 
Cat's Meow Page 47

### THE CAT'S MEOW

An Anthology of Spooky Fun Kitty Fiction

By Hera B. Magic

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writers' imaginations or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

THE CAT'S MEOW

By Hera B. Magic (via Meankitty Publishing)

Copyright (c) 2014 Angela Campbell, Shona Husk, Cindy Spencer Pape

Cover by Angela Campbell

Editing by Jody Wallace

All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This ebook is a free download. If you'd like to share the file with others, please have your friends respect the obsessive curiosity of the authors by snagging their own free download from an online retailer. That way the authors can get an accurate idea of their total download numbers. If the numbers are shiny, perhaps there will be more free downloads in the future. Thank you for respecting the obsessive curiosity of the authors.

Authors' Note to Readers: Hera B. Magic is the pen name for the creative group endeavors of the authors of the Here Be Magic blog. Various members of the blog have participated in various projects. The blog is located at http://herebemagic.blogspot.com/. Other published works by Hera B. Magic are A PIXIE'S TALE (paranormal romance novella) and HEART-SHAPED BOX (anthology of Valentine's Day flash fiction).

**About the book:**

Three splendid short stories full of black cats, Halloween and even a little romance. Another anthology from Hera B. Magic and the authors of the Here Be Magic blog. 23,000 words.

"Kit's Cat" by Cindy Spencer Pape. Kit's life has gone downhill and then downhill some more, and she can't even get a good night's sleep. When she realizes the stray cat that's been caterwauling outside her window is injured, saving it will take her life on some ups and downs no one could ever have predicted.

"The Tenth Life of Vicky Torres" by Shona Husk. Seth expected the world to end in wars and bombings, not in a plague. When he obeys his dying father and heads for their secret cabin in the mountains, he gets lonely so fast that he's willing to share his meager food with the stray kitty that appears in the woods. But is the cat what it appears to be or is it something else entirely?

"The Night Shift" by Angela Campbell. Hailey Crawford has finally got her life in order, and it's unfortunate that it doesn't have much space left for sisters, nieces, or boyfriends. It definitely doesn't have space for vagrants hanging around her florist shop...until one night when an accident involving the vagrant changes Hailey's outlook on everything. In fact, she wakes after the tragedy to find her outlook has gotten very close to the ground. Cat close, in fact.

### TABLE OF CONTENTS

Copyright Information

Blurb

Kit's Cat by Cindy Spencer Pape

The Tenth Life of Vicky Torres by Shona Husk

The Night Shift by Angela Campbell

About the Authors

### Kit's Cat

By Cindy Spencer Pape

"Mrrrrroooowwww."

For the third night in a row, Kit Montgomery was wakened by the same loud stray cat howling beneath her bedroom window.

"Go away." She pulled a spare pillow over her head. "I don't even like cats. I'm allergic."

The second part was true, the first wasn't, but she wasn't in any position to take in a pet. In the last six months her life had gone straight to hell. If she didn't find a new job in the next month or so, she wouldn't even have a place to live. Her house was tiny, but even so, the mortgage was more than she could afford on unemployment, especially after she'd exhausted her savings last year during her mother's final illness. And she loved this house. It broke her heart to think she might have to leave before Christmas.

Now it was the night before Halloween. Kit was alone and too broke to even afford candy to pass out. She'd been dumped by her boyfriend and fired by his new girlfriend who'd happened to be Kit's boss. Not that the asshole and the bitch didn't deserve each other, but still, it was humiliating to say the least, as well as financially devastating.

"Meeeeeyoooowwww." The damn thing was loud, but the first two times it had been kind of musical, not screechy like most cats. Tonight it was sharp, almost like it was in pain. What if it was?

With a sigh, she rolled out of bed and stuck her feet into her killer bunny slippers. For the last two nights, she'd tried to find the stray and see if it needed help. Last night she'd left out a plate of tuna, which had disappeared. Tonight, all she'd had was a couple leftover meatballs, but still, she'd put them out, even though she was still the tiniest bit hungry. One thing about being broke—it might turn out to be a boon to her waistline.

She stepped out the sliding door to her patio. "Here, kitty, kitty, kitty."

This was probably the moment in the horror movie when the audience all screamed, "Stay in the house, you idiot." With all the crap that had been happening lately, she was actually a little afraid of the dark. She could have sworn something or someone was watching her.

The answering mew was softer than before. Still, something about it made the hairs on her neck stand up. She didn't know a lot about cats, had never had one, but this sounded like an animal in pain. Kit reached inside to turn on the patio light, hoping it wouldn't frighten the cat away. Then she tiptoed—well, as much as she could in slippers with heads and floppy ears—toward the sound.

No movement rustled the bushes, just another plaintive cry from the peony bush right beneath her bedroom window. She parted the stalks that she should have deadheaded months ago and peered into the shadows, praying something wasn't going to jump out and devour her.

"Mrow." Instead, amber-colored eyes blinked at her and Kit made out the shape of an unnervingly large feline head.

"Maybe I should grab some gloves." She gulped as her eyes adjusted to the darkness and the shadows resolved into that of a dark-colored cat, roughly the size of the neighbor's Springer spaniel. "What the hell kind of kitty are you?"

"Mew." The cat tried to struggle to its feet, but with another whimper, fell back on the ground.

She just couldn't leave it there. "You don't have rabies, do you?"

Only crazy people talked to cats, but what the hell? With the way her life was going, crazy cat lady would be an upgrade. Of course it couldn't understand her, but she could have sworn it did, maintaining eye contact and shaking its head.

"Screw it. I still have health insurance for three more days." She tentatively reached out a hand and stroked the silky black head.

The cat purred loudly.

"Can I pick you up and take you inside?" Yep, she was crazy, all right.

It purred and, she'd swear, nodded.

"Okay. Please don't bite me." Weren't rabies shots supposed to be extremely painful?

The cat rubbed its head against her hand, as if in reassurance. One ear was suspiciously wet. Blood? That clinched it. Kit leaned forward and lifted the animal in her arms.

That proved easier said than done. "You weigh a ton, you know, Midnight." The name seemed appropriate. She struggled to her feet. "What the hell have you been eating?" Still she managed to stand with it lying perfectly still in her arms, except for the twitching of a long bushy tail which brushed against her hip.

Once inside, she took a good look and didn't like what she saw. The poor beast had blood just about everywhere. "I need to take you to a vet, buddy." Not that she had any money to do so.

"Rrow." Another decisive headshake.

She was crazy, all right. Midnight couldn't possibly understand what she was saying, but she could swear he did.

"Well then, let's get you cleaned up. I suppose a bath is out of the question."

A delicate shudder accompanied the headshake this time.

"All right." That's it, this was either a dream, or all the stress had driven her around the bend. "Will you lie still while I get some supplies?"

A crisp, regal nod answered her.

"Fine. Just don't jump off the counter and hurt yourself more." She managed to clean off most of the blood, and, as it turned out, a fair bit of mud, revealing dark brown fur instead of the black she'd expected. Fortunately, all she discovered were scratches and a few bite marks along with a ragged tear on the right ear that had already scabbed over. Midnight—a he, as she quickly determined, and not neutered—held perfectly still, staring up at her with those big, uncannily intelligent gold eyes. The only time he let out a yelp was when she lifted his left rear leg.

"Sorry." Here was the real injury, worse than his ear—a long, deep gash on the inside of his thigh, still bleeding sluggishly. "This should be stitched, Midnight."

Midnight shook his head and waved a front paw at the roll of gauze sitting ready on the counter.

Kit sighed. "All right, if you're sure. If you're infected tomorrow I'm taking you to the vet, like it or not."

He huffed out a delicate snort and then squeezed his eyes shut as she spread antibiotic cream on the tear and wrapped it in a thick layer of gauze and medical tape. After that, she bandaged his ear and a few of the smaller cuts before offering him a small bowl of clean water.

Panting heavily and obviously near the end of his strength, Midnight lapped up the entire bowl and half of a second before dropping his head back to the tile countertop.

"Wait there for just one more minute." Kit ran into the living room and folded an old quilt over the biggest chair. Then with another herculean effort, she carried the now-sleeping cat and laid him on the chair, draped with one corner of the quilt for warmth. Finally, she put away the supplies and washed up. Then, since her nose had already stuffed up, she took an allergy tablet and went back to bed.

This time, miraculously, she slept through until daylight. Maybe Midnight was a good-luck charm. Heaven knew she could use one.

She didn't even bother with her robe or slippers before running out into her living room to check on Midnight. Hopefully he hadn't run away—or worse.

There was no cat on the chair—but it wasn't empty. A big, naked man with dark brown hair lay sprawled half-in-and half out of it.

Kit couldn't help it. She screamed.

"Ow!" Tom Sylvester clapped his hands over his ears. Any morning that began with screaming couldn't be a good one. Besides, he hurt in half a dozen other places this morning, and he was cold.

Why was a woman screaming in his bedroom anyway? He wrested himself fully awake and pried open his gunked-shut eyelids. Must have been a hell of a fight last night. His vision cleared, revealing an unfamiliar room and the source of the shrieking, which now had words.

"Who are you? How did you get in my living room?" A short strawberry blonde in a Detroit Red Wings jersey and black leggings loomed over him. She picked up a nearby stone gargoyle statue and held it over her head.

Tom lifted one hand, palm out. "Please. I'm not going to hurt you."

Slowly, as if through a fog or a killer hangover, his memory returned to him. "Miss Montgomery, right? My name is Thomas Sylvester. I'm your new next-door neighbor."

Her greenish-brown eyes narrowed but she lowered the statue a few inches. "That still doesn't explain how you got inside my house."

He grimaced. "You're right."

"And what did you do with the cat? Are you sitting on him?"

Tom shook his head and winced at the pain. "The cat's fine. Thank you, by the way, for taking care of him. He...means a lot to me." Realizing he was uncomfortably sprawled in a chair, Tom sat up, causing the quilt, which had barely been covering his lap, to slip off entirely.

She gasped, dropping the statue to the rug at her feet.

He stood, wrapped the quilt around his waist and fell back down when his injured thigh gave out on him. The bandage she'd so carefully wrapped now lay torn on the top of his foot. "I can explain, Ms. Montgomery..."

