Carousel Seas by Sharon Lee Read Free Book Online

markings, more short-haired cats in the sample than long. I didn’t see any kittens; all of the cats present at the moment were mature enough to take care of themselves.
    A shadow moved in the side of my eye, and I turned my head to the right.
    The murk parted before him like savannah grass before a lion; a plushy black with a long, plumed tail and a white smudge along the right side of his face, from nose tip to the outer edge of a bright amber eye. He stalked up to me, then paused, staring into my face. His was flat-nosed and broad, his ears notched with past valor.
    I looked back at him, carefully not moving.
    This appeared to satisfy his sense of propriety. He continued forward, leaned in to weave ’round my ankles once, and went on, out into the old train yard, about business of his own.
    “You must be somethin’,” Frenchy said, and her voice actually was a little hushed, as if she’d just witnessed an event of no small moment.
    “King Cat?” I asked, trying for flippant.
    “Near enough. The fishing men call him Old Mister, and even they do what he says.”
    “Well, then I’m glad I passed muster.”
    Frenchy gave me a funny look, her eyes squinched together, then said, “Yeah,” in a not particularly convinced tone.
    I grinned and put my light out, reabsorbing the tiny bit of power.
    “I’d best get back to Borgan,” I said. “You don’t know what kind of mischief he’ll get into if he’s bored.”
    Frenchy laughed.
    “You’re gonna do that man all kinds of good,” she said, and led the way back across the yard.

CHAPTER SIX
    MONDAY, JUNE 26
    NAUTICAL TWILIGHT 9:49 P.M. EDT

    We carried our wine glasses out onto the summer parlor, and stood at the front rail looking over the dunes and the beach and the sea.
    The tide had turned and was coming back in, but there was still a lot of sand laid bare, and a fair number of people scattered across it—mostly walking, a good number with their dogs, now that the daily curfew was done. From up the beach, toward Surfside, came the snap-snap-POP of cracklers going off.
    “Early,” Borgan murmured.
    “Got to get in shape for the Fourth,” I pointed out, though I wasn’t a fan of amateur pyrotechnics, myself.
    “There’s that.”
    I sipped my wine, eyes on the sweet swell of the waves behind the perambulating figures.
    “Pretty night,” I said, eventually.
    “Is,” he said easily. “Take your glass back inside?”
    I handed him the empty.
    “Thanks.”
    I heard him move behind me, light-footed, and curled my fingers over the rail, eyes half-slitted, a deep contentment filling me.
    It wasn’t all that long ago that the view from my apartment window had been of a parking lot and cars parked around a central “garden” that was nothing more or less than artfully arranged boulders and multicolored gravel.
    Away is a different country, and they do some very strange things there.
    Behind me, a board creaked gently—which he must’ve done on purpose, so as not to startle me—and then I felt him at my back, big and warm and solid.
    “Why Gray Lady ?” I asked,
    “Little bit of long sight. Had a notion a lady was gonna come outta the fog and shake me up some.”
    “Yeah? How’d that work out for you?”
    “It’s been nice so far.”
    I laughed.
    “What I meant was—why do you live on Gray Lady ?”
    “Well, after all my time and trouble fixing her up from what Uncle Veleg’d left, I had to do some thing with her, and I promised the family I wouldn’t sell ’er. Besides, I like living on the sea.”
    “But you could live in the sea,” I pressed, not certain where I was going with this, except now that I thought about it, most trenvay lived among, or on, or with their particular piece of land, rock, or swamp. Granted, a Guardian wasn’t . . . exactly . . . trenvay , but—
    “Or, under the water. Like a mermaid . . . or a seal . . .”
    “You don’t live in the land, do you?”
    “Could I?” I asked, momentarily diverted, then I