Adrian Blackwood

Okay, so after that fiasco last week (Bran was still sulking), Adrian was making sure that the next place he found was devoid of anyone who might possibly be living in whatever area he decided to stake out for his own. That did put him a little closer to the onsen and the creepy mansion than he would have preferred, but he could cope with that if it didn't mean unhousing anyone who might live there. And having the grove in a long oval rather than a perfectly symmetric square or circle wasn't what he'd anticipated, but that was why he was doing this, right? Nothing ever went exactly the way you expected when you were dealing with nature, and the more surprises he figured out how to deal with now, the better he'd be equipped to handle them later, when it really mattered.

He didn't find another Douglas fir, but he did find a white oak, definitely over fifty years old considering the acorns he'd spotted. It was a grand stately dame, her canopy stretching out over much of the surrounding area.

( Boston, of course, had opinions )

"Good," Boston said, swishing his tail. "Now can we get to work?"

"I was thinking of spending some time sitting on the porch and drinking some tea, and giving you a nice fish to celebrate, but if you'd rather we jump right to it..." Adrian teased.

"Now, now, let's not be too hasty," Boston backpedaled. "It's important for your magic that you take time and appreciate life's little comforts."

"Making excellent points as usual, Boston," Adrian said with a grin, taking a moment to look over the land and smile.

[Open!]

The massive black cat crouched inside his plastic carry crate, fluffy tail lashing with indignity. "I can't believe you stuck me in the middle seat."

"Would you rather I carried you in my lap?" asked the black-dressed man sitting in the window seat beside him. "And keep it down. Normal cats don't talk, remember?"

The cat lowered his voice to an angry hiss, which wasn't much of an improvement. "I'd rather not be on this flying death contraption in the first place. There's no anti-falling ward, no safety charms, no magic of any sort! We're just hurtling through the air in a metal cylinder powered by explosions." He turned his green-eyed glare on the happy family sitting across the aisle. "I'm amazed there are any scalies left if this is how they travel."

( Don't be rude, Boston )

"Did she hire a bodyguard out of an abundance of caution or because she...?" Boston asked from his carrier.

"Cute that you think Aunt Muriel has ever given me a straight answer in my entire life," the witch snorted as he slid the phone back into his pocket. "Now be quiet. I can't do a Nevermind while walking, and this place is packed." The cat grumbled but didn't say another recognizable word as the witch began marching down the disembarkation tunnel toward the sunny, crowded airport terminal. Time to find a bodyguard with a sign. "Could have given me a little more of a description, Aunt Muriel," he muttered.

And just like that, his phone chimed with an incoming text. He dug it back out of his pocket and saw the message was just a phone number and a name. Yelena Belova.

[Adapted from Chapter 1 of Hell For Hire by Rachel Aaron. NFB for off-island, and for the grumpy Russian babysitter bodyguard.]