Well, actually, he couldn't. He reached up to scratch his ear and realized it was bandaged as well. No wonder it itched.

"You...what the hell?" Kristina Montgomery stared at the wad of gauze, then up at his ear. Her gaze flickered back and forth a few times before locking onto his. She stumbled backward, plopping into the couch across from him. "You're the cat. It's impossible, but the wounds are exactly the same. You, Mr. Sylvester, if that's even your real name, are the frigging cat I patched up last night. Care to explain?"

"Okay, you do know how crazy that sounds?" Tom had a policy of trying not to flat-out lie whenever possible. "Cats don't just turn into people, you know." That was technically true. He was a person who happened to, occasionally, turn into a cat. Not the other way around.

She sneezed. "I'm even allergic to you. You must be the cat."

Well, that was new. "You can't be allergic to me. I'm not a cat."

"So how did you get in my house? Should I call the cops?" She gestured to the phone on the end table beside her. "And how did you get hurt in the exact same places? Though your scratches look a lot better this morning."

"I heal fast." He heard the words as they came out of his mouth. Oh, shit. He'd just given the game away. That's what he got for trying to explain himself while he was still woozy from dehydration and blood loss. "By the way, I liked your vorpal bunny slippers."

He had seen her wearing them last night. Last night when he'd been a cat.

"Holy crap." She sagged into the sofa cushions like a deflated balloon. "You are the cat. You're a werecat." Her voice rose back to the shriek pitch that speared right through his skull. "My next door neighbor is a werecat."

He wanted to walk over and comfort her, but his leg wasn't ready. The cut had been deep, nicking a minor artery or something. He wasn't a doctor, but the bugger had bled more than any wound he'd ever had. Instead he just lifted his hand. "Please. I can't even stand up yet. I'm sure as hell not going to hurt you. Can we just chill for a minute?"

She made a face, then nodded, drawing her feet up and hugging her knees. Her eyes were big as saucers and her face pale, highlighting a smattering of freckles. She'd make an adorable ginger tabby.

He shook his head. Where the hell had that thought come from. He wasn't recruiting here. He forced his mind onto more practical topics. "Could I possibly have a glass of water? Or orange juice, if you have it?" He needed to rebuild blood cells so he could heal.

She nodded slowly. "Okay. Don't move or anything, all right?"

Tom grimaced. "Believe me. I couldn't if I wanted to."

Her hands shook as she poured two glasses of grapefruit juice—close enough, right?—and started the coffee maker. She prided herself on being open to the possibilities of the universe and had always hoped to find a friendly ghost in her little Victorian cottage, but not a freaking werecat.

She grabbed a couple of protein bars to go with the juice and returned to the living room. True to his word, the cat-man hadn't moved an inch, though he'd taken time to wrap the blanket more securely about his waist. She'd never forget her terror at finding a naked man in her house—well, or the moment when he'd stood and revealed...everything. He looked so damned good nude she'd barely even noticed the angry red scab on his leg. "I guess it's a good thing he wasn't neutered."

"I heard that." At least a thread of humor laced his tone. "And yes, I'm rather glad of the fact."

She stopped just close enough to the chair to hand him a one of the glasses and one of the protein bars. He drank half of it in one swallow, with only a feeble grimace at the taste. Once she was back on the couch, unwrapping her own breakfast, she studied his face.

Did werecats age like normal people? If not, he was probably in his early thirties, with just a few smile or fatigue lines around his golden-brown eyes and full lips. He had a square jaw, close-cropped dark hair, and the leanly muscled build of a runner.

"Miss Montgomery, Kristina, I know you have a lot of que—"

"Kit," she said. "My friends call me Kit." When had she decided he was a friend?

He grinned. "Kit, then. Kind of an unusual name."

"There were six Chrises or Chrissys in my kindergarten class. My dad thought Kit would make me stand out more." Not that she had anyway, but her name was a gift from her dad, so she liked it.

"I usually go by Tom."

She snickered. "You're a werecat named Tom? Tom Sylvester? And you thought Kit was bad. Tell me you made that up."

He shook his head. "Sorry. It really is a coincidence. I've actually thought about changing it. Now, I'm not allowed to talk much about myself, but you've already seen most of it. Can I trust you?" He studied her so closely she could almost see an invisible tail, twitching back and forth.

Kit's mouth went dry so she gulped a mouthful of juice and then drew an X with her fingertip across her chest. "You can. I promise."

"Okay." He let out a long breath, staring up at the ceiling. "I'm not exactly a werecat. I'm a curse hunter."

"A what?" She blinked. "What the hell is a curse hunter?"

"My job is to find curses and destroy them. Most people don't know it, but magic usually manifests in some sort of physical form. Curses often take the form of animals. Small things, usually, like roaches or rodents. That's why we're feline. People see a cat hunting a mouse and don't think anything of it. The curse is gone, and nobody even knows it was there."

"Huh." Ah yes. There she went again, impressing men with her eloquence and aplomb. "So curses are real? Like someone can actually put a curse on you?"

"Yeah." He chewed a bite of the protein bar. "You know these things taste like cardboard, right?"

"I was broke. I had to buy the cheap ones." Oh yeah, girl. Way to impress the sexy neighbor.

He nodded. "That's the curse. Or part of it anyway. You had several stacked on top of each other. I got them all, though, eventually. Your string of bad luck should be ending tonight, after I perform the cleansing and protection ritual."

"Cleansing and protection? Is that some kind of spell?"

"Sort of." He shrugged. "Think of it as a curse-blocker. It should hold for a year and a day. Hopefully, that will be long enough for whoever cursed you to forget about you."

Kit sneezed again. "Don't suppose you can do anything about my allergies?"

He shook his head. "Those are part of you. Not a curse."

"Drat." She pushed her hair back, wishing she'd bothered to brush it before she'd come out of her bedroom. "So were you born like this? Or did you, like, get bitten by another were—uh—curse breaker?"

He chuckled, and a genuine smile turned his lean face from good-looking to gorgeous. "Neither. I was hired. It's a job, like any other. It just has some unusual...perks."

"No kidding. I'd like to see the face of your IRS auditor when you put that down as your occupation." She mulled over that for a minute. "So the changing thing—if it's part of a job, not part of you so to speak, how does it work? Is it voluntary? How do you control it so you don't shift in the middle of a shopping mall? Do you get to keep the ability when you retire? Are you allowed to retire? Are you out hunting every night? What does your wife think?"

He blinked. "Wow, you don't stop with the questions, do you?"

She shook her head. "Sorry. At least my curiosity didn't kill the cat."

He winced at her pun, but finished his juice and snack with a grin on his face. Afterward, he looked up ruefully. "Can I use your bathroom?"

"Sure. Can you make it on your own?" She tipped her head to the side. The scratches on his face were almost gone. He did heal fast.

He looked away, his face tinting a pinker shade of tan. "If you can help me down the hallway, I think I can handle things from there."

He held tightly to his blanket as she let him lean on her shoulder down the short hallway. Once he made it inside, he yelled, "I'm fine," and she stepped away from the door to give him some privacy. She darted into her bedroom, ran a brush through her hair, and rummaged through a box in her closet until she found what she was looking for. Then she lingered in the hallway until the toilet flushed and the bathroom door opened.

"I think I can make it back to the living room on my own."

She held up a pair of her ex-boyfriend's sweat pants and her own baggiest hoodie. "Wanna get dressed? Not that I'm complaining, but you might be more comfortable."

"You, Kit, are a goddess." He dropped a kiss on her head as she handed over the clothes. "I didn't want to ask you to run next door." He pulled back into the bathroom and emerged again, breathing a little heavily. "I might have been wrong about the walking on my own thing."

Kit instantly tucked herself under his shoulder. He had to bend quite a bit to lean on her, and she missed the feel of his warm skin under her hand this time, but that was just as well. Her girl parts were getting a little too happy about that anyway.

Once in the living room, she led him to the sofa, where he stretched out. Even in sweatpants that were too short and a pink hoodie, he was still the sexiest man who'd ever graced that shabby piece of furniture.

"I don't suppose you have anything else to eat," he said. "I'll pay you back, but food and fluids help me recover faster. If you hadn't given me that water last night, I might not have made it."

"You like peanut butter and jelly?" That was about all she had in any quantity.

He nodded. She returned to the kitchen and fixed a pile of sandwiches, then brought those and two cups of coffee into the living room.

"Breakfast of champions." She toasted him with her mug.

He grinned and lifted his in return.

She paused with a sandwich halfway to her mouth. "So do you travel around hunting curses? How did you end up in my garden last night? Or living next door to me, for that matter."

He grimaced and swallowed his food. "I have a territory—pretty much the entire southern Michigan area. Curses aren't all that common. At least I'm not the poor sucker who has the entire UP. He has to do a lot of driving. I can be back in my own bed every morning. Well, most mornings, anyway."

"So the part about living next door...is that just coincidence?"

"That's the tricky part," he said slowly. "I'm new to this area. Was just assigned a few months ago. I saw the house on the market, loved it and bought it. Nothing out of the ordinary there."

A quick shift of his eyes tipped her off. "You're hiding something. Spit it out. And I don't mean the sandwich. You do that, you have to clean it up."

He nodded. "Okay, you might as well know the rest. My first assignment in Ann Arbor was in this neighborhood. That's how I saw the house. I moved in about a month ago."

That fit with what she knew. She'd just not had a chance to meet the new guy yet. "And last night? Still in this neighborhood?"

He nodded. "About once a week in the three months I've been here." He put down his drink and turned to face her directly. "It's you, Kit. Someone's been cursing you. And not just once. It started out small. I bet a few months ago you started losing things, like your keys and such."

"That was a curse?" She'd just chalked it up to her own stupidity.

"It was. That one manifested as a spider—small but nasty. That's the first night I came to your house as a cat. I got it, but not until it had already gotten inside, setting off the curse. Just a few days later, there was another, bigger one. That time it was a little black mouse. I bet you felt a sick that time—maybe thought you had the flu."

All she could do was nod, wide-eyed.

