Reserved for the Cat

She did not go too far into the realms of sex, because she was quite sure Terrance was still a virgin. But she certainly made the dream-Nina exercise all of her wiles on the dream-Terrance—in his dreams, he grew heated, restless, and aroused. Yet the dream-Nina never got beyond promises and poses, while the dream-Terrance sweated and lusted.

And then, the rejection. And worse, the laughter.

The rejection took place at a grand party. Dream-Terrance was treated with contempt and denied entrance to a gathering to which he had an invitation. The invitation said “fancy dress” and yet everyone else was in evening dress, further increasing his humiliation. To hide his discomfiture, he kept his domino-mask on. He pushed past the servants at the entrance, who turned up their noses at him, to find Nina in a ballroom, surrounded by attentive males. They were all laughing uproariously about something. As he neared them, all too conscious of his inappropriate garments, the stares of the other party-goers, he overheard something. His name, followed by a roar of laughter.

“And so I told him ‘fancy dress!’ ” she crowed. “And look! There he is, the pathetic fool! What a guy it is!”

Then dream-Nina turned, and looked at him fearlessly. “You are useless to me, little dog,” she said mockingly. “You are of less use to me than a pet monkey. The monkey, at least, is amusing. You have no money, though you pretend to it. You have no breeding, though you would like us all to think you are loftier than the Prince of Persia. You are stupid, and never did more than middling well in any of your schools. Your head is stuffed with commonplaces. You don’t know music, you don’t know anything about art, and you don’t understand more than half of what is going on around you. You are a bore, with your middle-class ways and middle-class morals! Shoo! Find someone else to put to sleep! You cease to amuse.”

And with that, she turned away, leaving him the center of a circle of people pointing at him and howling with laughter.

In the mirror, he woke up in a cold sweat. And Nina smiled. She was rather fond of that dream, and he would continue to have it once a night from this moment on.

If that didn’t tilt him over the edge, nothing would.

18

NINETTE sat sidesaddle on a chair and hooked her chin over the back of it, her hands resting just underneath her chin. She watched Jonathon as he sat on the hearth-rug of her bedroom, carefully crafted a working circle and summoned the shields, all without using anything other than a candle and his index finger. And she could not see a thing.

Well, perhaps a little. A kind of vague heat-shimmer in the air. Maybe. Assuming that wasn’t her eyes being very tired after a long morning rehearsal, a short after-lunch revision of choreography, and a matinee and two evening performances.

These “Bank-Holiday” things were terrible. Everyone got a holiday, it seemed, except the poor performers and entertainers.

“Are there supposed to be flames?” she asked, doubtfully.

“Not really, no,” Jonathon replied absently. “It is more the abstraction of Fire, the energy that is the Plane of Fire, represented here—” He looked up at her, and smiled suddenly. “I am boring you to sleep, aren’t I?”

“No, I am only dreadfully tired,” she replied, and eyed Jonathon’s work with longing. “Please tell me you will be done soon?”

“Very soon,” he promised. “But good shields take time, and I have learned a trick or two over the years. I don’t think a creature of any Element will be able to pass these if it’s one of the nasty sort.”

I hope you’re right, lad, because none of us have gotten much sleep lately, the cat said, from his perch on Ninette’s bed.

And if he’s not the nasty sort? The Brownie suddenly appeared in the door, arms folded, looking daggers at Jonathon. Oh, it’s like you lot, forever casting us out of our homes and—

“No one is casting anyone out of his home,” Jonathon snapped. “Have done, will you? This is tricky enough without a lot of critics standing about.”

The Brownie snorted, but the cat just curled his forepaws under his chest and half closed his eyes, waiting.

He did not have long to wait. No more than five minutes later, Jonathon grunted in satisfaction, and then made a complicated gesture with his fingers.

For a moment—so short a moment that Ninette was not entirely certain she had actually seen anything—the walls of faint heat-shimmer flared a hot yellow-red, like the heart of a burning log. Then she felt something rush through her, taking her breath away for a moment.

The Brownie’s eyes were as big and dark as the bottom of a bottle of ink for a moment. He took a deep breath in a gasp, and in that moment, Ninette found she was holding her breath and did the same.

Bollocks! the Brownie exclaimed.