats.

And the necessity of a ship cat.

Port rats were cleaner than their city counterparts and tasted far better, had less fleas, and were easier to catch. He resigned himself to eating rats for the voyage to the colonies. If he rationed the rats out, then he might last the whole journey without needing to steal from the food stores aboard. He hoped the humans brought enough food for the journey to the New World, as he had little doubt that he might end up in the cook’s pot if they ran short on rations and they were hungry enough.

Of course, he was no ordinary cat, but while he could carry some things with him in the ether, the weight was limited, and food was not a high priority. However, he was confident in his hunting skills and his ability to beg for scraps from the crew. His piteous meow was devastating to mortals.

From the seemingly unending line of dockworkers laden with heavy burlaps sacks, crates, and huge, sealed barrels full of fresh water, the cat assumed the twins and their charges were well stocked for the journey. He’d heard the twins had spent months helping to find and rescue dozens of people from the aggressions of the High Council of Sorcery and myriad kingdoms in the British Isles and the Continent, putting out subtle word with various supernatural peoples that they were leaving the Old World and taking as many people with them as they could manage. Many supernatural peoples answered the call.

Lisbon was the last port of call for this migration of fae peoples. It was the last stop before the crossing—many of them had come from as far north as Scotland and as far east as Greece. The High Council had its tendrils in many lands, stirring up resentment and aggression against the fae peoples of the Old World from every quarter.

Bored, the cat raised a paw and idly cleaned his whiskers, only resuming his bright, green-eyed perusal when the dockhands came too close or there was a particularly loud noise.

A flat cart pulled by a dozen men rumbled to the end of the pier and came to a lurching stop at the ship’s side. Several men peeled back a heavy canvas tarp, revealing a huge slab of stone that took up the entire space inside the cart. The cat straightened, ears pricked upward, whiskers twitching, insatiably curious.

“What’s this, then?” one of the sailors complained as the ropes were wound under and around what appeared to be a single, solid, huge flat stone, about a foot thick and several feet long, about the size of a large door or tomb capstone. “Some fancy toff in the colonies looking to impress his neighbors with a marble hearth or something? Maybe a fancy headstone? What a waste of space on a ship.”

Many highborn second and third sons departed Europe and the British Isles for the colonies seeking fortunes for themselves—uncaring of who and what they displaced to carve out their own place in the New World. Those that managed to kill and steal their way into a fortune desired to bring Old World comforts and status symbols to homes so new they smelled of wood sap and axe oil…and blood.

The cat eyed the huge slab of stone as the swearing dockhands transferred it aboard the ship with groaning wooden cranes and ropes, the hatch to the cargo space open and waiting.

On the other side, nearer the ship, the twins watched the undertaking as well, an outward mask of studied disinterest hiding a deep focus.

If he could smile, he would do so at the thought of the secrets those two men carried—the High Court Sidhe hoarded secrets like any dragon lounging upon their golden treasure.

The day waned, the sun setting. The air grew heavy with salt and moisture, fog creeping in from the open ocean into the port. The tide was turning, the moon a slip of silver in the sky, the sun tipping into the deep end of the western horizon.

Passengers began loading after the last of the supplies were aboard, and still the cat watched, and waited. Occasionally a friendly soul reached out and petted the jet-black cat sitting on the barrel like a sphinx, watching the going’s-on with an unblinking stare. He allowed the gentle touches once in a while, hissing at any rough treatment from meaner souls, and swatting at a bratty young boy who tried to tug on his tail.

Children were usually nicer, and many of them in line to board the vessel gave him smiles and cooed nonsense at him, which he took as his due. The children and their parents appreciated the distraction. Many of the passengers were nervous, frightened of what lay ahead—but not as much as they were of what lay behind them, forcing them on this perilous journey. For many of them, staying in Europe meant death at the hands of the High Council of Sorcery.

Many of the passengers from Ireland and Scotland took second glances when they passed him, his nose recognizing the fae peoples of those fair green lands, just as they recognized him in turn, many by the same means, or with senses beyond those of mortals.

