Caged Kitten (All the Queen's Men #2) - Rhea Watson

All the Queen’s Men, #2

Rhea Watson

I don’t belong here. Seriously. I don’t.

For as long as I can remember, supernatural clans took care of their own bad apples. Shifters, fae, vampires, elves, witches—we handled our crap quietly, efficiently, and within the confines of our community’s law.

Until now, apparently.

How else am I supposed to explain doing inventory in my café one minute, then waking up the next in a processing cell, cuffed and shackled to a chair, wearing a collar that mutes my magic?

I’ve never gotten so much as a parking ticket before. I’m a witch without a coven, but I play by the rules. I don’t start beef with other supers. Me and my familiar—we don’t make waves. We like cozy, rainy Sunday afternoons and the smell of freshly baked bread.

So, whatever they’ve got on me, it’s nonsense.

I know, I know. That’s what everyone in Xargi Penitentiary says. Innocent. Innocent. Innocent.

Only the creatures around me aren’t always so innocent, and even inside these four walls, trapped by wards and warlocks and wolves, my past is determined to damn me.

Until I find a non-magical way out of this, my wits are all I’ve got.

Well, my wits… and the gruff dragon shifter who looks at me like I’m treasure he’s desperate to hoard. The gorgeous fae who delights in the fact that I’m not impressed with him. Oh, and the brooding vampire who could tempt me into darkness with his smile.

But I’m not here to make friends or fall in love.

I don’t belong in Xargi Penitentiary, and if it’s the last thing I ever do, I’m getting out.

Or… I just might die trying.

1

Katja

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stick around?”

I glanced up from the sea of tabbed spreadsheets scattered across my desk, a night of mind-numbing inventory ahead, and found Annalise loitering in my office doorway. Already bundled up for a chilly Seattle night, checkered cap hiding a head of golden curls and a thin pair of gloves poking out of her jean jacket pockets, she really was the best manager I’d ever had. In the five years of running Café Crowley, where it was Halloween every day and you could peruse weathered tomes from the stacks while slurping down artfully crafted hipster lattes, none of the senior staff ever volunteered to do inventory with me.

I mean, I always sent them home, rebuffed their offers, even told them up front that they would never suffer through an inventory overnighter. It was practically a job perk. I liked doing inventory alone, really immersing myself in what I had on hand, how my business was running, how the Fox coven’s legacy persevered inside these four walls. As the last of my matrilineal line, the only Fox witch left, I’d opened this place with the intention of crafting something that would endure. Brick and mortar, here to stay, the campy, vampy, gothic aesthetic appealed to humans and the secret supernatural world alike.

“No, no, really, it’s fine. I’m good,” I insisted. My chair offered a shrill creak as I leaned back in it, adding its two cents to the conversation, and we both grinned. The staff room had gotten a pricey face-lift recently: new chairs, a vintage oak table, and a pristine three-seater sofa with dizzying mandala patterns that the baristas liked to Instagram on during their breaks. It had cost a small fortune to redo that little room, but my people—all human, all awesome—were totally worth it. I, meanwhile, had an office chair straight out of the seventies, all the padding flat and the lumbar support nonexistent. My metal filing cabinets had seen better days, any semblance of interior décor dead at the door, and the only real piece of modern tech in here was my laptop.

But hey, whatever. Magic went a long way behind closed doors. I could be comfortable just about anywhere so long as the well inside me never ran dry.

“I don’t think I’ve ever worked with someone who actually enjoys whole stock inventory before,” Annalise remarked, her car keys dangling from her fingers. Even if every part of her read as ready to go, here she was, still pushing to be my little inventory elf.

I wish I’d found her years ago. Having someone I could delegate to, who I could trust unconditionally with my café baby, was huge. And with Annalise, the work actually got done. No more days or nights spent glued to the security monitors for me, willing my staff of human employees to just do what I told