Romance and Rats

Disclaimer and content warning: This story contains depictions of violence and descriptions of events that may be distressing to some readers.

Age Rating: 17

Clare stood atop a step ladder, tiptoeing to reach the upper shelf to stash a book away.

Life of a bookshop owner was a calm one, but also full of challenges–which books to order, how many to have, whom to accept and whom to deny.

Her shirt got caught on a hook of the bookshelf, tugging at her as she desperately tried to reach the top.

In the moment of this hardship, she wished her beloved, her protector, would come to her rescue. ‘Damsel in distress,’ she thought to herself and chuckled softly, ‘how cliché.’

As the faith would have it, her beloved heard her thoughts, or perhaps it was the universe that heard her thoughts and delivered, but not quite in the way she wished for. He came crushing through the door, stumbling in like a drunkard after a night out, a very long night.

He could barely keep his balance and hold his weight. A rough groan escaped his parched throat as he stumbled past the desk, tossed a half-burned scroll on it. Clare could smell the stench coming off of him–sulfur, smoke, and something else, something gentle—perfume.

She shot an angry glance at him right as he threw his entire weight against the step ladder upon which she stood, throwing her off balance.

Clare, almost falling off, thanked the very hook that previously troubled her, as it caught her mid-fall. She dangled there, by her shirt, like a fish.

A faint creak of fabric alerted the rogue—the presumed savior of hers or so she hoped, but he, the hero to be, clearly had a rough night.

He tried desperately to peel himself off of the step ladder against which he was leaning—to come to her rescue, but the efforts were futile.

The fabric gave way, tearing at last, sending her plummeting straight to the floor.

She waited and waited for her hero, her savior to come to her rescue, but he was far too attached to his own new hero to actually do so.

She whispered something midfall—the wind broke her fall and slowly lowered her to the ground.

She shot another glare at him.

“Really, Caden?” she hissed at him, “Barge in smelling like a freshly grilled chicken, assault me with your stench, and then let the gravity finish me off?”

He blinked at her, his cheek firmly pressed against the wood of the step ladder. He tried to swallow but there was nothing to swallow. His voice was deep and raspy, as if someone who hadn’t had a drop of water in a week, smoke still curled off of his cape. His gaze darted to the burned scroll on the table

“I got it, don’t thank me.”

His demonic voice sent a shiver through her body. As she got up and dusted off she sighed, “The only thing worth thanking you for is your miserable attempt at murder. Weren’t you supposed to be a professional at that?”

He peeled himself off the ladder at last and staggered toward her, arms wide out, a pitiful attempt at a hug that she easily dodged, sending him plummeting to the floor.

“So, what is this?” she picked up the half-burned scroll by the edge with two fingers, it stank.

“Coffee,” he uttered, crawling like a living dead toward a cup of iced-coffee sitting on the chair in front of him.

“I doubt that,” she remarked, examining the scroll while covering her mouth and nose with a sleeve to make the stench durable.

“What kind of hell-hole did you find this in?”

There was silence, that, a moment later, was broken by a loud gulp, and then another. A clank of porcelain was followed by a relieved sigh, “Gahhhh, I am alive.”

“About not to be, that was to be my first cup of the day,” Clare growled, letting go of the scroll, ignoring it as it fluttered to her desk.

Caden swallowed audibly, his gaze darted to the scroll that lay as if an abandoned puppy on the table. He smiled, “Uhm, so, about that,” he stuttered. She squinted at him, “You DRANK! MY! COFFEE!”

Caden smiled nervously and raised his finger up, “Correction, I rescued your coffee from the cruel fate of abandonment. You would’ve forgotten about it anyway.”

Clare’s gaze was cold, and he could feel the mana gathering around her, “It was my cup,” she spoke slowly, emphasizing every word. Caden sneezed–a plum of smoke shot out of his lungs like an erupting volcano, followed by a spark of magic that he couldn’t have possessed. As smoke shrouded her vision, she glanced away, waving it off as if it was a persistent fly.

