There is nothing quite like waking up to the sound of breaking glass.

For the average person, this would be something of great concern. For someone with small children, or for someone possessing an accumulation of china plates or valuable knickknacks of the fragile variety, this concern might be greater. For someone sharing an abode with a collection of felines or feline-like creatures, this concern might be relatively minimal. However, speaking as someone who lives only with a being of such compulsive order that breaking a glass is a sign of great malfunction and error and has been on the receiving end of several break-ins of abnormally malevolent intent, this sound brought about nothing short of full blown panic.

I sat bolt upright in my chair and began scanning my office with considerable alarm. I was almost immediately distracted by a cold, wet sensation on my foot. Looking down, my fears were abated, only to be replaced by mourning. That was my favorite teacup...

“Oh, dammit, she’s awake,” a familiar voice, dripping with a Saellian drawl, said near my elbow.

I glanced over to see my friend Ella standing next to my desk, holding a pen. She was remarkably chipper and put together looking for this particular hour of the morning.

I narrowed my eyes at her. “What were you planning on doing with that pen?”

Ella smiled sheepishly, her white teeth standing out against the patchwork of copper and bronze that made up her skin. “I was going to play connect-the-freckles.”

I glared at her, then at the other woman darkening my doorway. “And you were going to condone this?”

My friend Nadrire Vellefeixe shrugged, the fabric of her heavy black coat rustling. With her deep brown skin, she almost looked like a living shadow. “Well, you didn’t wake up when she shook you.”

I scowled at her. “Why are you even in my house at three in the morning?”

“Addy let us in!” Ella chirped. She was quite fond of the automaton I kept as a housekeeper, although Addy was notably less fond of Ella: Ella’s curious streak led to her rifle through things without putting them back.

Nadrire folded her arms. “Do you remember the Vaalorrian foreign minister who was passing through Coloksha?”

“Of course.”

“He’s dead.”

I raised my eyebrows, connect-the-freckle momentarily forgotten.

“He was murdered in his hotel room about an hour ago,” Nadrire wandered over to the bookshelf and dragged one gloved finger along the edge of the shelf. “The minister’s PA wanted to call an investigator they had on call at the embassy, but the mayor insisted that it be you.”

I snorted. “Of course.”

“You should really let Adeilya dust in here,” Nadrire informed me, inspecting the dust on her glove.

“Do I walk into your office and criticize its cleanliness?”

Nadrire glanced around at the overfilled bookshelves and the desk covered in untidy piles of paper, then shot a pointed look at me. “No, because mine is clean.”

Adeilya herself appeared in the doorway, her arms laden with my clothes. “Miss Velia, I have gathered a new set of clothes for you, as well as your coat and hat. According to my internal clock and the data received from Ambassador Vellefeixe, the mayor was expecting you five minutes ago.”

Staring at Addy’s prim pout, brimming with robotic disapproval at my lack of punctuality, I heaved a heavy sigh and scrubbed my fingers into my messy, black hair. “Well, he can wait five minutes more. Let me get dressed.”