"Eventually things got worse. There was a snake. I noticed your boyfriend doesn't come around anymore. Break up?" He didn't wait for her to confirm the obvious. "And you're home all day now, so I guess you lost your job. That one was a huge, vicious rat. He did a little damage to me before I got him. After that, I sort of started patrolling your house. In the last two nights, I chased off a skunk and an opossum."

"So if you got the rat, shouldn't I have gotten my job back?"

"Sorry." He shook his head. "Doesn't work like that. There aren't any take-backs. Once you got the flu, it ran its course, even after I killed the spider. And if I hadn't gotten the boyfriend snake or the job rat, you'd find that down the road, it would continue to happen over and over. I can't change the past. Once they've gotten into your house, all I can do is break the cycle."

"What about tonight?" Her voice went dry at the thought of what could be worse.

His face went grim. "Tonight was bad. If I hadn't gotten the oversized raccoon, you'd have probably had an accident tomorrow. If it wasn't...fatal, I'm afraid you'd at least have been seriously injured."

She gasped. "Somebody wants me dead? Like permanently dead? Who?" The entire world seemed to close in on her. Who on earth could want to kill her? She'd never done anything. Her eyes began to water, but she blinked away the tears.

His voice was deep and soothing. "I'm not sure, but as soon as I get home, I'm calling for reinforcements. We'll get a tracker here and find out for sure. Then we'll bring in the big guns. I promise, Kit, we're not going to let another curse get to you. In the meanwhile, I hope you don't mind if I stick close."

"Uh, no. Not a bit." He could move on in, if it would keep her alive. Sure, she'd been depressed, and her life kind of sucked, but now she knew something that changed her from sad to pissed. None of this was her fault. "Curses. Who'd have thought?"

"We figure there would be widespread panic if everyone knew about it, so we try to keep a lid on things." He spoke around a mouthful of peanut butter. How could one man seem so ordinary and be so extraordinary at the same time? That was almost as mind-boggling as the idea of curses.

Later that afternoon, Tom was pretty much healed, except for the wound on his leg, which was well on its way, but still ached when he walked. He'd brought Kit over to his place, a larger, Craftsman style home, figuring any curses would have a harder time finding her there. Besides, he had a better-stocked refrigerator and being wounded always made him hungry.

Lord, she was adorable. Even terrified, she refused to be cowed. She'd make a ferocious feline. Hmmm, maybe his bosses would let him take on a partner. It wasn't unheard of.

When the tracker and their mutual boss arrived, Tom introduced them to Kit and then sat next to her on the sofa, across from the others.

"You know this is completely against protocol," Oliver noted. Tom's supervisor was short and burly, bald but with a bushy grey beard and mustache. "But I understand that sometimes these things happen."

"She saved my life last night." Tom suppressed a smile when Kit's eyes widened. "There was something in the raccoon's claws, some kind of toxin. My leg would have kept bleeding if she hadn't cleaned it out. I'd have bled out in the garden."

Her warm, small hand tucked itself into his on the sofa. Did she even know she'd done it? He gave her a reassuring squeeze, delighted when she didn't pull away.

"Then thank you, Miss Montgomery." Oliver gave her a grave smile. "Thomas is one of our best. We'd be sorry to lose him."

"Of course." She looked over at the other two. "But how do you find out who's cursing me? And then what can you do? Arrest him or her?"

Jeff Tanner, the tracker, grinned. Tall and thin, he had a long, lined face and light brown hair, but his smile toward Kit was gentle. "Don't you worry. I've got the finding down. Once we do, the boss, here, will take care of things."

"But how?" Her pale red brows furrowed. "And do you all turn into cats?"

"Only curse hunters," Tom said.

"Bloodhound." Jeff lifted a hand. "Better for tracking. And the boss, well, he's pretty much just the boss."

"Oliver is a hex-wielder." Tom squeezed her hand again. "Once we've found the person, Oliver will cast a hex."

"Is that anything like a curse?" She pulled her hand from his and laced her fingers in her lap. Now that she'd changed into jeans and a soft green sweater, her eyes were more jade than brown. Small and stocky, but fit, she wasn't remotely a classical beauty, but somehow, she still took his breath away.

"I beg your pardon." Oliver's crisp, east coast accent sharpened. "A hex is nothing like a curse. It cannot harm. All it can do is block something else. In our case, what we do is block the curser's ability to cast any more curses. Then we block their memory of having done so, so that they aren't tempted to try again."

Kit sat up straighter. "So someone tried to kill me last night, but nothing bad will happen to them, they'll just forget they did it. Do I have that right?"

Oliver shrugged. "I suppose."

She snorted and Tom agreed. Someone that vicious shouldn't be allowed to roam free. "We also have a few other options in extreme cases like this. Not often, but Oliver can cast a different spell—one that ensures any attempt the person makes in the future to harm someone would rebound on themselves. And that one, they remember."

"I don't like to do that," Oliver said softly. "But if we determine it's necessary, if we believe the curser will come after you through physical means, then yes. Such a drastic spell can be employed. We'll also put a hex on you to block any further attempt at curses."

"Thank you." Kit straightened her spine, obviously somewhat reassured. "How about now?"

"All right." Oliver nodded toward Tom. "It's your case."

"But your hexes are more powerful." Tom didn't want to take any chances with Kit. "Would you please?"

Oliver tipped his chin. "Miss Montgomery, could you stand in the center of the room?"

She obeyed, keeping eye contact with Tom. He smiled, trying to reassure her.

Oliver chanted in Latin, and a dozen fireflies emerged from his extended hand. They buzzed around Kit, each one landing briefly on her arm, cheek, neck or forehead before continuing to circle her. Finally, they faded away as Oliver finished his chant. "All set. You should be immune to curses for at least a year and a day."

"Thank you." Kit blinked and sat back beside Tom. "That sort of tickled."

"Is there anything else, Miss Montgomery?" Oliver eyed her. "If not, you should be safe to return home."

Kit shook her head. "I want to know how this curse business works. Who does the cursing? Witches, like in movies? Can you go online and order one? How does an ordinary person like me end up getting cursed?"

"There are two parts to a curse," Tom said. "First, the person has to have some affinity for magic. A lot of people do, but most don't know it. That's one of the prerequisites for our job as well. And based on how quickly you've assimilated everything, I'd guess you do too. That might be part of why they affected you so strongly."

"Okay." She nodded. "And part two?"

"They have to run across the actual spell formula. We try to keep those out of public hands, but every so often an old book turns up, or more often, someone posts one on the internet—in which case our researchers try to get it taken down as quickly as possible."

"Got it. So someone with both magic and the formula for the spell has a grudge against me. Fabulous."

"I'm sorry, but we're doing our best to take care of that," Oliver said. "Is there anything else?"

Kit straightened her shoulders and looked him in the eyes. "Yes. I'm coming with you tonight. Can you turn me into something?"

"No." All three male voices echoed their response.

"Absolutely not," Oliver continued. "It would go against every rule of protocol that we have."

She glared down each of them in turn, saving Tom for last. "Look, buddy, this is my life being threatened. I have a right to know who's doing it and to make sure it gets stopped."

Tom felt himself caving. "Oliver, she could ride in the car with you."

"What?" The shock on his boss's face was priceless, which made Tom's lips twitch.

Tom knew it was stupid, knew everything here was happening way too fast, but the pull he felt toward Kit was too visceral to deny. His instincts about her potential were simply screaming. Sucking in a breath he looked Oliver in the eye. "I think she has potential, Oliver. Ann Arbor's not bad but Detroit can be rough. I could use a partner. And she is out of a job at the moment."

"And before your recent unemployment, Ms. Montgomery, what was your profession? Police and military are where we draw most of our recruits."

She lifted her chin. "I was a web designer. A damned good one too. But at one time I wanted to be a cop. I am in good shape. I work out and swim every other day at the Y. Or I did, until I had to drop my membership." She sneezed, reminding Tom that she was allergic to cats. That could cause a problem.

"Hmm. Well, nothing else about this case is ordinary." Oliver sighed. "Very well. You may come along with me. But stay out of any conflict. Do you understand?"

"Of course." She paused. "If this is a real job, does that mean it pays? And how do we explain it to the IRS?"

"Most of us have a freelance career as well," Tom told her. "I do a little technical writing and dabble in mystery novels. Jeff over there is an accountant. We each just have one very important client in common."

"Oliver, of course. Clever." She nodded her approval. "Well, if that client needs a web designer, sign me up. Do I have to be a cat, or will anything work? I'd rather not be allergic to myself."

"All the hunters are felines," Oliver said. "But an anti-allergy charm is an easy matter." He spoke a few words and a butterfly flew over to touch Kit's nose. "There. You should be all set in that regard."

She sniffed and then smiled. "I feel perfect. Thank you!" She bounced over and engulfed Oliver in a huge hug.

Tom shouldn't have been jealous. He had no claim on this woman. Hell, she might wash out in training and be forced to give up her memories of the corps entirely. But he hoped not. More and more he liked the idea of hunting beside her every night. And then, when they'd gotten to know one another a little better—maybe more.

They talked until darkness fell, eating a light dinner that Tom whipped up, and going over the ropes with Kit. She even sat with him on his porch and helped him pass out candy. Shortly after dusk, Tom and Jeff changed and slipped into the underbrush, while Oliver helped Kit with her first transformation process. Hopefully, Jeff could pick up the smell of the raccoon from the night before that had damn near killed Tom.

Kit stood in Tom's living room, wrapped in a navy blue sheet, alone with Oliver, the boss. Trepidation about what she was about to do filled her stomach, making her wish she'd eaten one or two fewer Tootsie Rolls while passing out candy with Tom. She held her head up, though. She'd been the one to demand this, she was damned well going to see it through. Mentally she recited the spell that would turn her back—minus the final word, of course. She could do this.

"Ready," she said, lying her face off.

Oliver chanted in Latin again. This time no insects came out of his fingers, just a warm, fuzzy feeling, like she was being wrapped in a mohair blanket. It itched a little, and then the room began to get really big around her. She was dizzy for a moment, and her skin felt all prickly. She opened her mouth to say something, but all that came out was a soft mew.