The ship was transporting various fae peoples to promised safety in the New World, all of them on the run from the Council. He withdrew politely from the few werewolves he scented in the line, not wanting to stir up instincts about personal space and territory, and waited until the last passenger was welcomed aboard.

The cat jumped gracefully from his perch and ran across the dock, reaching the ramp and scurrying up it and onto the ship. A swarthy man in a crew uniform at the top of the ramp knelt down and welcomed him with a pspspsp, a waggle of fingers, and a soft scratch to the top of his head. Sailors loved ship cats—rats ate everyone’s food.

Eventually evening fell, lamps were lit on the decking, and the lines were released. As the ship left the port, the wind caught its partially unfurled sails—the tide and the cool evening wind pulled the ship out to sea, chasing after the setting sun.

Lisbon, a shining city by the ocean, was lost to the night as the distance grew, the frigate pointed due west toward the unknown.

Fenric

Days blurred into weeks, and as the supply of rats dwindled, the cat found himself hunting at odd times throughout the day and night, looking for prey. The human sailors were kind enough, in a distant fashion, the ship cook happy to see him prowling about the galley late at night or in the early morning hours.

The passengers kept their distance, and he did the same. Many saw him as he truly was, and they did not speak of it to the others, keeping themselves out of his business by keeping his secrets. They saw through the facade to the dangerous predator underneath—the larger, wild black prowler with fangs and talons, of a size big enough to snack on a grown man.

Cait-sidhe like him were rare, though not as rare as the two High Court Sidhe who were in charge of the mission to escort the fae peoples to the colonies. His people were still having babies and marrying, but the High Court Sidhe were too few to create another generation without inbreeding killing them off in the second generation.

He paced along the railing of the stern of the ship, looking curiously over the side to the waves breaking against the ship. Tail twitching, he passed the time hissing at dolphins as they cavorted in the swell breaking in front of the ship, squeaking taunts up at him.

“I think a dolphin is too big a mouthful for a ship cat, no matter how talented a hunter you may be,” a teasing voice said from behind him, making him jump instinctively. Terror choked him as the ship fell away beneath his paws and he saw nothing but open ocean.

Suddenly he was plucked from the air, two big hands grabbing him and pulling him securely to a firm, muscular chest. A finger scratched gently under his chin, and he immediately began purring, relaxing in the arms that held him, feeling safe for the first time in ages.

“What’s your name, kitten?” the Brennan twin asked, gently hugging him, petting him with long strokes over his back, soothing his shivers.

He stopped purring long enough to answer. “Fenric.” Speaking as a cat was as easy as speaking as a sidhe.

“I am Cian Brennan, but I think you knew that already,” the High Court Sidhe replied. “Well met, Fenric.”

Cian held him a bit higher so Fenric could see his face, and the smile on his lush lips. “Why that name?”

Fenric took a second to gather his thoughts. “I like the sound of it. I forgot the last name I went by, and this one sounds nice.”

“It does indeed. Shall I put you down, if you prefer?” Cian stooped as if to set him down, but Fenric dug in gently with his claws, increasing the volume of his purring. Cian chuckled and held him in a more secure grip, supporting his hind end so he could scratch under Fenric’s chin with nimble fingers. “What has you out on the deck taunting dolphins at this hour?”

“I think I killed all the rats,” Fenric shared, disgusted with himself. He should have rationed them out longer, but he rarely missed when hunting and was a bit too successful.

“Ah,” Cian sighed in understanding. “I see the problem. Hence the dolphins. I doubt the dolphins or the crew would appreciate having a giant cat dubh on the deck trying to fish one of them out of the water. Would you like to join us for a meal?”

“Is it gruel? I refuse to eat gruel.” He sounded piteous and he knew it, but he was hungry and wanted meat. He was leery of packing away fresh meat in the ether, so he stuck with dried rations, but none of it was appealing at the moment.

“Hardly! Come and see for yourself.”

Fenric gave it a mere moment of thought, tail swishing. “Fine. Thank you.”

