APIBAGS Chapter 14

So here's how it goes. Kanna is being bullied by Evangeline, wiping away tears alone in the garden, when she hears rustling in the bushes. She startles, goes on guard—and out comes a wounded wolf. The usual setups in these situations are fleeing a family enemy, or outrunning slave traders. One of those.

Sweet-hearted Kanna nurses it back to health with complete devotion, and since she thinks it's just an animal, there's probably touching involved. I mean, I'm over here constantly smoothing down Pudding's fur, so.

They go along like that until the wolf heals completely, and Kanna releases it back into the wild.

Life goes on, she forgets about it—and then n years later, a beautiful man shows up to repay the favor. That's your ending right there.

What's the line? Something like, 'You did call me cute, my lady.'

The romance fantasy excitement was suddenly uncontrollable and absolutely overflowing.

I stared at the wolf.

He was fully a wolf right now, so I couldn't tell if the base form was handsome—but if it was, that confirmed second male lead. Or maybe Gabriel was the second lead and the wolf was the main. Old works sometimes went reverse harem. The appearance I hadn't expected at all was throwing me off completely.

Hold on. Was I going to eat up the werewolf route on top of Gabriel? Once was enough. Twice?

"...Please save me."

The wolf spoke weakly. Its tail had curled all the way under, like it was frightened. Why say it twice, though?

I was briefly confused before it occurred to me that I'd been standing here watching an injured wolf without doing anything about it.

That was a little embarrassing. Honestly, I'd briefly considered pretending I hadn't seen it and going to get Kanna. But it wasn't like I was trying to ignore an injured animal—I was going to bring Kanna back to treat it. I'd just thought that since its true form was human, it could probably hold on for a bit like a person.

But somehow... now that it had actually said the words out loud, just walking away would put a serious dent in my moral standing.

"Come with me, then."

I held out my hand, and after a moment's deliberation, the wolf extended its front paw. Squishy little paw pads, soft and springy.

I hadn't meant give me your paw—I knew it was human, I meant transform and grab my hand so you can stand up! I wasn't trying to violate anyone's rights here.

"What's your name?"

Well, I'd accept the paw gratefully since it was already given. I squeezed the squishy paw pads as I asked, but the wolf didn't answer. No name? Couldn't be.

Probably just didn't want its personal information getting out. Fair enough. In the genre, they never reveal themselves to the heroine until much later anyway.

Then I'd just make up something to call it. Let me see. It's got these adorably squishy little paw pads, so...

"I'll call you Jelly."

The wolf looked displeased, but didn't protest. It doesn't matter if you don't like it. If it bothers you, reveal your real name.

I'd been wondering how I was going to haul this heavy creature up the stairs, but I blinked and we were in the room. What? How?

"Did you do that?"

"Yes!"

Jelly answered with great enthusiasm.

So beastfolk used magic here. The first magic user I encountered in this other world, and it turned out to be a different species. Interesting. Were beastfolk shamans, then?

But weren't werewolves supposed to be physical types? What happened to the razor-sharp claws and brute force? I was briefly disgruntled, but then felt guilty, thinking that was also a kind of species discrimination.

Either way, convenient that we'd made it up here without effort. Now for treatment—but the fur made it impossible to gauge the extent of the injuries.

"You must be uncomfortable. Try transforming into human form."

Before I could blink, Jelly was human. I'd expected sharp features, but the face was unexpectedly gentle-looking. I'd worried about nakedness, but fantasy law apparently applied—fully clothed. In rags, but clothed. Good enough.

Transformed, the condition looked worse than expected. The fur had hidden it, but the body was covered in slashes and puncture wounds from something sharp, absolutely everywhere. Had there been a sword fight somewhere?

I'd planned on basic first aid, but this was beyond that. I was considering whether to call a doctor or priest when Pudding appeared from nowhere and spat something out. The elaborately, delicately carved bottle was familiar.

"Holy water?"

Meow.

Pudding confirmed it.

Right. There was still holy water! I'd thought we'd used it all, but apparently there was some left. Probably filched from the Count's room. Pudding hadn't even guarded against the unfamiliar wolf—just went and fetched holy water to help treat a friend.

My cat was this smart.

I scratched behind the ears and Pudding rubbed its face against my hand. I was melting from the affection when a sudden anxiety struck.

Until now I'd assumed the setting had no beastfolk and let it go, but—wasn't Pudding a little too smart for a cat?

No. No no no. Please, Pudding, don't be a beastfolk.

Meow. Meow.

Pudding meowed back, small and adorable. It wasn't. Come to think of it, Pudding had never spoken human language. Right—if Pudding were a beastfolk, wouldn't communication difficulties have been too much to bear all this time?

But my heart had already tilted toward Pudding being a beastfolk.