As the smoke thinned and slowly dissipated, she coughed slightly–the stench irritated her but not enough to prove worthy of her using magic to remove it any faster; in fact, she appreciated the visual break from someone she was about to turn into a frog for his wrongdoings. She turned her head back toward Caden, just to realize he wasn’t there anymore.

“Ha-ha, very funny mister ‘oh I’m the coolest rogue in town I work for the grand library,’” she mocked, glancing around.

He was nowhere to be found, and then her attention was caught by a faint meow. She scanned her little bookshop for anything that was out of place, and sure enough, she spotted a white and black cat sitting on the rug where Caden had previously stood. It had a black pattern on its face that resembled a rogue’s mask.

She froze for a moment, her mind racing through the possibilities, and then she burst out into maniacal laughter, “Hahaha, a cat? Either you have learned a new trick during your most recent excursion, or I lost control over my magic.”

The cat stared at her with concern in its eyes.

“Meow?”

Caden tried, his voice–squeaky and feline.

Clare knelt beside him, reaching over to his head.

“Well, well, finally a version of you that’d actually be able to land on your feet, and probably be better at sneaking around. An upgrade, I dare say. And you are quite cute, definitely an upgrade.”

Caden tilted his head, concern growing in his eyes, as did the meows—slowly turning into incoherent cat noises as he began rolling around and examining himself. Clare could only imagine the things he was trying to say, and the more she imagined, the more it made her chuckle.

“Yyyap, definitely my Caden,” she sneered, “Short, furred and have no dignity whatsoever.”

Caden paused, glaring up at her with a hint of resentment.

“What? Awhhh don’t be so angry, you’re purr-fect as you are my darling. In fact, you’re better than ever before, think about it–you no longer need to be careful on your missions, you have whole 9 lives, and I don’t need to worry about you anymore.”

Caden sat down angrily and looked away. An annoyed half-hiss-half-meow escaped his lips.

“Dawhh, fine fine my little prince, let me quickly undo that charm.”

She stood back up and held her hands out in front of herself, gathering mana in the palms of her hands. She focused, remembered his human shape well–the stubble, the faint scar on his cheek.

She whispered a chant in a tongue Caden never quite learned, something that sounded like the singing of birds in the spring, combined with the eldritch horrors from his darkest nightmares. The cat sneezed–another plume of smoke erupted from him like a raging volcano, shrouding him once more. When it settled this time, Clare saw Caden on all fours, staring up at her.

“Adorable,” she mocked him.

Caden jumped up, straightened out, and cleared his throat before speaking, “Clare? What was that? Did you see that? I was a cat just now, a cat! With whiskers and all,” his eyes were bewildered, and his breath was ragged and disorientated.

She nodded smugly, “So it wasn’t a new trick you picked up? Amusing.”

She folded her arms and scanned him up and down, “And here I thought you finally learned to be better at grooming,” she mocked.

“So, who’d you piss off this time? An archwizard?”

Caden patted himself down, “No? God, that was awful, AWFUL! I had a tail, and it was just doing things. Ugh, never aga-chooo” she sneezed again.

Clare impatiently snapped her fingers while whispering a chant. A mighty gust of wind fluttered some books open and swiftly removed the smoke’s veil, revealing a squeaking rat where Caden stood. It had a fur partner in the shape of a bandit’s mask on its eyes.

“Not quite the trash-panda I was hoping to see, but this’ll do.”

Though her words were those of mockery, her expression showed concern and distress.

Caden ran a circle, examined his body, and then proceeded to angrily squeak incoherent rat-noises. She watched with a bemused expression before grabbing him by the tip of his tail. Caden squeaked angrily, gesturing with his tiny paws like a lawyer presenting a bulletproof defense for his client. Clare chuckled, “What was that? Wanna make some soup? Adorable.”

The rat went silent at last, folding up its tiny paws. Clare glanced at the door through which he stumbled, “Whatever happened to you, I clearly don’t have the power to undo it. Congratulations, you’ve been cursed! How exciting,” she squealed happily before flinging him through the door, on the other side of which was a dark, dungeon-looking room.

She stepped through the door behind him, snapping her finger before closing the door, to change the bookstore’s sign to ‘closed’. The room was dark, the air was stale, and it smelled of mildew. An ancient dungeon that hadn’t seen the day of light or proper air circulation in probably centuries. At the table just a few meters away sat a young-looking couple, each reading a book despite the darkness.

