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I checked the cage before I let myself panic. Surely, there were some rats still in there, right? Not all of them would have escaped, would they?

But as I scoured the cage for any sign of furry faces or naked tails, the reality of what I was dealing with set in.

Fifteen rats. Ten cats. And eight little girls.

All in a handful of rambling rooms with dozens of rodent-sized hiding places.

This birthday party was about to turn into a Wild Discovery-style bloodbath.

I whirled around, scanning the area behind me for any rats. Or cats for that matter. If I could just keep the cats distracted, maybe I could...

What? What was my amazing plan for overcoming this hiccup going to be? Because I didn’t have anything up my sleeve.

Zero stars. Had to get therapy for my daughter and all her friends after they watched the cats tear apart a bunch of baby rats just before cake was served.

As if on cue, Jojo slunk into the room, ears pricked forward, back straight. He didn’t look like he had spotted anything yet, but he certainly looked like he knew there was something to be spotted.

And that was when it hit me—treats. If there was one thing all ten of the cats loved, it was lickable treats, which they only ever got on very special occasions.

And, apparently, when I desperately needed them preoccupied.

I ran to the storage closet and flung it open, half hoping to see a bunch of rats huddled safely inside.

No such luck. But I did find several packages of treats.

Grabbing them, I sprinted into the room where the girls were squished together on the couches, petting some cats under Julia’s watchful eye.

“Hey, everyone. Would you like to see how much the cats love these treats?” I said, waving the packages around. “They go crazy for them!”

I started passing out entire packages of treats, then showed the girls how to open the little tubes and slowly squeeze out the contents while the cats licked the ends.

Talk about a hit—the cats loved it, the kids loved it, and even Julia seemed pleased with how much cat interaction the kids were getting.

One of the girls finished a tube—far too quickly for what I needed—and reached for a second tube. “Oh, Sarah, not too many,” Julia said. “I’m sure the cats’ tummies don’t need too much of that.”

The cats’ tummies definitely did not, but this wasn’t the time to worry about that. “Oh, it’s fine,” I said breezily. “You go right ahead. It wouldn’t be a party without unlimited treats.”

Unlimited treats? I shot a baleful look at Jojo, who had abandoned his potential prey the moment he heard the crinkle of the packages. He had a big enough problem with gas as it was. What would unlimited treats do to his digestive system?

Probably the same thing fifteen rats would do to it, I told myself.

Fair enough.

I counted the cats, relieved that all ten were clustered around the kids, then waved one hand in the general direction of the café area and said, “I’ll be right back. I’m just going to check on...”

Julia wasn’t paying super close attention to me, so I let my voice trail off as I hustled back to the first room and began a frantic search for the missing rats.

Dropping to the floor to look under the coffee table, tossing cushions off the couch, moving every piece of furniture away from the walls.

Nothing.

Nothing, nothing, nothing.

I didn’t know a magic spell for finding lost rats. I did know one for finding lost keys, which I tried, but the only thing that happened is that I slightly singed a couch cushion and I turned a lock of my hair a smoky pink color.

I was running out of time. While I’d told the kids they could give the cats as many treats as they wanted, there was a limit to how many tubes were in those packages.

Meanwhile, the most productive thing I could think of to do was stand in the middle of the room, pressing my hands against my temples like I was Winnie the Pooh trying to squeeze a good idea out of my head.

“Glory O’Bryan, what’s wrong?”

I turned around to see Horst standing just inside the doorway leading to the café, casually posed like the hero on the front of a romance novel—arms crossed over a dark green T-shirt that did ridiculous things to his tawny skin and golden eyes, one knee bent, one foot slightly in front of the other, head thrown back as he took in the ransacked room.

And it all hit me at once—all the little “hiccups” that had added up to this looming disaster.

The words tumbled out. “My princess puked on my sidewalk and it turns out I’m wearing a sex apron and all the rats got out and any minute now the cats are going to find them and eat them in front of a bunch of little girls who love animals.”

His arms dropped to his sides, and he cocked his head. “A sex apron?” he said. “Aren’t all aprons sex aprons?”

