The morning began with a scream.

  Not the alarming kind. The offended kind.

  I bolted upright, wand in hand, heart trying to escape my ribcage, only to hear Mrs Calder shout from outside:

  “WHO MOVED MY KITCHEN.”

  I blinked.

  Lord Bastion Thistlewick lifted his head from my stomach, where he had apparently decided to sleep.

  “Ah,” he said. “That.”

  I shoved him aside and went to the window.

  Mrs Calder’s kitchen was no longer attached to her house.

  It sat in her front garden, pristine and steaming, kettle still boiling, toast hovering mid-pop.

  Her house, meanwhile, had acquired a very tasteful archway where the kitchen used to be.

  I stared.

  “That’s… not subtle,” I said.

  Bastion stretched. “Subtlety is for people who lack confidence.”

  “This is a consequence,” I hissed. “You said things were noticing the town. This is them experimenting.”

  “Yes,” he agreed. “And you told them to follow human rules.”

  “I meant metaphorical rules.”

  “They are very literal,” he said. “It’s a known issue.”

  Outside, Mrs Calder poked a floating cupboard with a broom. “Elspeth,” she called. “Is this one of yours.”

  “No,” I called back. “But I can fix it.”

  Bastion snorted. “You absolutely cannot.”

  I glared at him. “You’re not helping.”

  “I am observing,” he said. “Also enjoying this immensely.”

  Before I could reply, the ledger slid itself off the table and thumped onto the floor.

  It flipped open.

  Hard.

  The pages rippled, ink rearranging itself into sharp, impatient lines.

  ACCESS PENDING

  TERMS UNDER REVIEW

  “Oh no,” I murmured.

  If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  Bastion went still.

  That was new.

  “Bastion,” I said slowly. “Why are you not making a joke.”

  “I am recalculating,” he said.

  The air tightened.

  Outside, the street began to… misbehave.

  Doorbells rang without hands. Shadows lagged half a second behind their owners. A cat I did not recognise sat in the middle of the road, staring at Bastion with unsettling focus.

  “Why is that cat looking at you like that,” I asked.

  Bastion’s tail flicked. “Because it is rude.”

  The cat blinked.

  Then spoke.

  “You are diminished,” it said.

  I choked.

  Bastion bared his teeth. “You are trespassing.”

  “I was invited,” the other cat replied pleasantly. “The town is considering new custodians.”

  The ledger hummed louder.

  Mrs Calder’s kitchen drifted another inch away from her house.

  I pinched the bridge of my nose. “This is escalating far too early in the day.”

  The strange cat tilted its head at me. “You are the negotiator.”

  “Yes,” I said. “And you’re breaking the rules. No using animals as mouthpieces.”

  The cat paused. “That rule is… irritating.”

  “Get used to it.”

  Bastion jumped down from the bed, fur bristling. “Leave.”

  The cat regarded him calmly. “You are bound. You are restricted. You are—”

  Bastion lunged.

  He missed.

  Not because the cat moved, but because something pulled him short.

  An invisible snap, like a leash tightening.

  He hit the floor hard.

  I froze.

  Bastion froze.

  The cat’s eyes gleamed. “See.”

  Something cold slid into my chest.

  “Who did that,” I demanded.

  The cat smiled with its whole unsettling little face. “Not I. The town did.”

  Silence slammed down.

  Bastion didn’t move.

  That scared me more than anything else so far.

  I crouched beside him. “Bastion.”

  His ears flattened. “Do not touch me.”

  “I’m touching you.”

  He trembled.

  Just once.

  Then he snarled and rolled onto his feet, fury crackling off him in waves that made the windows rattle.

  “You are not welcome here,” he said, voice low and dangerous. “You will leave.”

  The other cat studied him. “You are losing your hold.”

  “Careful,” I said. “Last warning.”

  The cat sighed. “Very well. Deliberations will continue.”

  It vanished.

  The pressure lifted slightly, but the ledger did not close.

  Bastion stalked to the window and knocked a plant pot onto the street below.

  It shattered.

  “Bastion,” I said gently.

  “They are testing me,” he snapped. “They think I am weak.”

  “You are constrained,” I said. “That’s not the same thing.”

  He laughed, sharp and humourless. “Isn’t it.”

  I hesitated. Then did something deeply unwise.

  I reached into my pocket and pulled out a leather collar.

  His head whipped around. “Absolutely not.”

  “Before you panic,” I said quickly, “it’s warded. Human-made. It establishes consent and boundary recognition.”

  “I will bite you.”

  “Temporarily,” I added. “And it stops the town pulling on you like a string puppet.”

  He stared at it.

  Then at me.

  Then away.

  “This is humiliating,” he muttered.

  “You sleep in my laundry basket.”

  “That is strategic.”

  I raised an eyebrow.

  He huffed. “Fine.”

  I slipped the collar on.

  The effect was immediate.

  The air steadied. The ledger’s hum softened. Somewhere, something snarled in frustration.

  Bastion exhaled slowly.

  “Oh,” he said, startled. “That is… better.”

  I smiled. “Told you.”

  He scowled. “Do not enjoy this.”

  “I absolutely am.”

  Outside, Mrs Calder’s kitchen slid neatly back into place.

  She waved. “All sorted then.”

  “Yes,” I called. “Sorry about that.”

  She nodded. “Happens.”

  I leaned against the wall, legs shaking.

  Bastion jumped onto the counter and regarded me thoughtfully.

  “You surprised me again,” he said.

  “Get used to it.”

  He flicked the bell on the collar. It jingled.

  “I will not.”

  I laughed. A real belly laugh, sudden and uncontrollable.

  He glared. “This is not funny.”

  “It really is.”

  He sniffed. “Enjoy it while it lasts.”

  The ledger flipped one final page.

  ACCESS GRANTED – PROBATIONARY

  Bastion’s eyes darkened.

  “That,” he said quietly, “is new.”

  My smile faded.

  “Probation for who.”

  He looked at me.

  “For you,” he said. “And for whatever just decided you’re interesting.”

  The bell on his collar chimed softly.

  Somewhere beyond the town, something laughed.

  And this time, it wasn’t Bastion.