She'd done it. She lifted a paw in a bad attempt at a fist bump.

"Come along." Oliver led her to the front porch were the other two waited, already in cat and bloodhound shape. She instinctively leaned back from Jeff and heard a soft chuff from Midnight—uh—Tom. Bristling, she padded up to him and swatted him on the nose. He butted her forehead with his, and she decided it didn't feel too bad to be a cat.

She meowed, "Let's go," sure that both Oliver and Tom understood her, just as she understood Tom's mew of encouragement.

Jeff gave a soft bark as he picked up the scent and began to follow it as Tom walked with Oliver and Kit to Oliver's car. Just as he'd expected, she was a beautiful orange tabby, big for a domestic cat, as most of their kind were, but a good bit smaller than he was. After they'd climbed into the backseat, he leaned over and rubbed her head with his. To his delight, she purred and rubbed him back.

Oh yeah, this was looking promising.

Oliver and Jeff had a telepathic link, so the car was able to closely follow the bloodhound's path. Fortunately corps trackers were enhanced dogs, just like hunters were enhanced cats. Jeff's speed and stamina well outstripped those of a real canine. They were about six miles from their starting point when Jeff stopped in front of a small brick bungalow and howled. Oliver parked the car on the street and got out, allowing Tom and Kit to exit as well. Following instructions, she stayed behind the other two, but her tail swished with the confidence of an avenging angel.

Oliver lifted his hand to knock, but before he could, something began to form on the porch. Oliver backed away as Tom closed in. Another curse, this one a coyote, fangs foaming and dripping.

Damn, this was serious. With a vicious snarl, Tom gathered his strength and leapt at the coyote at the same time as Oliver kicked the door open. Leaving the curse to Tom, Jeff bounded into the house with their boss to take care of the human or humans inside.

Tom caught the coyote around the neck, bringing it to the ground. It was stronger than a mortal animal, just as he was, plus, curses were always mean and cunning. The two bit and clawed, tumbling over one another in a bid for dominance. At the end, though, Tom found himself on the ground, the monster coyote poised to rip out his throat. He hoped to god Oliver and Jeff could get Kit safely away. He gathered up one last surge of energy, hoping he could at least take the mutt with him.

Suddenly there was a feral scream and the coyote lurched. He turned his head, just long enough for Tom to extend his claws and dig deep into the flesh of the creature's neck. Bleeding heavily, the coyote shook itself and Tom saw the reason. A bright ginger tabby clung to its head, clawing at its eyes and nose.

In seconds, the coyote collapsed, but not before flinging Kit into the bushes. An angry roar reassured Tom that Kit was okay. Pretty sure he was only sporting cuts and bites and bruises this time instead of anything life-threatening, Tom slowly, painfully got to his feet, all four of them, just in time to see Kit flounce out of the shrubbery, spitting.

Oh yeah, he'd forgotten to tell her curses taste like shit. Ah well. She'd learned.

Together they padded up the front porch and into the house.

"Marcia?" Of course it came out as, "Mrrrow?" Kit gaped at her former boss, the bitch who'd stolen her boyfriend, and who'd now been webbed into a recliner by a handful of industrious spiders, roughly the size of grapefruit. Oliver stood in front of her.

"I said, do you understand me," he boomed. Damn, his voice was really deep when he wanted it to be. "Nod if you wish to survive this night."

Marcia nodded, fury burning in her over-made-up eyes, now smudged with tears. "This isn't my fault," she screamed. "I didn't do anything except fire the little snot. Let me go!"

Kit lowered her head between her paws to block out the sound. A week ago, she'd have said even Marcia didn't deserve such treatment, but that was before the bitch had tried to kill her. Wasn't firing her and stealing her boyfriend enough? What did Marcia have to gain from Kit being dead?

"Why?" Oliver asked the question softly, echoing Kit's thoughts. Could he read her mind? It wouldn't surprise her. Not much would after tonight. "Why curse Kristina Montgomery? What harm could she do you?"

"It was Steve," Marcia snarled. "Everything was all 'Kit did it this way,' and 'When I was with Kit.' Then he said he couldn't remember why he dumped her, or what he saw in me."

Kit wanted to vomit. Tom curled up against her, and that helped.

Meanwhile, Oliver kept up the questioning. "And that was enough to kill her?"

Marcia snorted. "Kill her? Of course not. It was just a silly little ritual I found online. Everybody knows magic isn't real. It was just something to make me feel more in control. And if it did work, just a little, so what? She didn't deserve him."

Kit hissed. As if she'd take that loser back after the way he'd dumped her. The bitch was right. Kit didn't deserve Jordan. She deserved someone smart and kind and dependable—not to mention sexy.

Like her new neighbor maybe. It—he was definitely worth thinking about.

"I'm telling the truth! I didn't really believe that the curses were real. I mean, sure she got dumped and fired, but those were things I did. I just really wanted her out of the way. I didn't really think I could kill her with a silly spell." Marcia was crying for real now.

"Very well." Oliver chanted something and three small wasps flew from his fingertips. "You will forget about curses. You will have no access to your magical ability, and you will never again remember a reason to harm Ms. Montgomery. The wasps each stung at the same time and Marcia screamed, then slumped into the webbing, unconscious.

"Is that sufficient, Miss Montgomery?" Oliver looked down at Kit.

She nodded.

"The webbing will last until dawn, when she will wake with no memory of tonight. Even her browser history will be wiped so she won't be able to stumble across the curse spell again. Now let's be on our way." Oliver started toward the door, the others following behind him. Once they reached the car he asked, "Everyone all right?"

They all nodded and made their way back to Tom's house, where they changed back into human form, put their clothes on, and shared a late night pizza.

"You did well, Miss Montgomery—Kit," Oliver said. "Are you still thinking of joining our little enterprise?"

Kit nodded. "Very much. Especially since I can still freelance in web design. Besides, it looks as if Tom could use some back-up out there."

Tom snorted. "You don't run into death curses very often, you know. That was only my second in ten years with the corps." Then he grinned. "But yeah. It was good to have you at my back."

"Then I'm in." She couldn't help the broad grin that spread across her face. After twenty-seven years of living, she'd finally figured out what she really wanted to do when she grew up. She wasn't turning chicken now.

She was turning cat.

A little while later, Oliver and Jeff left, and Tom offered to walk Kit home. She accepted, enjoying the stroll across their modest city lots. He lingered on her porch. "I'm glad you're joining, but please remember that it's dangerous sometimes. I don't want you to get hurt."

"Neither do I." She looked up into his eyes, so warm and intense. "Want either of us to get hurt, that is. But it's a good job, and an important one. And I'll have a great mentor."

He chuckled. "Okay." He drew in a deep breath. "I know it's way too soon for anything, but...would you maybe like to go out to dinner tomorrow night? Before working hours, of course. I'd like to get to know you better. On a personal level."

Her breath caught and she nodded. "I'd like that. A lot."

His smile was mind-blowing and she almost melted on the spot when he said, "Whew. I was afraid I'd just made a giant ass of myself."

Kit giggled. "I didn't think you could turn into a donkey. But I like you just fine as a human or a pu—"

He lifted a finger to his lips. "Don't say that. Cat or feline will suffice."

"Aw, lighten up Sylvester. I was just going to say, "I t'ought I taw a puddy tat'. You don't need to get bent out of shape about it." She loved that he laughed along with her.

"All right, Tabby. You win that one." He leaned close and kissed her on the cheek. "But we'll be keeping score for a long, long time, I hope."

With that, he loped off the porch and across the lawn.

Kit held her fingers to her cheek. "Boy, I hope so."

For the first time in forever, she couldn't wait to see what the future would bring.

### The Tenth Life of Vicky Torres

(Court of Annwyn 3.5)

By Shona Husk

People had been getting sick all week. Seth hadn't gone to school for the last three days. Because of the measles outbreak it had been closed. All his father's talk about being ready for a disaster suddenly didn't seem so crazy. Every spare dollar his father earned logging was spent on keeping the cabin prepped so they could grab their bug out bags and head to the mountains and safety.

Seth had thought a bomb, if anything, would've been the cause. But it was plague. Like, biblical plague. There wasn't a single country that wasn't affected and it wasn't a single disease. Ebola in Africa, smallpox in Europe, what had started as a small measles outbreak in California had now spread and was gaining strength. People were actually dying, and not because they didn't have health insurance but because the disease killed them. Rich or poor. City or small town, they were fucked.

He paced and checked his watch. His father should be home soon. He'd been away for five days. Seth had gone out once and bought as much water as he could along with extra tinned fruit and vegetables. After that he'd stayed in and hoped he wasn't already sick. The truck was loaded and he knew where the cabin was.

Dad would be pissed that he'd waited.

He was supposed to leave straight away. But when was it bad enough to head for the hills? The day they'd shut the school? Or when all public gathering had been banned yesterday? Some countries had declared martial law. It was starting to look as though World War Three was going to start as countries started finger pointing and blaming each other for the outbreaks.

Seth's cell phone rang. He snatched it up and answered. "Where are you, Dad? We need to go."

He couldn't believe he'd just said that. They'd argued so many times about the need to prep. People knew his Dad was odd, and it had made high school tough—because surviving his parents' divorce hadn't been enough. He'd had to move from Portland to here, Butt-hole, Oregon, population ten thousand.

"I'm still at camp." His father's voice was strained. "None of us are coming back."

Seth went cold and his skin prickled. "What do you mean?"

"We're all sick. Two are dead. The rest of us are pretty weak."

"No!"

"Listen to me, Seth. You know what to do and you know where to go. You go now."

All those crazy fake evac drills his father had put him through were embedded in his mind. He'd already admitted that he needed to leave. But the idea of going alone? Of being in the cabin so far from everyone? He couldn't do it. He was a city kid—with a rap sheet—which is why he'd been sent here where not even trouble could be bothered to look.

"Seth."

"Yeah, Dad?"

"You have to survive."

He didn't feel like he was seventeen anymore and eager for his own life to start. He was eight again and his father was walking out the door. It would be another six years before they met again.