Of all the things I’d expected him to say in response to me pouring out my plight... “What?”

He rubbed one hand over the back of his neck. “I just mean that all aprons are”—he looked around as if to ensure we were alone—“crotchless. You know?”

“Crotchless?” I felt like I’d been struck dumb. Literally just struck dumb.

“Yeah.” He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “I’m just saying that it’s an apron, and it doesn’t cover...” He trailed off, clearing his throat. “But I can see from the look on your face that I’m focused on the wrong part of what you just said.”

“You definitely are.”

“What part would you like me to focus on instead?”

“How about the part where I have fifteen rats running loose in a cat café full of kids?”

“Right. Got it.” He clapped his hands together softly. “How can I help?”

“Unless you have some magical way of corralling rats...” I caught a glimpse of the pipes in his shirt pocket and blinked. “Horst. You’re the Pied Piper.”

He shot me a cocky grin. “That’s what it says on my business cards.”

I bounced on the balls of my feet, barely able to contain the relief that rushed through me. “You can play your pipes and get all the rats to go back in their cage.”

He took a step back. “What? No, I don’t work with rats. That was an ancestor of mine. And look at the trouble it got us into.” With that Oomy popped her lizardy head out of his shirt pocket and gave a huge kobold sigh of agreement.

“But you could do it, right?”

The mask fell away, revealing a far more serious Horst than I’d ever seen before. “I have no idea. I’ve only ever played for the kobolds. Rats...I don’t even know where I would start. A different key. Different melody. It’s not something I can just do on the fly.”

I stepped forward and took his hands in mine. “Please, I’m desperate. You would be doing me a huge favor.”

His eyes lit up, and he tipped his head forward. “A favor, huh?”

What was it with fairies and that word? I had to remember how persuasive it was.

“Yes. And maybe you don’t know how to do it yet, but I’m sure you can figure it out. I believe in you.” I squeezed his fingers. “Fairy dust, remember?”

“Well.” Horst rocked back on his heels as he considered. He glanced around at the wreck of a room behind me and sighed. “Okay. I’ll see what I can do. But I might not be able to figure it out. At least,” he added, “not before the cats realize there are rats on the loose.”

I released his hands and stepped back, suppressing the images that flooded my brain every time I thought of the cats and the rats in the same room. “Thank you.”

Horst pulled out his pipes, Oomy climbing up to settle in the space where his neck and shoulder met. He stared down at the instrument and blew out a long breath before raising it to his lips.

While he fiddled around with a few notes, I headed back to the room where the kids were still eagerly offering the cats treats.

I couldn’t imagine the rats were hiding back here, but if they were and Horst managed to lure them out, I wanted to be able to do something before the cats noticed what was going on.

What that something was, I didn’t know, but I had to be there to try.

And a few moments later, as the first strains of a melody reached us, I was very glad I was. Because as the notes floated into the room, the girls—all eight of them—froze, their heads swiveling toward the front room, their eyes glazed over.

Oh.

Nope, nope, nope.

I scurried back to the front room, waving my hands. “Not that one! Not that one!” I hissed at Horst, who stopped playing immediately. “That one was working on the kids.”

He blanched, looking from me to the pipes to Oomy. “Oops.” Taking a deep breath, he said, “Okay, let me try something different.”

This time, when he started to play, the music was lower, quicker, softer, the notes seeming to slink along the ground, growing more and more urgent as Horst continued to coax them from the pipes.

I’d heard him play before, felt the haunting magic of his music.

But this was something entirely different.

The song he played made me feel as if I’d just walked through a spiderweb, as though I could actually feel the notes sliding over my skin.

I rubbed my upper arms just to get the feeling off me.

But despite my discomfort, it seemed to be working.

As I watched, rats began to scurry past me.

First a baby rat, then another baby, then Cookie.

They moved as if in a trance, heading straight for their cage.

I counted the rats as they streamed by me, the tension in my spine easing as Cupcake, the fifteenth and final rat, climbed into the cage.

The notes of Horst’s song faded away as I closed the cage door, double-checking that it was latched, and clicked the lock around the handles.

It was over. Horst had saved me.

Again.