Psyche

Chapter 21

The next morning, Brownie scratched and whimpered at the back door. Psyche opened it to find two small kittens in a basket. Far from being sleepy, the two kittens, one black and white and one orange and white, swatted at each other playfully. In the basket, she found a parchment note.

These two little ones are also orphans. Hopefully, Brownie will come to see them as feline siblings. Erik.

"You heard him, Brownie. Erik has decided to add to our little family," said Psyche to Brownie, who eyed the kittens suspiciously.

Psyche fed them some bits of leftover fish, which they ate gratefully. Thankfully, Brownie didn't care for fish, she wasn't jealous of the meal.

After dinner that night, Psyche took all three of her new pets to the Observatory, where she spent the evening charting stars, while the kittens, now named Spook and Boo, chased each other, their own tails and imaginary prey. Brownie, for her part, stayed loyally at her mistress's heels, except when Psyche was seated. At those times, Brownie curled in her lap, her long tail over her black nose to keep it warm.

"I don't think you're going to get much bigger, girl," said Psyche as she petted the puppy, whom she estimated to be seven or eight months old. The kittens, however, Psyche thought would be huge, since their paws were much bigger than their tiny bodies.

The rest of her day had been as the previous one, save for the care and feeding off the palace's newest residents. She ate, she read books, she exercised, she solved puzzles.

She waited for night to fall so Erik would return. She wiled away the hours getting to know various nooks and crannies of her new home. She had no idea why they needed so many rooms, given that there was very little in the way of a household. Immortals, she thought, must live very different lives. The palace where she had grown up had hundreds of servants working at any given time. When she had tired of looking in rooms, she found her way to the library and tried to read for a while but the fact that the lanterns turned on and off as she left room proved distracting. She made a game out of walking in and out of the room, laughing as the lamps turned on and off. Brownie was at her heels, thinking it was a game and following her.

"This place is extraordinary," she said to Brownie, thinking that the little mutt might be almost as lucky as she to have found himself there.

That night at dinner, she wanted to express her gratitude. "I'm glad you brought the kittens," said Psyche to Erik that night.

"They were going to be drowned," said Erik, "Really, people need to learn to treat animals better. Unfortunately, I can't exactly bring you a pet every day. The servants would start to be irritated. "

"Three is fine," said Psyche, "I love all three of them already."

"I was thinking of having the servants let some mice in for the kittens, but then I just told them to make some wool mice for the kittens to bat around. It won't be the same for the cats, but the end results won't be as messy."

"That's good," replied Psyche, "I wouldn't want to create extra work for the servants."

Erik laughed at that. She realized that she very much had learned to enjoy the sound of Erik's laugh. It was pleasant and low, and she liked it when he was sounded happy. She realized she wanted him to be happy. He had given her so much, and she had given him nothing.

She remembered Euphemia and Eugenia's taunting the night before the wind creature had spirited her away to this place.

I wonder if he'll have scales.

Maybe he'll have open sores.

Or gout in his leg.

Or bad breath.

Perhaps he will eat you.

Perhaps he will torture you.

You are doomed, dear sister.

Her sisters' malicious peals of laughter rang in her memory, and she belatedly became angry that they would speak of Erik that way. Psyche sighed and she reached out her hand in the darkness where she guessed Erik's hand might be. She felt around for a moment or two, feeling his forearm through soft cotton before sliding her hand down and entwining it with his. It didn't feel scaly or cold or scabby. It felt strong and human-like as he gripped her gently.

There is nothing wrong with his hand, at least, thought Psyche, relieved. In fact, it was the most pleasant hand she had ever held. Not that she had much experience in the matter. She had only ever held the hands of servants and her mother or father. This hand-holding felt different and far more pleasant.

She thought this as she drifted to sleep.