T hat should've done it , Lucien thought. Normal human don't stay after that.
But the raccoon— Emila —was not something normal.
She didn't leave.
Instead, she rearranged a nest under the hydrangeas, laid out the bread and his apples like it was a royal feast, tucked the cats beside her and opened a book she'd pulled from her bag, and read it. Upside down.
Lucien, lurking behind the curtains like a haunted widower, watched in disbelief.
"She's reading," he muttered, "like she owns literacy."
He paced, dragged his hand through his hair. He brewed tea. He considered various ways to magically eject her from the vicinity—catapult spells, repelling wards, making the bush grow thorns. He considered summoning forest goblins to chase her away.
And yet, he didn't.
Then night fell. The wind picked up.
The mischief-maker was still out there.
He lit every damn candle in the house trying to distract himself from the fact that some ragged little lunatic was camped ten feet from his door, nibbling his bread and gods forbid, scribbling again.
His eye twitched.
What in the hell did this feral scribbler want from him again?
Ah. Intel . Information. Secrets.
He'd read the contract—well, skimmed it, before tossing the crumpled parchment into the bottom of the bin, right where it belonged. She was hired, apparently, by some shady little guild of "spies and assassins". A guild that, for some unfathomable reason, thought tailing him, him , a Vanserra, a High Fae with centuries of experience in not getting murdered was a good idea.
Insulting. Degrading. Practically comical.
Lucien made a mental note to pay that guild a visit in the near future and ensure they were all sweeping coals and ashes with their faces.
He stole another glance at the girl now crouched in his herb patch, muttering to herself and pocketing mushrooms.
This was their so-called spy? She's the definition of discreet, if they mean "you could spot her from five miles away." She was a walking disaster. Every breath she took seemed loud enough to be heard from the next village. How in the hells was this the person hired to keep tabs on him?
This had to be some kind of sick joke. It should be. He didn't want to believe that the shady guild really thought she was the best choice for the job. Surely, they had someone else, someone less loud and far less...noticeable.
He sighed deeply, pinched the bridge of his nose, and muttered under his breath, "I am surrounded by madness."
By midnight, it started to rain. A slow, creeping drizzle that turned into a proper downpour.
Lucien cursed.
Of course.
It rarely rains in this part of the Whirwood. Not unless storms were magically drawn in. Not unless there was a curse. Or—
He snapped the curtain aside and looked out again.
Gods. She was still there. Hunched under a ragged cloak, cats bundled on her lap, the campfire long gone. Her charcoal-dusted face was solemn. Quiet. For once. She looked like a damp forest spirit who had accepted death.
He gritted his teeth.
No. No, no, no. He was not letting that infestation into his house.
Cauldron, just boil and fry me.
Lucien opened the door.
The human's head shot up.
"This is not an invitation," he barked. "It's animal compassion."
"I accept your compassion," the raccoon chirped, scooping up the cats, her sack. "Thanks, Lucien," she said, already padding past him into the warmth of the cottage, dripping water and mud on his floors.
Goldie meowed and twined around Lucien's leg. Beans jumped directly onto the nearest table and knocked over a candlestick.
"I am being punished. I have murdered someone in a past life. A child. A baby fae."
He shut the door. Slowly. As the storm howled louder.
"I'm being cursed," Lucien continued. "The Cauldron hates me."
"No, Lucien. This is called forced proximity," she said, "Let me guess, you have one bed here?"
"I live here alone. Why would I need more than one?"
"Perfect," the raccoon mumbled. "The author clearly ran out of plot juice."
Lucien stared up at the ceiling. This was how he'll die, wasn't it?
Not in battle. Not to time. But slowly, agonizingly, devoured by an unwashed human, a golden demon cat, and a black void with whiskers.