Cian chuckled at his grudging manners and turned for the hatch and the stairs to the cabins.

Fenric

Fenric lapped at the bowl of cool, heavy sweet cream, eyes closed in bliss. The Brennan twins chatted in jovial tones, gently teasing each other, Rory, the other twin, dishing up food for his brother and Fenric.

The cabin was one of the larger guest quarters aboard, and had plenty of space for luggage and personal belongings, including a magical piece of baggage that Fenric was happy to see.

The trunk was huge, easily big enough for Fenric to hide inside in his two-legged form and never see the bottom. The ether warped and weaved through the metal and wooden sidhe creation, expanding the interior while leaving the exterior the same dimensions. Clever piece of magic.

It also housed a cold stone box full of preservation magics and fresh food.

Fenric finished his cream and all but pounced on the fillet of fresh raw fish Rory Brennan slid across the small table on a plate, gnawing on the salty flesh.

“Rats must not be filling,” Rory murmured, though not in a judgmental fashion. “Poor dear.”

Fenric grumbled in a purely feline way, no need for words as he chewed. He was thankful—he had no skill nor aptitude for fishing, but the Brennan twins were clearly well prepared for the trans-Atlantic journey. Fenric was a tad bit impetuous when it came to planning—he brought nothing with him that wouldn’t fit in the ether, and he was not interested in transforming anywhere on the ship where others could see him. Some passengers knew what he was or at least suspected—but proving it beyond a doubt was not in his best interest.

There were gruesome fairy tales told about the cait-sidhe and humans were superstitious as a whole—he worried what their reaction would be if they knew for certain one of his kind was aboard the ship. Some people saw the cait-sidhe as a sign of good luck—others as demons capable of intercepting deceased people’s souls before they reached the Otherside. The fae peoples aboard the ship knew better, but humans were another matter.

Cian sat beside him at the small table and ran a strong hand along his back in a comforting gesture, making Fenric pause long enough to butt his head against Cian’s hand in thanks before he returned to eating. Cian sat back in his chair and ate his delicious-smelling fish stew, occasionally pausing to pet Fenric as they ate.

Fenric

Sleep came easily for the first time in months, and Fenric knew it was due to the company he kept. The sidhe brothers were kind, caring, and patient—at least Rory was. Cian had a sarcastic bent to him and an even sharper tongue. Though he didn’t ply it in a petty manner—his astute and sometimes scathing observations were never cruel. The Brennan twins were a well-balanced pair.

He was given a soft pillow beside the small iron brazier and reassurances that they would be quiet as possible while he rested, and so Fenric curled up on the deep-blue velvet cushion and tucked his nose under his tail, eager to sleep in the safe confines of the Brennans’ cabin.

“Is Colm asleep, do you think?” Cian asked his brother where they sat on the far side of the cabin, a small table between them. They were playing some kind of game with cards—Fenric was at the wrong angle to tell what game.

“Given our friend’s advanced age, I hope he’s asleep at this hour,” Rory replied. “Why?”

“I want him to meet Fenric,” Cian said, and that made Fenric purr softly in pleased surprise. “Fenric has been hiding in his cat form for weeks. He could probably use someone to talk to.”

“He seems to like you,” Rory said with a smile. “And he talks to you perfectly fine.”

“Making friends has never come easily to me; you know this. People aggravate me.”

“But a singular person you can get along with perfectly well,” Rory said with a teasing lilt. “Fenric likes you.”

“How do you know?” Cian asked, before tossing down his cards. “Playing against someone who can read your mind is rather defeatist.”

Rory tossed down his own cards and chuckled quietly at Cian’s groan at what Fenric assumed must be a winning hand. “He is a cat-sidhe and he lets you pet him, Cian. I think you would be missing a hand if he did not like you.”

“Surely you have pet him, too.”

Rory shook his head. “Not once.”

That was correct—Cian saved him from drowning in the ocean, and his hands were gentle and clever, knowing where to pet without being told. Fenric thought Rory was kind, but he had no interest in letting the other Brennan twin pet him like he allowed Cian.

