He spent three more hours in the garden before Cricket reappeared, picking his way daintily through the overgrown sections of the garden, and sat down near Deirdre’s feet. Evershaw paused to drink more water, pretending not to notice that Mercy sat on the porch and kept an eye on him, and frowned at the cat. “Where the fuck have you been? You’re supposed to be helping me get her back, you mangy pile of owl droppings.” 

The cat flicked his tail in a disdainful way, clearly unimpressed, and managed to gather his great bulk to launch into Deirdre’s lap. He kneaded his paws against her side and sighed, stretching out in pure bliss, and his purr rattled through the air until it vibrated into Evershaw’s brain. 

Along with the purr came more pictures and instructions, things that the cat wanted done but couldn’t—or didn’t bother to—explain. Herbs to cut and dry. Things to gather. Teas to make. Evershaw growled right back at the cat but grudgingly did what it asked, since Deirdre was worth putting up with an uppity little shit throwing his weight around. As soon as she was back, he was kicking Cricket out of the house permanently. Definitely out of Deirdre’s bedroom, that was for damn sure. The cat needed to lose weight anyway, and being left outside to fend for himself was a pretty good fat camp for felines. 

Evershaw smiled as he got to work, humming under his breath and talking to Deirdre when he felt like it, getting ready for whatever Smith had in store. That djinn—whatever the fuck a djinn was—might be able to help her. And if he couldn’t, then Evershaw would continue on with whatever the fuck he wanted to do in order to try and save her. He’d go through every possibility. 

If Smith kept turning up dead ends, he’d go to the Chase brothers and the half-Medusa who could heal people from near-death with her blood. That could work. If it didn’t, though, he’d go to Rafe O’Shea, whose mate was some weird kind of critter like Smith, and see if she knew any tricks. Then he could go back to the Chases, with their mountains of fucking money and all the research they’d done after BadCreek and their evil medical experiments, and figure out if he could capitalize on whatever the Chases managed to get locked down. 

And he would keep searching. As long as it took, as far as it needed, until he saw that bright spark back in her eyes. He wouldn’t stop. Wouldn’t even hesitate. 

Cricket head-butted Deirdre’s hand and purred louder, sending more thoughts of a tea made with a few particular kinds of herbs, something meant to boost memory, and rolled around like he wanted to mark her all over with his scent. Which he did, the little shit, and made Evershaw mark her back with soaps and detergent and everything else. It was fucking annoying. 

He growled at the cat once more, turning the hose on the beast. It sent Cricket yowling and flying across the lawn up to the porch, where he crouched under Mercy’s chair and hissed at Evershaw from safety. He rolled his eyes and started to gather up the herbs the cat wanted, wondering how much tea they’d have to drink before it started to work. 

It was a good thing Deirdre’s garden had become wildly overgrown and had more than enough herbs and plants to use. He’d also sent some of the pack around to local nurseries and gardens to scope out what kind of plants were still available if they needed to acquire more. 

It had only been a few weeks, even though it felt like an eternity of a broken heart and feeling completely adrift without Deirdre as his rock, his anchor. The softer voice in his ear trying to file down his rough edges... and telling him to his face when he was being an idiot. 

He ignored Cricket’s grumbling as he led Deirdre inside and found her a comfortable spot on the couch; the cat immediately jumped into her lap and started grooming himself, still grumbling and squawking periodically like he relayed exactly what he thought of Evershaw to her directly. Mercy helped gather the herbs and they worked in silence, only the sound of Cricket’s ire disturbing the quiet.