Off Leash (Freelance Familiars Book 1) by Daniel Potter Page B

was figure out what the old man had meant by something in the cupboard for me. The kitchen lab certainly had plenty of cupboards; most of their handles had a faint golden hue to them similar to the runes on Sabrina's house. Were they simply subtle or losing power? How would I know if a ward would open for me? If I chose wrong, would I be aged into dust while some ancient knight made an obvious statement as to the quality of my judgment?
    "Why dicht ya prove it, then? Summon the seal. Go right ahead. Oh, right, you've got no familiar so you’re just an overgrown matchstick!" the man retorted.
    Fortunately my choices were actually slim; the glassware spidering around the kitchen didn't allow for many of the cabinets to open. I slowly weaved my way around the tubing towards a cabinet in reach near the sink as the argument in the next room escalated.
    "Well, if you hadn't forgotten what happened in the last month I could just talk to you! But since you’re barely coherent as it is. I have to get at Archibald's journal! Don't you want justice?" O’Meara snarled.
    "I want you gone from my doorstep, Lassie! You've always been pokin’ your nose in our business, waving your sword around. As if a pointed stick would have got you any respect. Don't matter who offed him. Ha! Justice? If there were justice the council would have been purged. There’s no justice for a fallen magus; revenge and politics is all there ever was and all there ever will be."
    A movement caught my eye. I turned and a chirp of surprise fled my throat before I could stop it. Two misshapen eyes stared at me from inside a beaker. They were composed of the same dots that swirled within the glass network, somehow congealed into two amber eyes, each filling a beaker, their pupils slit like a cat's, a surreal 3D pixel artwork.
    The gaze settled on me like a weight, their expressionless stare somehow accusing. I watched them back for moment, waiting for the thing in the beaker to raise some sort of alarm. Nothing happened; the eyes just continued to stare back at me. Cautiously I turned back to study the cabinet. Tiny golden runes floated within the tarnished metal of its handle. Bringing my paw near it the light brightened, whether in warning or recognition I couldn't be sure. I could feel the eyes digging into my back, which I tried to ignore. In the front room I heard a door slam, O'Meara shouting vexations as she left.
    Now or never. Carefully I extended my claws and hooked one on the underside of the worn kitchen cabinet, positioning myself to spring away in case it exploded. "My kingdom for an eleven-foot pole," I muttered under my breath and flicked open the cabinet.
    It did not explode. Instead, the door swung open and cracked against a glass tube that prevented it from opening fully. The pipe started to hiss as a crack expanded along the length of the pipe. Holding my breath, I looked up into the cupboard to see a white index card hanging from the middle shelf. In shaky handwriting it read, “For Thomas Khatt,” with an arrow pointing down. The shelf was too high for me to see inside, but there was a glint of metal just visible over the lip of the shelf.
    "Who in the bloody hell is in there?" the Scottish voice shouted through the door, jarring me into action. I quickly pawed at the metal thing, hoping to pull it down onto the floor. Normally when you pull something off the shelf, inanimate objects have the common decency to respect gravity and fall. When a blur of sliver shot out of the cabinet, I reacted much like anyone else would have. I screamed, " Snaaaaaake !" and jumped back. Unfortunately when you’re a cougar, jumping straight up isn't just a piddling white man jump. Instead I slammed myself into the ceiling through all the glasswork. That hurt, but not as much as hitting the floor afterwards, which knocked the wind out of me. Glass rained down around me, and those little dots of magic poured out into the air like neon confetti.
    "What in the