Blast it! If I'd known this was a beastfolk setting, I'd have maintained more appropriate distance.

I'd ask Jelly about it later, just to be sure. For now, put it aside. There was a patient in front of me.

Since Pudding appeared, Jelly had been crouching and cowering. Afraid of a cat? At that size? Shouldn't it be the other way around? Pudding, meanwhile, looked thoroughly triumphant. There was a hierarchy between them I wasn't privy to. Or maybe it was the smallness that was frightening—people who can't control their own strength sometimes panic around tiny things, terrified of accidentally crushing them. That made sense, actually.

"Drink this."

"What? This?"

One bottle wasn't enough to apply to all the external wounds, so drinking it seemed more effective. Jelly had apparently never seen holy water before and refused like a child on their first dentist visit, so I pried the mouth open by force. Whether Jelly had just been testing the limits, though—the hands didn't actually shake mine off.

"...Thist ith too mush."

After I administered the holy water and let go, Jelly puffed out both cheeks and pouted.

Where does he get off acting cute with that baby lisp? Such drama. I'd fed it holy water and was getting nothing but resentment. This was all for your benefit.

I stopped myself from delivering a lecture like someone's exasperated parent.

Night came to the Rohanson estate.

All the employees had gone home save for those on night duty. The night-shift workers' tasks ended only when they had drawn the curtains and extinguished the lamps throughout the estate—everywhere except the Count's study and the third floor.

Assignments rotated. Tonight, the fourth floor belonged to Olive.

A colleague who had covered the fourth floor before had encouraged him: it wasn't as frightening as he feared, and Lady Evangeline never left her room, so he just had to focus on his work.

Why had they lied to him?

From the moment he arrived, a sound had been looping near his ear—someone moaning in pain, breathless and labored. Olive worked hard at ignoring it. He focused on the task assigned to him.

He moved through the corridor by lantern light. With each lamp he extinguished, the sound drew nearer. The moaning and something else—a wet, bunched-together sound, liquid masses shifting—harmonized. When the sound arrived precisely at his left ear, Olive turned his head slightly to look.

The door on his left was Lady Evangeline's room.

Olive worked hard at not guessing what was making the sound, and moved on.

One step forward, and something squelched underfoot.

He brought the lantern down. A liquid had seeped under the door and pooled on the floor. The color was an unusually dark red. He told himself it was the lantern light. He walked on.

Every light on the fourth floor was out. His work was done.

Olive released a held breath and descended the stairs. It was so dark that a wrong step could mean serious injury.

He was watching only the floor when shoes entered his field of vision. His heart dropped. He lurched sideways, caught the banister, steadied himself.

"Are you all right?"

He startled again at the voice and lifted the lantern. In the faint light: the estate's uniform. Another night-shift worker. A maid. Olive exhaled in relief.

"I'm sorry. I was startled."

"That's what happens when you watch only the floor. Be careful at night. It's dangerous."

The maid covered her mouth with both hands and laughed, shy.

The sound of laughter dissolved his tension. He hadn't expected to encounter anyone. He'd been too wound up. He calmed down and looked around: the landing just before the ground floor. He'd nearly made it without realizing. He really had been losing his mind up there.

The maid brushed past him on some errand above, climbing the stairs. Surely not the fourth floor. He considered going back with her, then remembered the moaning—still seeming to echo in his ears—and swallowed the offer. No. She was just going to the second floor.

When Olive stepped into the ground-floor office, Lantana was there waiting and came over fuming to snatch the lantern. Setting it down, Lantana fixed Olive with a sharp glare.

"What took you so long? You were the last one and I've been here waiting. I wanted to leave early!"

That couldn't be right. There was still someone who hadn't returned their lantern.

Olive thought of the badge pinned to the chest of the uniform. Embroidered badly—but unmistakably. Kanna.

"Kanna hasn't come back yet?"

"What are you talking about? You were last, and there's nobody by that name on tonight's roster."

Nobody?

Olive had a very clear memory of the maid—both hands covering her mouth, laughing.

Both hands.

Now that he thought about it, he hadn't seen a lantern in her hands when she passed.

"Were you dreaming? Don't say things like that. It's scary."

A dream? He checked the sole of his shoe.

Something had stained the bottom. The evidence of what he'd stepped in was still there.

It would have been so much better if it had been a dream.

Lantana led the blank-eyed Olive out of the office. Waiting for him had pushed departure thirty minutes past the usual.

"Why does the butler have to make everything such a bother."

Lantana grumbled, cursing the butler all the way down the hall. He felt bad for Lantana, who'd had to wait over the lantern—but he understood now. The butler's instruction to carry one hadn't been arbitrary.

The things that wandered Rohanson estate at night—the ones that weren't people—didn't carry lanterns.