When he was pretending to be a tiny alley cat, letting strangers pet him was part of the ruse. Letting someone pet him once they knew he wasn’t a simple animal? Not likely.

Cian sat back in his chair with a pensive expression, and Fenric gave up eavesdropping to finally fall asleep.

Fenric

The next few days were a blur of comfort and safety that Fenric had not experienced since he left his parents’ home for the first time, striking out on his own. There was little to do on the ship—though most of the travelers had crafts that they worked on while above deck, sitting in the sun under the huge masts and sails, reveling in the good weather, bright sun, and strong breeze.

Fenric spent his days shadowing Cian and Rory, or sleeping on a pillow in their cabin. The brothers were sharing a bed, and Fenric was small enough he could sleep at the foot of their bed without issue, or curl up on the pillow he had claimed as his own beside the brazier.

The ship was making good time—the first mate was a weather mage, a dual affinity sorcerer who kept the worst of the storms at bay and the winds at their backs for the crossing, a boon as the currents and wind systems began to work against them at the halfway point of their journey.

Fenric sat beneath Cian’s chair on the deck, idly people-watching as the captain spoke to the Brennan twins while they took lunch on the far rear corner of the upper deck of the ship, not far from the first mate, who was manning the wheel and watching the sails.

“We should make landfall in Boston in a couple weeks’ time, a week earlier than scheduled.” Captain Marlowe said before sipping from a cup of tea. “My first mate assures me he can manage the remainder of the journey without issue. I lucked out finding such a strong mage for this journey.”

“That’s good to hear,” Rory replied, taking a tiny biscuit off a tray on the small table and nibbling. “I’ve been satisfied with the accommodations and the speed of travel thus far on our trip, and I am reassured again that hiring you for this crossing was the best choice.”

“I’m pleased to hear it!” Captain Marlowe beamed wide. “Your business is much appreciated, good sirs. Your funding for this crossing is a blessing. If there’s anything you need, please do not hesitate to ask. My crew is at your service during this voyage.”

Fenric, bored at the topic of conversation, stood and stretched out each leg, shaking out his paws, before coming out from under the chair and leaping into Cian’s lap. He received a warm smile and a pair of hands scratching along his sides and under his chin, getting all the good spots.

“Hello, dear kitten,” Cian greeted him softly, not revealing what Fenric was to the mundane human—for anyone watching, Fenric acted the part of a proper ship’s cat and ate up the attention.

“Fine mouser, that cat,” Captain Marlowe chimed in. “Never seen so few rats on a crossing.”

“He’s been sleeping in our cabin when not hunting,” Rory said as Cian continued to pet Fenric. “We are rather fond of him, and he’s taken a shine to Cian.”

Fenric appreciated the word to the captain—if anyone not in the know tried to hassle Fenric the cat, the captain would be upset that his benefactors were upset. All around, good for Fenric. Those aware of his true nature were keeping their mouths shut to the human crew.

Colm, the aged sorcerer who was helping the Brennan twins organize the trip and the people crossing the Atlantic to safety and new homes, chose that moment to ascend the stairs to the upper deck and approach the table. “Good sirs, Captain,” he greeted with a shallow dip of his head, “What a lovely day for tea on deck.”

“Sorcerer Colm, please join us,” Captain Marlowe offered, and a crewmate standing nearby hastened to draw out the spare chair at the table for the old sorcerer to sit.

Colm was over a hundred years old, if not far older, and was plenty spry for a man of his exalted years. The more powerful a practitioner, the longer they lived. He looked to be in his sixth decade, but was easily another sixty years older than that—he was powerful.

And one of the kindest people Fenric had ever met. It took a lot for Fenric to trust a practitioner—they tended to be insular and consider themselves to be above the rest of the supernatural world—a common human failing—but Colm was refreshingly humble, forthright, and generous with his time, influence, and money.

It was his connections and business dealings in the import and export trades that helped facilitate the hiring of Captain Marlowe’s ship and crew for the crossing. The people they were helping to shepherd to potential safety in the New World couldn’t afford the cost to hire an entire ship, the supplies, and the passage across the Atlantic.