The rat landed with a soft ‘plop’ right atop the head of a pale-skinned, elegantly dressed man who sat at the table. Caden froze, he could smell the blood thirst, the murder intent from these creatures. ‘Vampires’ he thought to himself as his tiny claws dug into the man’s hair while he pretended to be a banana peel, or something equally as harmless.

“Lu? What’s that?” the female asked curiously while glancing over her book. Lucien rolled his eyes up, “That? Must be the wind or something,” he replied with the elegance of an ancient duke, ignoring the presence on his head.

“Yea? And here I thought it was a new fashion accessory,” she remarked.

“Kira, my darling, you know well that my sense of fashion does not include fur; it is so unclassy.”

They each returned their attention to the books. Lucien did not so much as blink when he heard Clare’s soft steps approaching the table.

“Clare,” he spoke softly in a half-threatening, half-welcoming tone. His voice was smooth like an aged wine, riddled with mystery.

“To what do we owe the pleasure?”

Kira spoke up, her voice almost opposite of his–brimming with genuine excitement and curiosity.

Clare briefly explained the situation to them. Kira, leaning on her hand on the table nodded at every word with the excitement of a puppy who finally got to see something new after days of mundaneness.

“Oh my, your darling is cursed? How exciting is that? Last time mine got cursed, he roamed the nights and assaulted innocent people, though, now that I think about it–that’s just his normal evening when he’s not with me.”

Clare glanced at her, then at Lucien, and then chuckled, “Well, good thing most of his nights are spent studying and not hunting. Now then, what do you make of it?”

Lucien rolled his eyes up, “My dear new hat, hang on tight as it might get a little shaky up there.”

Caden’s eyes shot open as he grasped with his tiny paws onto the black as the shadows in the night hair of the vampire. Lucien got up, snapped his fingers, conjuring several bottles on the table and a shaker.

Then proceeded to pour various amounts of different liquids into the shaker. Clare sat down, watching him work his magic.

“Hmm, not sure if he’s making me a cocktail, or brewing Caden a potion of transmutation?”

Kira chuckled softly, “Why not both? He has been practicing, what he calls potion-tending, mixing his bartending hobbies with potion brewery, the wizards are most excited about it.”

She bobbed her head in the direction of a dark corner where a bar counter stood, with a few men laying around in the most uncomfortable poses imaginable to mankind, one was twisted like a pretzel, with his pointy hat resting on his butt, and the other–hung off a chandelier by his legs.

Clare smiled nervously, “I see, I uh, I think I’ll pass. Caden on the other hand was telling me how parched his throat was.”

Caden–a frightened rat who was on for his dear life on the vampire’s head, squealed out of protest, but Clare dismissed his concerned squeals, “It’s okay dear, I’m sure–Lucien would do you no harm.”

The potiontail was done. Lucien poured it into a glass, threw in a straw, a slice of lemon, and a tiny little umbrella.

“Go on then, this should undo most enchantments of this type.”

Clare watched curiously, “My magic couldn’t, wonder if yours will.”

Lucien sneered, “Well, I am a few centuries older, I’ve picked up a thing or 2 about these in my time.”

Caden licked the potion, the strong minty-citrus taste tickled his nostrils just the right way to make him sneeze. The same plume of smoke, and then a crash as he fell off the table.

“Gah! Hah! I’m human, I’m me! Yes!”

The three watched a bewildered rogue excitedly jump up to his feet and pat himself down, “Gods, I really really really don’t like having tails.”

Clare scuffed, “Awh, and here I thought the rat was quite the suitable shape for you–sly and cheeky.”

Caden sighed, “Aren’t I damn handsome as I am?”

Clare shrugged, “Nawhh, you were the cutest pocket-sized rogue around for a while, and what’s best? You couldn’t finish my cup of coffee in that shape, you thief.”

Caden opened his mouth to protest, but as fate would have it–his nose itched.

“I-I-achoo.”

Clare laughed out loud, “Oh, what is it this time? Be a snake!”

