Night has come, and David has roped me into a meet and greet with the townsfolk. He invited the jingoist, and my skin crawls at the glares they have pinned on me, but I don’t acknowledge them.

Ben Errol stands before me, so like his brother and yet so cold it hurts something deep inside my soul. I want him to, if nothing else, respect me—and even like me—but nothing I have done so far has raised my esteem in his eyes. It seems we are bound to be enemies, and that hurts. Now that I know his relation to Pa, I want to invite him into my pack. I want him to be family and hear about Pa’s childhood and where they grew up.

But it seems it is not to be.

"You promised to take me to the grave of my brother, wolf." His voice is low and scratchy.

I bow my head. "And I will. But there will be precautions to ensure you do not lead an army after us."

"Of course," he replies shortly.

“Watch this.”

I don’t pay the voice any mind. Flash has been absent, spending the entire day with Zephora. Not that I blame him. They deserved time to unwind after nearly losing one another on the battlefield.

Next thing I know, I have a cork in my hand.

My eyebrows crease in confusion as I stare at it, trying to figure out where it came from. Then I hear the cheers bouncing off the ceiling.

I glance over my shoulder. Flash is doing a jig and Tim and Jace are clapping at the cat and whistling at me.

Ben Errol watches me with something like confusion creasing his typically placid face.

I raise a brow at the cat, effectively communicating, Really, Flash?

“See? What’d I tell ya? He can catch anything, mate,” Flash says, loud enough for the entire tavern of hundreds of folk gathering around to meet me.

I narrow my eyes. He doesn’t dare—

Oh, he dares, alright, Cynic says, suppressed laughter in his voice.

I groan mentally when Flash takes a cup of mead from the table beside him, tossing it.

I sidestep, but behind me is a kid. That bastard.

Language, dear idiot.

I mentally call Cynic and Flash all the names I learned while on a mission near the coast, even while grasping the tankard by the handle. I twist the cup, catching the few flecks of foam and mead that escaped, barely miss spilling some on Ben Errol, then put it on a table beside me with a bang, some sloshing out around the edges.

The kid looks back, spitting out whatever was in his mouth all over my tunic. Oh… I know the kid. This is Jack, the prankster who once almost made me pass out by handing me a silver spoon when I was first introduced to Videlia.

He grins. “Nice catch!” he says, picking up the tankard I set down and taking a large swig.

I actually groan this time when I hear the whistling of wind off another item. Scratch that… three items.

Reflexes kick in and I snatch the two forks and one spoon out of the air, twisting the forks so they are poking between my knuckles if I needed to stab something.

Flash holds his hands in the air as if he were a ringmaster showing off his favored lion's best trick, the cheers of the townsfolk feeding his ego.

I throw the spoon at him and he dodges it. It hits the man at the bar… the same man who so long ago was almost clocked in the head by Jack with a silver spoon, if I am remembering correctly.

The man groans and holds his head. He looks at Flash then back at me, his mouth forming an O.

Can’t say I’m much better, but I quickly school my face into some semblance of stoicism.

The man rubs his head, then shakes it off and slumps over his mead without looking back.

A breath rushes out of me and Flash at the same time, and the cat’s eyes crinkle in mirth.

He picks up something else off the table beside him.

“Flash, don’t you—“

He throws it.

I growl, my ears growing tufts and fur tingling along my arms before I push it back.

I catch two tankards in quick succession, both aimed at ladies who gasped behind me. The first tankard I throw up in the air, twisting to get a bead on the second, and grab them both from the air, moving the cups to catch the streams of ale that had escaped.

Oohs and Ahhs surround me as the people clap.

“Flash, I am going to kill you,” I growl low enough so the humans can’t hear. His eyes slit and his hands curl into fists.

“You’ll have to catch me first,” he whispers back. Then, “Roland can catch anything! Ten silver he can catch a knife and a tankard of mead all at once.” He hands the tankard to Jace and the fancy cheese knife at Tim then casually strolls to the other side of the room as I dodge a stream of mead (Jace threw it top-side first) and I caught the tankard and spun it in front of the spray, catching most of the stream back in the cup and keeping it from splattering against the prankster, Jack.

Don’t these people have enough sense to get out of the way in case I miss something? Jack stands there, his grin splitting his face and making him look like a dolt as he claps in glee.

I stick my hand behind my back and catch the knife a few finger-lengths from my neck. Without looking.

Silence reigns to the count of five.

The roar that goes up from the people shakes the bottles along the wall of the bar.

My eyes look for Flash.

“The lad can catch, but can he catch everything? Throw your hardest and see! Will you be the one to make him miss?” His voice comes from the back, but his scent is from the open door. I look at the door. The darn cat threw his voice.

He salutes me with a fish-eating grin right before he darts out into the night.

That bastard.

Then all Fifth breaks loose as the people see what I can catch, Tim and Jace grinning like the dragon who ate the sheep.