Free Beastly Bones by William Ritter

added.
    â€œDid the temperature drop noticeably?”
    â€œThere was ice. And a sort of a whirlwind.”
    He blanched.
    â€œDo you think I should try talking to her again?” I said.
    Jackaby swallowed and glanced up at the ceiling. Jenny’s bedroom sat directly above his office. “No—no, our little expedition may have come at just the right time. I think it’s best we give our dear Miss Cavanaugh a wide berth—for a few days, anyway. You know—to allow her some peace and quiet and all that.” The temperature in the room began to drop, and my arms prickled with goose bumps.
    I nodded. “I think you might be right, sir.”

Chapter Twelve
    B y half past five, Jackaby had finished making various arrangements and tending to the terrarium of chameleomorphs. He explained their care and keeping to Douglas while I watched the little kittens through the glass. One of them batted playfully at a water strider with its big fluffy paw, and then pounced and polished the thing off. It might have been my imagination in the dimness of the gaslights, but already they looked a little smaller and skinnier. I would be happy to miss watching their transformation from felines into insects. Fins on fur had been disturbing enough—I did not like to imagine the process they had ahead of them. It was still hard to fathom that the mackerel circling lazily in the pool toward the back was the same species as the wide-eyed little fur balls tumbling around in front.
    Jackaby pulled on his coat, which clinked and tinkled as the contents of its myriad pockets rattled into place. He slung his satchel over one shoulder. “Well, Miss Rook, shall we?”
    I nodded and followed my employer, casting a glance up the stairs as we stepped into the hallway.
    â€œDo you think she’ll be all right?” I asked.
    â€œOf course not,” said Jackaby. “I think she will be dead. Generally speaking that falls outside the realm of
all right
. I do not, however, think she will be any worse for our absence.” He stepped into the front room and pulled on his multicolored knit cap.
    â€œI still feel dreadful,” I said. “I wish I could do something. Jenny had been giving me some good advice about . . .” I looked at Jackaby, swimming in his bulky coat with the ridiculous hat stuffed over his messy hair, and decided not to go into the details of our conversation. “Well, anyway, she was being rather kind, and reminding me that fortune favors the bold.”
    â€œThat’s nonsense,” said Jackaby. “Fortune favors the prepared. Unless you’re talking about the Fates, in which case fortune generally favors Zeus. Were you talking about the Fates?”
    â€œNo. We weren’t talking about the Fates. Never mind. I went and botched it, that’s all—not that you helped anything this morning with that teacup business. I know you might think it pointless, but I just wish I could fix it. It’s bad enough to bungle things professionally and . . . well . . . romantically. It would be nice if I could at least get a friendship right.”
    â€œI don’t think it’s pointless,” said Jackaby. “I don’t think it’s pointless at all. I think it’s a marvelous sentiment.”
    â€œReally?”
    â€œAbsolutely. Atonement and reconciliation after an argument demonstrate strength of character and bolster the atmosphere of the workplace.”
    â€œOh. Well, yes. Mostly I just wanted her to feel better.”
    â€œAnd mostly
I
just want to be sure you don’t come to me to discuss your romantic entanglements. I much prefer that you remain on comfortable terms with Miss Cavanaugh. Although, should she ever be unavailable,” Jackaby said earnestly, “I want you to know”—he put a hand gently on my shoulder—“that Douglas is an excellent listener.”
    â€œThank you, sir. I’ll bear that in