Lucien squinted at the cloud of black smoke that erupted from the rogue, enshrouding his transformation.

“Interesting,” he remarked. Kira leaned against Clare, her hand on Clare’s shoulder, her soft voice whispering, “I think a bunny would be cute to have.”

Clare chuckled, “Oh my god yes.”

And a bunny he was. A black furred bunny who twitched his nose, sniffing the air, and then stomped angrily on the floor.

“Dawhhh, he’s adorable. Can we keep him if you don’t want him?”

Kira whispered cheekily.

“No, he’s mine, even if he is a thieving asshole,” Clare shot back.

“Dawhh,” Kira mocked, sitting back down.

“And now?”

Lucien queried.

“Well, we could cook him,” Kira suggested.

“Or we look through your archives. You 2 are in charge of the curses and hexes section for a reason.”

“Is it because we’re immortal?”

Lucien sighed.

“Probably,” Clare admitted, already walking down the dark aisle of books. The bunny continued to angrily stomp around, but his presence was largely ignored.

Hours passed as they studied and researched the hex. Well, the three of them did anyhow, the rabbit—he just nibbled on the corners of the ancient tomes as though they were fresh hay. The hex was an unusual one, it had a purpose, and as they had now realized, the power of it came from emotions, not magic. Generally, such hexes were placed out of jealousy, but this one seemed different.

“Back we go,” Clare called out after hours of studying.

“No need to trouble you 2 any further,” she excused herself, reaching up to pick up her hus-bun to be from below Kira’s gentle touch, as she spent those hours stroking the bunny’s soft fur.

“Dawh, he was so soft, stay a while longer,” Kira protested but Clare wasn’t having it.

“No reason to, you both are busy, and the drunk-zards are awaking,” she shot a glance at the drunk wizards who were starting to awaken.

“Do come back soon,” Lucien sneered.

“Not if I can help it,” Clare shot back as she walked through a door that led back to her bookstore.

As soon as they returned, Clare caught a glimpse of someone who was seemingly staring through the window, but upon noticing them–tried to sneak away. She stormed to the store’s front, threw the door open and yelled out, “HEY THERE! Wanna come in?”

A humbled, frightened shriek was the response to her sudden shout. A cloaked figured shook its head, “Uh, n-no it’s quite alright.”

Clare stepped out, placed her hand on the figure’s shoulder and squeezed gently, “Dawh, don’t be shy now. I saw you lurking around. Were you waiting for our return?”

The figure turned around slowly. Beneath the cloak and hood was a young woman, perhaps in her early 20s, or late teens. She looked at the bunny, which Clare was holding in her arms.

“Awh, cute,” she whispered.

Clare glanced down at Caden, who seemed quite comfy-being cradled in his darling’s arms. He stretched and yawned, cozying up.

“Uh, my new erhm, pet. He’s an absolute asshole, even if he looks cute. Can I help you?”

The girl looked up at Clare hesitantly, mumbling just barely audibly under her breath, “I don’t think he is.”

“Huh?”

Clare queries.

“N-nothing,” the girl stammered.

“I, I’ll come back another day,” she hesitated, turning and hurrying away.

Clare tried to reach out to her again, but her hand phased through the girl’s shoulder this time, she disappeared a moment later, leaving behind nought but the faintest trace of magic. Clare could feel the magic tingle her skin.

“Huh,” she pondered, turning to leave. As she returned her hand to Caden to stroke his soft fur, she felt a similar trace of magic on his fur.

Upon returning back to the store, Clare sat the bunny down and tapped her finger impatiently against her other arm.

“You know her?” she queried. Caden shook his head.

“Hmm, she seemed to know you at least.”

Caden jumped and twisted his body in the best attempt to shrug, or express himself shrugging.

“Uhuh,” Clare got on all fours and leaned down, sniffing him.

“When you stumbled out of whatever hell-hole you were in, you carried on you a stench of sulfur, smoke, ash, and perfume,” she continued.

Caden nervously backed away, “Don’t worry. You might be an idiot, but you wouldn’t cheat, I know that much.”

He nodded.

“But why the perfume?” he shrugged again.