"I need you." Dad had taught him how to trap and hunt, but he wasn't good at it. It wasn't instinct. Living in the city must have nearly killed his father. Living in the cabin would kill Seth. Maybe he should head for the city and find his mother—they spoke occasionally but she'd washed her hands of him.

"No, you don't. You get in the truck and you drive. You don't stop for anyone. You know the drill."

Seth mumbled something which was close to agreement, sure he was going to wake up and find this was just a twisted dream dredged up by his subconscious.

"Talk me through it, son. What's the drill?"

"Load the truck and drive to the cabin. Don't stop for anyone. I loaded the truck so it would be ready for when you got home." His voice cracked. It took a moment to realize he was crying. Dad wasn't coming back.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have left you."

But he did. All the time to go to work. It had never been a problem. A week ago the town had seemed safe. A week ago he and his buddies had been laughing about the problems elsewhere. Could he swing by and pick up his friends? And if they were already infected? He was really going to have to go it alone.

"It's not your fault." Not this time, anyway.

Dad cleared his throat. "Survive and do something great. I know you're capable."

Seth almost laughed. He was good at getting into trouble. "I'll try."

"Good lad. Get in the truck and start it up."

Seth did as he was told, taking care to lock up the house. The engine of the truck started straight away. His father always took the shit box to work. "You going to stay on the line?"

"No. I'm running out of battery and you need to conserve yours."

Seth closed his eyes and leaned back. He should stay, get infected and die. Everyone else was. "You might get better."

Some people recovered, or they had at the start. Now the death rate was getting higher. He'd seen it on the news.

"Then I'll meet you at the cabin." From the sound of his father's voice, Seth knew that wasn't going to happen. This was it. "Don't let my work go waste. I know you hated it, but I did it for you. I love you."

Seth couldn't breathe. He wanted to yell that it wasn't fair, that he couldn't abandon him again. But the words wouldn't form. "I love you too, Dad."

His words were squeaky, as if his voice was breaking all over again.

"Then fight to survive. This will pass. It's not forever."

Nothing was. He knew that. As soon as he found his feet the rug got pulled and he fell over. "Okay, I'm pulling out of the driveway."

He wanted to drive to the logging camp to see for himself how sick his father was. But survival instinct kicked in. His father had prepped for this, too. If he wasn't coming then his father was doing what he thought best.

"Good. I'm going to hang up soon, once you reach the edge of town."

This was the last time he'd speak to his father. Hhe didn't want it to be all about death. "Do you remember the first time you showed me the cabin?"

There were two things that Vicky knew how to do. The first one was run. The second was rather more unusual and it scared the hell out of her. However, when people had started getting sick and the morgue and hospitals had overflowed, she'd decided to leave the nicest foster home she'd ever had and find somewhere safe to wait out the end of the world...as a cat.

She was pretty sure that when she turned into a cat human diseases wouldn't infect her. Pretty sure. She'd never tested the theory, never had a need to. Turning into a cat was always her last resort as she really didn't like the change—it wasn't quick like the movies, nor was it painless. More like an epic case of all over pins and needles that left her with whiskers and fish breath. All cats had fish breath, right?

And unlike the movies she wasn't a lion or a jaguar or any other big cat or apex predator.

She was a black house cat.

People really didn't like black cats.

Especially not when there were plagues.

Because she was a cat, she couldn't tell people to stop being superstitious fuckwits. If anything, because of the plagues people were being even more stupid. Half the big church leaders were calling it the end of days and yelling for people to repent or something. Her foster parents had gotten caught up in the church thing, too, as more people got sick.

That had been the final straw. She could take care of herself and quite frankly didn't believe in a god for the simple reason that if she'd been born during the witch trials she'd have been burned at the stake—extra crispy Vicky, please hold the ketchup.

She'd made no pact with the devil, not one she could remember, and she was sure that the devil didn't recruit that young. She'd been born like this, and her parents must have known because she was found at a church abandoned and only hours old.

But there were others like her.

There had to be.

She wasn't evil.

Just a shape shifter.

She'd never spent so long as a cat. But it had taken a while to get out of the city. She'd hitched a few rides, being super careful not to be seen. But nowhere seemed better. Everywhere was diseased. So she'd done something a little crazy and headed into the Cascade Mountains.

She could hunt, and she'd rather not got shot at or accused of being the cause of the plague. That was black rats. Rats not cats had carried the Bubonic plague, and this wasn't even the same disease. Panic made people dumb. Not that she was feeling really smart after being a cat for the best part of four weeks. She'd even started licking her fur.

What was next?

Her butt?

Holy fuck, no. She had rules and no one licked her butt for any reason. Herself included. Being a cat might have been easier if her human brain wasn't constantly reminding her how icky raw meat really was. Now she knew why cats threw up all the time.

She was hungry, her fur was matted, and she was cold. She wanted to be a person again but had no clothes or shelter and she knew that her chances were better as a cat. She was tempted to head back into civilization to see if the world was fixed.

Had enough time passed?

She was losing track of days. Her nose twitched. Blood. Her stomach growled as though she were the size of a mountain lion—she'd seen one from a distance. It had looked at her and she at it, her heart beating in a way that suggested it was going to explode. It hadn't. And the mountain lion had gone on its way.

Perhaps her affinity with house cats extended to big cats. She wasn't brave enough to run up and see if she could talk to it. Maybe it had been sizing her up for dinner and had decided she was too small and bony.

Vicky crept through the scrub, determined to see if she could scavenge instead of hunting.

I will not throw up.

I need this meal.

Please let there be a meal.

The scent of blood and...was that some kind of deer? Her cat nose didn't know all the scents. They were stronger and there were more of them—human noses were so lame. But the confusing array no longer made her dizzy.

A large brown deer thing lay dead in a small clearing. It had gotten caught in a trap. Someone knew what they were doing. She glanced around. How far away was the person? Should she eat and run or see if they were friendly? Who wouldn't help a naked sixteen year old?

Her skin rippled along her back. Yeah, she could imagine the kind of help she might get. Old dudes could get a little handsy when they thought no one would ever find out.

She hesitated and gave the air another sniff. She was too hungry to wait. She darted into the clearing, looking for the wound and an easy few bites. Despite her hunger, her stomach still flipped at the idea of raw meat.

Something moved behind her. She startled and turned. The hunter wasn't old, not that much older than her—or should she be counting in cat years? He was dressed in camo and armed with a gun and a knife. From the hard look in his eyes he was no boy scout. This was his kill. And she didn't want to be next.

He watched as she backed away. She hissed for good measure and her fur puffed up. Yeah. Bet he was quaking in his combat boots.

His eyes narrowed. "You hungry, puss?"

_No, dumbass. I just like sniffing dead things._ What came out of her mouth a pathetic meow. If she knew he was alone she'd change. Too soon. He probably wasn't alone. He was too well kitted out.

"I could spare you a bite. You look a little mangy."

_Mange is a skin condition, fuck wit. I need a wash and a feed. Cook that deer up and we can talk._ She stopped backing away and watched him more closely. He hadn't smiled. Nor had he called to anyone for help. How was he going to get the deer back to his camp. Did he live out here?

His skin was tanned, but it looked natural, not from the sun. He had straight dark hair that was past needing a cut and dark eyes. He was cute if you liked the survivalist look.

Right now she did. A lot.

More than a cat should.

"Shit, I've been out here alone too long if I'm talking to you. You little flea bag."

_I don't have fleas!_ Could he get any ruder? She gave him a hiss of displeasure and sat down. She was fairly sure that he wasn't going to shoot her. She was going to take that as a win. He was also alone. Double win.

If she turned back in to a girl, would he panic?

Yes. And probably shoot her. _Play it cool, Vicky_.

They stared at each other and he lost. She deigned to give him a cat smile, which was more of a squint since she had no lips.

"What's your name? Mangy? Sooty? Chatty? Chatty Catty?"

Oh dear God. Was his brain all there?

Although if he cooked her some deer, she didn't care what he called her...she could always pee on his shoes before she left if he turned out to be a prick.

He set about cutting the deer free. His movements weren't as sure, and she smelled nervous sweat on his skin. He kept glancing around and checking the sky. It would be dusk soon. She could smell it and hear the change in the forest.

"I can't carry it all. You can feast on what's left."

_Like hell._ She didn't like liver cooked, raw or otherwise, and intestines were gross any day of the week.

He butchered the animal and started wrapping the chunks. Saliva filled her mouth. Raw meat wasn't as nice as cooked, but it smelled good to her cat nose. He tossed a small chunk her way. Before she could stop herself she pounced on it and ate it...ten second rule was in force. It was still good. She knew real cats didn't worry about the ten second rule. Real house cats didn't like her much either. It was like they knew she was a fake.

The meat got half way down and threatened to make a reappearance. She wasn't eating chuck, not even her own.

Oh God. She couldn't keep it down. She shouldn't have thought about spew. The meat landed back on the ground looking barely chewed. Perhaps that was her problem.

"Eh, bit too hungry to gobble down that much." He tossed a smaller bit to her. "Best eat what you can. There are bigger things than you that will eat what's left." He stood and slung the makeshift bag over his shoulder, then started walking away.

She looked at the carcass, then at him. She wanted a cooked dinner. So she scampered after him.

"Shoo, cat. You aren't getting my food."

Vicky stopped. He didn't point the gun at her, just flapped his free hand. Maybe she should try for cute. She tilted her head and tried to look pathetic—which wasn't that hard.

"I don't do pets."

I don't do dumb asses—no matter how cute in camo—so let's call it even.

Her ear twitched. Something was close. Something big. She sniffed but the wind was going the wrong way. Her fur stood up on end—really she should be able to control that—mimicking a loo brush was not a good look.

He noticed. "What is it, kitty?"

I am so eating your face if you call me that again.

She didn't know what it was, but he started to move faster. So did the thing hunting them...well, him and their dinner.

Then she saw it. Golden, clawed death had never looked so good. Why couldn't she be a mountain lion instead of a black house cat?

_Shit._ Human boy versus mountain lion. This would be all bad. The boy froze. He'd seen it too. He swore but hadn't lifted his rifle. The meat pack slid to the ground. Vicky could see the lion's nose twitch.