But Colm’s connections, and the Brennan twins’ wealth, made it possible.

Fenric curled up in Cian’s lap and yawned wide, settling in for a nap. The sun and the lap were warm, his belly was full, and he was safe. He lowered his eyes to the barest slit and watched the men at the table. Cian was quiet but paying attention, and the captain and Colm apparently were used to that—Rory was the more gregarious twin.

Fenric wasn’t sure if Colm knew about his true nature, though maybe the old sorcerer had an idea from the sharp glances he sent Fenric’s way once in a while. The old man saw a lot for someone his age.

He fell asleep to the rumble of pleasant voices and the warmth of the sun. Cian pet him the entire time, Fenric’s purr filling the crisp sea air.

Lexington

Colony of Massachusetts Bay

1775

Cian

Campfires crackled and sparks went floating into the night sky, flaring briefly among the stars before fading away. Cian added more wood to the fire, rubbing his hands against the chill in the night air. It was April and spring in the colonies, but the nights were cold and the fires were necessary.

People milled about in the shadows, preparing the camp for the night, voices hushed and distant, the glow of other fires illuminating a multitude of tents and stacks of supplies and belongings. Once they’d made landfall the week prior, about half of their shipmates took off on their own, disappearing into the wilds of the colony without a word, but that was expected. The few humans who had come remained in Boston, determined to carve out a life for themselves in the larger town.

The fae peoples were of the rarer species of supernaturals—a cursed werewolf, some selkie and brownies, a kelpie, and even some fae glamoured to appear human when their natural forms were anything but—all were heading for promised safety deeper in the native lands, where the inhabitants offered welcome. Magical queries were sent into the wilds of the New World before they made the journey, and the welcoming responses back were a relief.

That was a mission for the next few days and weeks, though, and Cian was more concerned about the British squadron a few miles away who were heading for Lexington, if his guess was correct. Tensions were rising between the British authorities and the colonists. He was tempted to spy on the human soldiers and see what their plans were, but the thought of leaving Rory and Colm for any length of time made him nervous.

And Fenric. He didn’t want to leave Fenric, and that thought alone gave him pause as he stared into the fire.

As if thinking about the cat-sidhe summoned him from the shadows, Fenric appeared at the edge of light from the fire and he paused, as if unsure of his welcome. “Cian?”

“Come, Fenric, join me at the fire. The night is chilled.”

The cat-sidhe came into the circle of light and sat beside him on the log he’d dragged to serve as seats to save their rears from the cold, damp earth. Not too close, but close enough they could whisper to each other and not disturb others trying to sleep in nearby tents.

Cian frowned at the thought, wondering why he would be whispering with Fenric, but dismissed it when Fenric smiled at him, those bright green eyes of his catching the firelight and reflecting like enchanted glass.

Fenric was so pretty.

“Where’s Rory?” Fenric asked, looking away to stare at the fire. Cian found himself watching Fenric, noticing how the fire gilded his black hair in reds and oranges.

Cian took a moment to gather his thoughts, frowning at himself. “Tending to some of our charges. He can’t keep himself from helping.”

“Is someone hurt, sick?” Fenric asked.

Cian shook his head. “Minor scrapes and complaints. One of the brownies is pregnant, as well. They’ve asked Rory to check on their babe.”

“Oh, that’s good. That it’s nothing terrible, I mean.” He paused. “Colm?”

“The old man is sleeping in his tent, likely snoring,” Cian replied with some amusement. He and Rory made sure not to share a cabin or tent with Colm for that reason when they traveled. The old sorcerer could wake the dead with his snoring.

Cian snuck another glance at Fenric. He did that more and more these days—stare at Fenric. He had since Fenric returned to his sidhe form once the ship docked in Boston. He had remained a cat for the entire journey, speaking only when they were in private, never revealing his nature to the crew or other passengers. The entire past week, Cian found himself stealing glances at Fenric, taking in the green eyes, the snow-white skin, the deep pink of his lips, and the thick mane of black hair that revealed blue highlights under the sun.