“Her magic,” Clare’s fingers dug through Caden’s fur, feeling for the traces of magic.

“Yeah, it’s hers.”

Caden glared at the window, there was nobody there.

“Amusing. Let’s go find her.”

Caden’s body shook with fright as he pictured the most gruesome outcome imagine while Clare carried him through the city’s streets. Clare was lovely. She was sweet, caring, stubborn, cheeky, quick to insult him, but she was also protective of what was hers. Caden saw her turn a werewolf into a little chihuahua once, when he got growled at while she was annoyed.

There was a gentle knock, followed by an impatient one, and then loud banging, as Clare hammered on the door as if it owed her lunch money. He almost felt bad for the door; fortunately, it was an ordinary door, and not a living, sentient creature, or perhaps–this particular door liked it rough.

The door creaked with the labor of antiqued hinges that hadn’t had the pleasure of being lubricated in decades. On the other side stood the young woman from before. She glanced instantly at the bunny, then at Clare’s furious face.

“Uhm, hi?” she hesitated. Clare stepped through the door despite not being invited, fury burning in her gaze.

“Why?” she asked without giving the girl even the faintest chance to defend herself.

The girl stepped back, frightened. Her back pressed against the wall, as if hoping to fall through it so she wouldn’t have to see Clare’s furious gaze anymore.

“Why?”

Clare repeated herself; her voice was sharper and snappier this time.

“B-b-because I him, I he-he he SAVED ME!” she stuttered, and then shot out her reason as if held at a gun point. It was almost anticlimactic, almost, but effective. The fury in Clare’s eyes faded, replaced by a startled confusion as she recoiled ever so slightly from the sudden shout.

“He saved you? From what, a library fine for a delayed book-return?”

The girl sniffled, tears running down her cheeks as she began to spew out the story, “That too but no well, so, I was out on a field-trip with the class, to the Grand Library, and it was overwhelming, truly. It’s so big, clouds, flying tomes, wizards in walls, talking benches, so much was happening and there he was–cool, calm, collected, professional.”

“Clumsy idiot who had caused more troubles than he solved,” Clare mocked her.

“W-well so, we were in the dimensional section, one of the dictionaries toppled and fell off the shelf when someone bumped into it, I-I did… The book fluttered open as it was falling, baring its fangs at the excitement of consuming a young, innocent mage apprentice. He happened to be there.”

She paused and then continued.

“A single gentle shove to push me out of the way. He caught the book, whispered something roguishly to it, tamed its fury in an instant, and replaced it on the shelf, just to vanish without a trace a moment later. To him–it was nothing, an ordinary day. But to m-me, it was, everything-” her voice trailed off.

Clare blinked in disbelief, “You, have got to be kidding me.”

The girl sobbed softly, “I, I thought if I could, I wanted him to notice me. It was supposed to be a love-spell, not a morph hex, b-but while brewing my hands were shaking and-and-” she stammered.

“You messed up the ingredients,” Clare sighed.

Clare glanced down at Caden, “See what happens when you save damsels, you idiot? She tried to cast ‘love me forever’ and landed on a ‘turn into a petting zoo every time you sneeze.’ Excellent work, both of you.”

Clare set the bunny down and crossed her arms, tapping her foot impatiently. The girl sobbed again.

“Okay, first of all–relax, you didn’t kill him at least, thanks for that. Secondly–show me the original potion, I’ll have the alchemists reverse-engineer it.”

The girl wiped the tears and snot with the sleeve of her robes, “Y-yes of course.”

She turned to guide the way. Clare followed. As they walked down the dark staircase to her basement, Clare whispered, “And if you curse him ever again, I’ll turn you into a hamster and set you into a wheel to run endlessly in the window of my shop.”

“U-understood,” the girl gulped.

Somewhere amidst the darkness of the hexes and curses archives, a voice whispered softly, while enjoying a little entertainment in the crystal ball, “Shame, he made a very cute bunny.”

A menacing chuckle echoed through the darkness, “Then perhaps, next time you’ll be more convincing to leave him with us?”

Caden returned to his normal self, and to this day–continues to apologize to Clare every time he so much as glances at her coffee.

THE END

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