She concentrated and "sent" a message to the mountain lion, kind of the way she'd talked to house cats in the past, all images and scents. She suspected she missed the finer points of cat telepathy, but right now delicacy didn't matter. _There's half a deer behind us._

The lion looked at her. It didn't speak with words, but the return images made perfect sense. Camo-boy was in the lion's territory.

_He doesn't know any better. Humans_. She effected a cat shrug while the lion gave a small chuckle—which was more growl like. Camo-boy gripped the gun more tightly.

He doesn't want to hurt you. He is hiding from the human sicknesses. When they pass he will leave.

Lion didn't look pleased. She was confused about why Vicky was helping.

Why was she? Cooked meat? The chance of being safe...not to mention human again.

_He is my human._ She tried to make it something the lion would understand. _He will only hunt what he needs. He is afraid of you._

That the lion already knew. _He will leave me half his deer every time in thanks._ The images were slightly more bloody and graphic than Vicky needed. But she concurred even though she had no idea how to tell the boy that.

The mountain lion melted into the dusk. Vicky heard it circle behind then. She knew when it found the kill by the snarl of approval that reverberated through the forest.

Camo-boy looked at her. "I'm going to call you Lucky."

He had no idea how lucky he was. But Lucky was a name she could live with until she told him she was really Vicky. Then she'd have to work out how to explain what she was.

He really didn't need a pet, and if he did, a cat wouldn't have been his first choice. Especially not such a scrawny cat. Had she been made homeless, or was she simply a feral animal looking for an easy meal?

He'd almost been an easy meal. Despite the warmth of the cabin, he shivered. While he'd seen the signs of a mountain lion around these parts, he'd never seen it in the flesh. Had it seen him previously? That was a very unsettling thought. He might not be a good hunter, but he didn't like being hunted either.

The smell of cooking meat filled the cabin. Killing a deer was wasteful as he couldn't take it all—it wouldn't fit in the tiny freezer which he only ran when needed. He didn't want to run out of fuel. But this deer meant he had fresh meat for days and wouldn't have to worry about food for a while. With the lion about, he was less inclined to wander the woods.

He looked at Lucky who was watching the pan. The little bit of raw meat he'd put on a plate had gone untouched. Was she sick? Were the plagues infecting animals now? He hadn't heard anything on the radio.

Nah, she must just be hungry.

"Hey kitty." He snapped his fingers and she looked around. Her stare was cool and she didn't get up. "You're the first thing I've spoken to in a month." He let his hand drop. "Even you don't want to talk to me."

The loneliness was crushing. And while he'd listened to the chatter on the ham radio, he hadn't joined in. His father had drilled into him the need to keep this place a secret. Although if marauders came looking for supplies he might welcome them in just for the conversation and to remember what company was like.

Lucky got up and rubbed against his ankle.

He patted her head. "It's not your fault you can't talk back."

She meowed as if to refute that and head butted his hand. It might be nice to have some company. He tried not to think about Dad and what had happened. As much as he wanted to head back to civilization, it wasn't safe. He knew not to rush the return, no matter how tempting. Disease was still rampant. War had broken out in Europe, and society was fraying in the US as systems failed. Too many people were dead.

He drew in a breath, determined not to panic. The first few days up here he had fallen apart. He'd cried and been angry. No one had seen and no one had cared. He was the proverbial tree in the forest...did he really exist?

Lucky purred and tilted her chin for another scratch. If he didn't exist, neither did the cat. The cat felt very real. Dinner smelled real. He got up and opened a tin of vegetables and added them to the pan.

He was going to be here for winter.

He was sure of it.

He'd need to start cutting wood.

Keep busy. There was too much free time up here. Too much time to think. Again he wished his father was here. At least they could've played board games and talked. He fed Lucky some cooked meat.

"If you throw up, you're sleeping outside."

Her tail flicked but that was her only response. He knew he didn't have the heart to throw her out. He needed her. Probably more than she needed him.

Camo-boy was so sweet. She stretched out on his bed, enjoying the warmth from his body, which would've been totally more awkward as a girl. After seeing him naked, though, she wouldn't mind pressing up against him.

Maybe when he let her out to go toilet, she could duck behind a tree and change. No cat-shifter conversation required. Yeah, that sounded like a plan. In the morning. Right now she was full and warm and this was the best night she'd had since taking off as a cat.

The morning was overcast and Camo-boy was hopeful for some rain because water supplies were getting low. Apparently there was a river half a day away. His father hadn't wanted to be too close to it, as it would have made this cabin easy to find.

In fact, he'd told her lots of things he wouldn't have told a person. It was like he needed to talk, but he didn't need answers.

Changing back into Vicky would spoil that. But she wanted to talk to him. He needed a human friend. Not a cat.

Once he let her outside, she got distracted by a butterfly before remembering she needed to change. After making sure he was busy and out of sight, she braced herself for the ouch and willed herself to be human.

Nothing happened.

She tried again.

_Nothing._ Had she spent too long as a cat?

A squeak of alarm came out of her mouth. What was wrong with her? She shook her head and tried again and again with the same result.

"Hey, Lucky what's wrong?" He scooped her up. "Have you been stung?"

He checked her paws and face. "Please don't get bit by a snake and die on me. I don't think I could handle it." He kissed the top of her head as she cried without tears or sound.

I'm a person. I'm stuck. Help me.

"Geez, I sound needy. We've been together less than a day and I'm begging you not to leave."

She rested limply against his body as he carried her back to the cabin.

I can't leave. I can't shift.

And she couldn't bring herself to eat either.

After two days he was starting to get really worried. Fear and concern were etched on his face. "You need a vet. Are any vets alive?"

He frowned. "It's not safe to leave. Shit. Please don't die. I thought you were sick the way you kept throwing up the raw meat."

Vicky opened her eyes and looked at him. He thought she was a cat, and he was considering getting her help and risking his life. She couldn't let that happen. She didn't need a vet. She needed a miracle.

With a sigh she moved a little and forced a little cooked meat down.

He needed her to live. If she lived, he'd look after her until she found a way to change. That would have to be enough. But the idea of being stuck like this forever made her want to curl up and sleep until she died.

But she didn't because he needed her, and no one had ever needed her before. She ate and got stronger. She realized that as a cat she needed raw meat to be healthy. She'd been in poor condition after fleeing the city and a few days of not eating hadn't helped.

Camo-boy's name was Seth. He told her about his family life and his parents' divorce as he made her eat and took care of her. She had the feeling it was as much for him as it was for her. But she actually didn't care. No one had ever loved her this much.

Perhaps she was an unlovable human.

It was days later when he announced they were going to the river. He loaded up a sled with giant empty water bottles. Put her on the sled—because he couldn't leave her behind and she needed the fresh air. And off they went.

"I think you used up a life, Lucky."

Huh?

"How many more do you have? What exciting adventures have you had?"

Nine lives. Cats had nine lives.

How many times had she shifted? Her skin went cold as she counted up, twice to be sure.

The first time when she was five after the kids at school were mean—she didn't know who had been more shocked.

When the car almost hit her at eight.

Three times for fun to see if she could make it happen.

At ten to run away because the older boy in the house had tried to sleep in her bed and no one had believed her.

To run away after getting beaten by a foster father because she was researching witches and witchcraft. She'd only wanted to know what she was.

Once because she'd wanted to be free for a little while. Her foster parents had been upset. She'd overheard them saying she was too much trouble and too damaged. But unlike the others, they had kept her and she'd tried really hard to be good. She'd vowed never to shift and be weird again.

Until the plagues.

Nine times.

She'd used up her lives and she'd never really gotten the chance to live. She lay down and watched Seth walk through the brush. Maybe she'd forget what it was to be human and she'd no longer miss it.

What a depressing thought.

Or maybe that was what she needed to do. Forget and move on.

Lucky was definitely not well even though she seemed better. She seemed kind of listless. He'd thought a trip out would have gotten her moving, but she hadn't jumped off the sled once.

Last time he'd been to the river it hadn't looked good. There'd been a few dead animals on the shore. He'd have to boil and filter it all, and without rain he didn't have a choice. However, today the river was flowing freely and there were no obvious signs of death.

That didn't mean he had a good feeling about it.

Lucky sat up, fluffed up and hissed.

He saw nothing. Was the mountain lion stalking him again? He slid the rifle off his shoulder. A woman in odd clothing appeared. How had he missed her?

Lucky gave a peculiar growl.

The woman on the bank looked at him. She was pretty, but her eyes were like ice and she carried a sword. Lucky edged up to his side and the woman's gaze fell on his cat.

"Well, that is interesting. I haven't seen a Cat Sith in a very long time." Her voice held a ring of power that made him want to leave this place.

"I just came to get some water. I don't want trouble." What the hell was a Cat Sith? Was Lucky a special breed?

"The river is fine now, though I suspect the diseases will need to run their course."

"Are you hiding from the plagues?" Seth asked. The woman must have seen the river when it had been edged by death. He was glad he hadn't got too close and that he'd had water to ration.

"Your cat is." The odd woman looked at him. "You don't know what she is." The woman squatted down. "Come here, little Cat Sith."

She clicked her fingers and Lucky started toward her. She was going to take his cat.

"Lucky?"

Lucky crossed the distance without looking back. His heart broke as the woman picked up the cat. "Give me my cat back." The rifle was cool in his hand.

"She isn't yours, mortal child. She is a fairy cat and owned by no one." She patted Lucky and whispered something in the cat's ear before setting her down. "Look after her for a mortal year and a day and you will be rewarded."

Lucky bounded back to him. He picked her up and hugged her. "I love you, Lucky," he said in a voice only Lucky could hear. "A fairy cat? And what are you? A fairy?"

"Lady of the Hunt. A year and a day, mortal." Then the woman vanished. She didn't step behind a tree or dive into the river. She was just gone.

A fairy cat...as if. But he looked at Lucky with new eyes. She'd saved him from the mountain lion and always knew when he needed cheering up. She had arrived when he'd been feeling alone and desperate for company. Lucky purred, something she hadn't done for days.

What had the woman said to her? What had been wrong with Lucky...what was going to happen in a year and a day? "A year and a day. I'm game to find out."