What shade of green were his eyes? Slit vertically like a feline’s, Fenric’s eyes were an intense light green, no other color mixed in to detract from the purity of the shade.

Fenric sent him a searching glance, and the firelight caught his eyes just right so Cian had an answer to the exact shade of green—peridot. The same hue as the gem, flawless and perfect. Peridot.

Fenric yawned, revealing his double fangs, and Cian was tempted to say Fenric should get some rest.

But he didn’t want to part from Fenric so soon.

“What are your plans now that we are in the New World?” Cian asked the question he’d been dying to get the answer to for weeks, since he saved Fenric from a dunking in the ocean.

“To repay your kindness to me on our passage, I thought I’d help you and Rory get these good people settled into their new homes. Then, after that, I’m not so sure.” Fenric gave him a smile, a little hesitant. “What about you and Rory?”

“Boston seems like a charming town,” Cian replied vaguely, though he was paying more attention to how the light caressed the sharp angle of Fenric’s jaw and his soft lips than he was to answering his question.

He wasn’t usually so…fixated on another person. Not like this, not with such focus on facets of their appearance and how his face grew animated when he spoke, how his lips were plump and perfectly shaped and….

“Cian?”

“Yes?” Cian asked.

“Is something wrong?”

“No, nothing is wrong,” Cian tried to wrangle his thoughts back into order, and he was never more thankful than when Rory appeared out of the shadows and joined them at the fire. “I merely worry about the British squadron posted a few miles away. I think they are coming to Lexington.”

Rory sat on a log on the opposite side of the fire, and he smiled in greeting to Fenric. “There is some worry among the rest of the party about the soldiers. We may need to send a scout to watch their movements.”

“I can do it,” Fenric offered. “They shan’t pay any attention to a stray cat in their midst.”

“Be careful,” Cian said before he could think about it. He was nervous about Fenric being on his own surrounded by potentially dangerous soldiers. They had no idea why the soldiers were camped out a few miles away, only that they were following the main road toward Lexington, and the town was a long stone’s throw away from where they were camping in the field.

“Thank you, Fenric, that would be most appreciated,” Rory said.

There was a snort and a rustle of fabric and Colm poked his head out of the nearest tent. “What are you lads talking about out here?”

Rory and Cian shared a smile as Fenric chuckled. Colm was old for a human—he was past the average age for a powerful sorcerer and was alive, by Cian’s guess, out of sheer will and spite. And he was by far the youngest person at their fire.

“We are talking about the British soldiers camped a few miles away,” Rory informed their old friend. Colm tightened his robe and shuffled out of his tent. He carefully sat beside Rory on the log, squinting at them over the fire.

“Ah, those bastards,” Colm muttered. “Up to no good, for sure. An armed squadron marching on a town full of civilians? We need to think about leaving.”

“Now I will definitely scout them out,” Fenric said, glancing at Cian. “I can get there, snoop around, and be back by morning if I leave now.”

“Be careful, please,” Cian found himself asking again, and he was confused by why he felt the desire to even say the words, but Fenric was standing, and in a glimmer of power, transformed into a large black cat with a white spot on his chest. His eyes were the same—that lovely shade of peridot.

The others wished Fenric luck and the cat-sidhe darted into the shadows, disappearing from sight immediately.

“He’ll be fine, brother,” Rory said, drawing Cian’s attention back to the group around the fire.

“Of course he will,” Cian replied, resisting the urge to get up and follow Fenric. The cat-sidhe was powerful, old, and more than capable of spying on the human soldiers without getting caught. He was going to be fine.

“That cat has caught your eye,” Colm declared smugly. The old man squinted at him, face wrinkled up in a smirk, eyes full of mirth. “He has turned your head.”

“What? No he has not,” Cian protested, but even to himself his words sounded weak.

He had no idea what was wrong with him.

Colm chuckled and Rory eyed him with interest, but Cian kept his thoughts to himself and added another log to the fire. And he told himself that Fenric was going to be fine, and he didn’t need Cian shadowing him.