Lucky head butted his chin. He was almost sure that she could understand him. He blushed when he remembered all the things he'd told her. Maybe he could find a way to talk to Lucky. If she really could understand him.

"Can you nod for yes?" He felt such a dumbass standing in the woods talking to a cat.

Lucky gave a single nod.

Right. He swallowed. "You're really a fairy cat."

Another nod but this one was less certain.

"You didn't know you were a fairy cat."

Lucky gave a definite nod.

He was playing twenty questions with a cat.

"Let's get the water and go home." They had a year and a day to work this thing out. He gave her another kiss then set her down. Apparently he was more of a cat person than he'd realized.

He smiled. It was the first time he'd smiled since leaving town.

More information about the Court of Annwyn, fairies, and Cat Siths can be found here: <https://www.goodreads.com/series/87490-court-of-annwyn>

Stories include:

The Outcast Prince

Lord of the Hunt

The Changeling Soldier

To Love a King

The Darkling Lord

Singer of Death

Taming the Assassin

The Night Shift

By Angela Campbell

"I love you like a sister, but no."

Turning around, Hailey Crawford sighed and punched some digits on her new electronic cash register. Point of sale, her ass. She had a better description to explain that POS acronym. She did not have time for this.

"I _am_ your sister, Hailey." Melanie reached to stop her four-year-old daughter from grabbing a handful of the zinnia Hailey had just strewn across the counter.

"Exactly. The answer is still no."

Taking her niece trick or treating on Halloween might _sound_ like fun until she factored in the fact she had two early November weddings to coordinate flowers for, orders to get to the funeral home by tomorrow, and at least a two dozen arrangements to prepare for Thanksgiving season parties. Holidays were the busiest time for her florist shop, and since the last two months had been slower than usual, she couldn't afford to hire anyone else to help right now. Not if she wanted to keep making a decent profit. Besides, Hailey wasn't exactly the good auntie type. She and kids went together about as well as Harry Potter and the Catholic Church. Harper was a cute little thing, for sure, but...from a distance.

Melanie should know all that.

But as she turned around to remind her baby sister, Hailey spotted that frightening old woman peeking through the window front again. Tattered clothes hung from the vagrant's frail limbs as she gazed down at the specially made birthday bouquet Hailey had placed there that morning. Otherwise olive-colored skin appeared gray around the old woman's dark, hollow-set eyes, even as a mostly toothless smile softened her haggard appearance.

The hairs on the back of Hailey's neck lifted as a sickening sensation rumbled through her stomach. She shuddered. The old hag gave her the creeps, and Hailey didn't need her hanging around and scaring customers away.

Ignoring her sister, Hailey rounded the counter and advanced toward the front door. The old woman glanced up, saw her coming, and staggered back and off to the side, her twisted fingers gripping onto a cane. The chime of the bell that announced customers rang out as Hailey got tangled in one of the Halloween decorations and opened the door. She flailed until she was free and forged ahead.

"Can I help you?" Her tone was purposefully not friendly as she stepped onto the sidewalk.

But the old woman was nowhere to be seen. Hailey walked to the edge of the building where an alley separated her florist shop from one of those "need cash quick" stores. All she saw was a silver-coated cat stroking its body against the edge of a dumpster.

Weird. That old lady sure had moved fast for, well, an old lady.

Sighing, Hailey hurried back inside. She had four more orders to finish before closing, and Scarlett had called in sick again, leaving her to man the front of the store alone. She was tired, grumpy, and wanted nothing more than to dig into a pint of ice cream and watch meaningless TV until sleep claimed her. As it was, she'd probably be here until midnight.

"What was that about?" Melanie asked, balancing Harper on her hip now.

"Nothing. Just a creepy old woman who keeps hanging around."

Her sister's concerned glance strayed to the door. "Poor thing. I bet she's homeless. You should invite her in and out of the cold for a while."

"I'll do no such thing," Hailey said. "If she's homeless, there's a shelter across town she can stay at. I don't have time for vagrants."

"Hailey!" Melanie's eyes widened with disbelief. "You should be more considerate. What would Mama say?"

"Mama can't say anything because she's dead."

As soon as the words left her mouth, Hailey regretted them. The way Melanie's eyes welled with tears pierced the hard shell Hailey had built around her heart years ago. It hadn't been easy, raising her little sister after their mother's death, working three jobs to keep a roof over their heads and food on the table. She'd learned too many hard lessons along the way to maintain some kind of Pollyanna attitude now.

Melanie's stance shifted, and she blinked back the tears before they fell. "Forget what I asked. I'll find someone else to take Harper trick or treating, or Dan and I will give someone the tickets he won. I'm not a big fan of concerts anyway."

"Melanie," Hailey called after her sister as she bustled out of the store. Damn it. She didn't have time to treat her sister with kid gloves today. Guilt eating at her brain, Hailey hesitated and then tore after her sister, but the woman was already sliding behind the wheel of her Kia. "Melanie! Come on."

Melanie didn't even look at her as she pulled away from the curb.

"Well, damn."

"Meow."

Pressure against her ankle drew Hailey's attention to the gray cat weaving around her leg. She took a step to the side, but the cat followed.

Perfect, because she hated cats. Nasty, evil creatures.

"Shoo! Go away!"

The cat pressed against her again, so she kicked out at it. It hissed and drew up its back in an arch.

A pang of something—more guilt?—speared her in the chest. She was almost tempted to go inside, find a bowl, and at least set some water out for the stray. Almost, but not quite. She didn't need it to keep hanging around, any more than she wanted the old lady to.

Stepping inside, she tried calling Melanie's cell phone, only to be sent to voicemail. Whatever. Her sister would stop pouting eventually and everything would be fine again. That's what always happened.

Right now, Hailey's main priority was keeping her store in the black. These kind of distractions were unacceptable. She'd worked too damn hard to get her florist shop up and running, and she was finally starting to see some rewards. It was time for her to catch a break, dammit.

She deserved it, didn't she?

She'd made sure Melanie finished school. The brat would have finished college, too, if she hadn't fallen in love and gotten knocked up her sophomore year. For some bizarre reason, Melanie now seemed content to be a stay-at-home mom. Hailey was still amazed her sister and Dan had lasted this long, but they seemed happy. As long as Melanie was happy, that was all Hailey cared about.

As predicted, it was close to midnight when she locked up the store and left. Hailey's head pounded to an unpleasant rhythm in her skull, and her eyes felt like someone had thrown a cup of sand in her face. Mason, North Carolina, was a small town, so she didn't have far to go to reach her modest one-bedroom home. Reaching to turn on the car radio, she hit scan, hoping to find something loud and obnoxious to keep her awake until she got there.

A familiar, masculine voice caused a zing of excitement to shoot straight through fingers to her chest, and she quit poking the scan button. A warm, pleasant tingling spread through her belly as memories of that voice whispering naughty suggestions in her ear distracted her from the road.

"You're listening to Luke Grayson and Shadowlands Radio on this spooky October night. Halloween is just around the corner, so we've got a great topic for you. We'll be sharing tales of the Brown Mountain Lights, folks. Ever been there? Have proof the lights are communication from otherworldly beings? Think it's nothing more than ghosts? I want to hear your theories about our state's most famous legend."

Hailey shook her head, even as a smile lifted her lips. Luke Grayson, the sexiest man she'd ever laid eyes on, aired his nightly paranormal radio show out of Asheville, which was thirty minutes outside of Mason. He taught classes on mythology and paranormal investigations at The University of North Carolina's Asheville campus, or she assumed he still did.

She hadn't seen Luke in about six months, not since she'd decided to end things because his brand of crazy was the last thing she needed in her life. And no matter how much he'd tried, she simply couldn't make herself believe in any of the ridiculous things he did.

Bigfoot? Good grief. Aliens? Sure. Here's a strait jacket.

Vision blurring again, Hailey lifted a hand to rub her eyes, grateful the roads were empty this time of night.

No sooner had she opened them again than she saw gray streak through her headlights, heard a loud thump, and felt her body lurch back and then up in her seat as she slammed on the brakes. Chest heaving, alert and anxious now, Hailey glanced around.

Had she hit an animal?

Oh, god.

She fumbled with her seatbelt before finding her feet on the pavement. She hurried to the front of the car and felt an immediate rush of dizziness when she spotted blood on her bumper.

Grabbing the hood for support, she looked around and spotted a pale, human-shaped figure lying near the edge of the road.

Oh, no. No, please, no.

Rushing over to the person, it took a few seconds for what her eyes saw to register with her panicked brain. First, the person was naked. A woman. _It was a naked woman?_

"Are you okay?" she asked, kneeling beside the figure covered in shadows, hands hovering because she was afraid to touch and do more damage.

Hailey tugged off her jacket and draped it across the woman's body.

A moan escaped the victim's lips, and Hailey pulled out her phone to dial 9-1-1. After explaining to the operator what had happened, Hailey finally registered the features of the woman who was struggling to turn over. Tangled, silver hair glinted in the moonlight.

It was the old hag.

No. No. No.

Dropping her phone, Hailey reached to comfort the woman until the ambulance came and squealed when gnarled fingers clamped onto her wrist. The woman raised her head and began murmuring words Hailey did not recognize. The hag's eyes narrowed menacingly as they met Hailey's gaze dead on.

Goosebumps spread across Hailey's arm as a tingling unease followed in their wake. Even though the air had been still, a brisk breeze tossed Hailey's long auburn hair across her shoulders.

"What are you saying?" Hailey bent to listen, but the words sounded strange and...spiteful. Some kind of foreign language, maybe. Pulling away, the old woman spat on Hailey's leg, fell back, and then moaned until no more sounds escaped her lips.

The ambulance arrived minutes later along with the police. The old woman was barely hanging onto life. The police kept asking Hailey, why was the old woman on the road? What had she been doing? Where were her clothes?

Hailey wanted to know the answers to those questions herself. The possibilities haunted her as she went home and fell into a restless sleep.

As much as Hailey would have liked to take the following day off work, she forced herself out of bed the next morning, feeling sluggish and...odd. That was the only word for the strange sensation wiggling around deep in her gut.

Scarlett was at the shop when Hailey walked in. Her pixie-like assistant took one look at her and proclaimed, "Oh no! I made you sick, didn't I?" Then she sniffled and blew her nose into some tissue.

"I'm not sick," Hailey argued.

"Then why are you wearing your sunglasses inside?"

Hailey yanked them off. Everything seemed extraordinarily bright today.

"You look...different." Scarlett sneezed. "You have weird color in your cheeks."

"I'm fine," Hailey growled, and set about fulfilling the assortment of orders on her slate. Thoughts of the old woman lying crumpled in the road, memories of the words she'd spat, the pressure of her fingers on Hailey's wrist all filtered through her brain throughout the day. Sharing the accident with her assistant crossed her mind, but Scarlett would ask too many questions, no matter how sniffly and congested the petite blonde was.

Concern for her employee got the better of her after lunch, and she told Scarlett to go home. As the clock crawled closer to five, she wished she'd made the other woman hang around. Customers came and went, but the anxious, jittery feeling wriggling inside her body like a parasite remained. At one point, she decided to close early and go home.

Something wasn't right.

As she turned the OPEN sign to CLOSED and locked the door, she noticed the sky in the distance. It was getting dark sooner now that it was October, and the clouds were painted a pink and purple hue in the distance. Halloween decorations on the building across the street danced in the wind.

Her fingers trembled as she started her car and drove home. She took a different route than the night before, just because.

Shadows covered her yard as she pulled into her garage. Hailey had just climbed out of her car and moved to close the garage door when the first sharp stab of pain ripped through her limbs. Burning heat spread like lava through her brain, blinding her and causing her to fall to her knees with a cry of agony.

Her phone. Where was her phone?

Oh, god. She was dying.

Everything tilted and went black.

When Hailey opened her eyes again, she had no idea how much time had passed. Darkness spread before her, and she realized she was looking at her car's tires. Lifting her head, nothing felt right. Moving felt...different. Her muscles felt less encumbered. More flexible.

Disorientation threatened to send her down again, so she stood still a moment longer.

Wait.

A glimpse of black fur as she looked down caught her attention. She reached for it, and a black paw lifted instead. She glanced down. Then she glanced up again.

She was standing, but she couldn't see above her tire?

What the hell is going on?

She moved forward, and she felt as if she was crawling. Her mouth opened to yell, "Help!" but a shrill "Meow!" came out instead.

Panic seized her insides.

She must have hit her head harder than she thought. Have mercy. She needed help.

Moving forward, she wondered if one of her neighbors was home. The Renwicks lived the closest and were friendly. She moved quickly, too quickly, than felt normal. Nothing appeared as it should. It was as if she were stuck to the ground, observing things from too low. The darkness didn't seem all that dark, considering one of the streetlights had been out for a week and hadn't yet been fixed.

How could this be?

She hurried to the front door and stopped on the Renwicks' porch. The strong odor of paint overwhelmed her, even as she dodged ginormous-sized paint cans tucked beside the railing. Looking up, the doorbell seemed impossibly high. She reached for it and fell back when she again saw two black furry paws in front of her where her hands should have been.

"Help!" she tried to scream. "Help me!"

Over and over she shouted, hearing only an annoying yowling escape her mouth.

This. Could. Not. Be. Happening.

The porch light came on, almost blinding her in its brightness, and the creak of the door as it opened vibrated through her body. A pair of man's boots covered by jeans appeared at eye level, so she looked up and felt a spike of hope seeing Jimmy Renwick, her neighbors' teenage son.

"Jimmy! Help me please!"

"Get out of here," he said and pushed his boot toward her. "We don't need another cat hanging around."

"A cat? Jimmy, please! Where are your parents?"

"Stop that caterwauling. Shoo. Go away."

"Jimmy!" She reached for him, only to feel his boot connect with her midsection and send her sprawling backward. As she sprang to her feet again, the clap of a door slamming shut hurt her ears, and suddenly, she was plunged into darkness again as the light turned off.

"Jimmy!"

The splash of water on her nose caused her to jerk her head and scream again. The water stung like acid on her skin. Droplets splashed around her, slow at first, then with more stinging force.

She dashed under the porch deck, crawling until she was safe from the rain.

"Help!" she continued calling out, hoping someone would eventually hear her.

Eventually, she gave up. No one was coming out to check on her. No one could hear her. The rain continued to pelt the ground around her, and she shivered, cold where the fur covering her body was still wet.

Fur.

Black fur.

She examined it more closely once exhaustion calmed her panic. Every limb she moved appeared to be covered in black fur.

She had to be dreaming.

Had to be.

"Miss Crawford?"

Blinking exhaustion from her eyes, Hailey felt momentarily blinded by the sunlight streaming through the window. Her fingers reached for the blankets and scraped through something soft and scratchy instead. Glancing down, she saw her hand caked in mud.

Wait.

She looked around, saw Jimmy Renwick kneeling down and watching her with a furrowed brow.

"Where am I?" Her voice sounded husky to her own ears.

"Um, you're laying under our front porch, ma'am. Everything all right?"

A soft breeze covered her body in goose bumps, and she realized she wore no clothing. Scrambling to cover herself with hands and knees, her voice was higher than she would have liked as she demanded, "Where are my clothes?"

Jimmy stood, his upper body leaving her line of sight. She scrambled forward, squinted her eyes when sunlight threatened to blind her, and blinked her house into view.

"I don't know, ma'am. Should I call someone? The sheriff or something?" He stood with his back to her now.

"No!" Her fingers caught on rough cloth at the edge of the porch. A tarp! She tugged the material away from the edge of the porch, never minding the paint stains splattered across it. She tugged the tarp around her body like a toga as she found her feet. "No police."

His body angled toward her, eyes widening when he saw her. "Should I call my mom? She's just upstairs—"

"No!" She held a hand out. "I'm sorry. I'll bring this back. I'm sorry!"

Turning, praying her backside wasn't showing, she dashed toward her house, grateful to find her clothes from the day before lying in a heap with her purse beside her car. Ditching the tarp, she hurried to the bathroom, the only room that had a large mirror. Parts of her were covered in dirt and grime, but all of her limbs were accounted for. No wounds or scars.

No black fur.

She looked as human as she'd ever appeared in a mirror. Maybe naked and afraid, but...

Hysterical laughter bubbled through her chest. She was losing her freaking mind. The accident must have driven her insane.

"I'm not a cat." Trembling hands pushed the hair on her forehead back as she nodded at herself in the mirror. "Of course I'm not a cat."

Shower. She needed a warm shower, some coffee, and sleep.

As the soothing water poured over her, her mind raced in a million directions. The old hag's face kept filling her vision behind closed eyes. The unfamiliar words echoed around her mind. The sensation of being low to the ground, feeling lithe, and brushing fur with her tongue threatened to send her sanity into a spiral again.

Burrowing into the soft robe, she reached for her phone and dialed Scarlett.

"I need you to cover the shop today. I'm, um, sick." She feigned a sniffle for good measure.

Her intention had been to climb into bed and rest, but her mind wouldn't settle down long enough to allow it. She tugged on a pair of jeans, a black sweater and pulled her hair back with a clip. Grabbing her jacket, she headed for the hospital, only realizing when she got there she had no idea what she was doing.

A quick call to the officer who'd taken her statement after the accident earned her the old hag's name. Or, her temporary name.

Jane Doe.

There had been no identification, and the woman had lapsed into a coma.

With that information, it wasn't hard to find the right room. Attached to an IV in intensive care, the elderly woman appeared deep in sleep as Hailey peered down at her. The sight was unnerving, mostly because of the memories conjured of another woman, another time.

Gray pallor, sunken eyes, thinned hair. The cancer had robbed Hailey's mother of her pretty features months before she'd ended up dying from it.

"Promise me you'll take care of Melanie," had been her mother's last coherent words to her before the morphine had stolen her mind. "Promise me!"

"Are you family?"

Startled, Hailey glanced at the woman dressed in nurse's scrubs as she rolled a cart into the room.

"No. Absolutely not." Moving away, she said, "I'm sorry. I'll leave."

"But—"

Shoving her sunglasses on—everything seemed so freaking bright—Hailey quickened her escape.

"Has anyone here been to The Devil's Tramping Ground?"

Luke Grayson followed the question by turning and writing _Devil's Tramping Ground in Bennett, North Carolina_ on the white board. Hearing nothing but murmurs from the students behind him, he underlined the words and wrote the name of a book he hoped they'd consider buying on the subject. The squeak of the back door opening made him sigh. Wouldn't be the first time a student got up and left during one of his lectures, and it wouldn't be the last. At least it would be one less paper he had to grade.

Smirking at the thought, he glanced toward the back doors, only to see someone coming in rather than leaving. Since class was almost over, that was a new one.

Then he realized who the interloper was, and every cell in his body stood at immediate attention.

Long, auburn hair fell over a set of slim shoulders as Hailey Crawford fumbled her way to an empty seat in the back auditorium. He swallowed.

"Anyone?" he asked, and tried to focus on the task at hand rather the sight of the only woman with the power to make him flap his tongue like a buck in heat.

His small group of mythology students remained quiet, so he perched on the end of his desk.

"Legend says there's a 4-foot circle of bare ground in the forest where nothing has ever grown. Not a tree or a bush or even a blade of grass. Of course, it's been passed down from local residents throughout the years that anyone who dares to spend the night in this circle ends up barely clinging to their sanity the next morning. Animals refuse to go near the spot. Others claim they've seen the devil himself there."

He paused, tried not to look at the woman in back, and picked up his notepad, slapping it against his knee.

"Your assignment for next time is to research this legend online and bring in notes of what you found for discussion. There's the name of a book you might want to check out." He glanced at the clock in back and dropped his papers back on the desk. "Class is dismissed. See everyone next time."

The shuffling of books and papers along with movement and muted conversations was quiet compared to the thump of blood in his ears as Luke allowed himself to meet the gaze of his ex-girlfriend.

Damn.

He'd thought her effect on him had dulled, but then again, he hadn't seen her in a while. Hailey had been hot as hell, and he still had the burns to prove it. The woman had gotten under his skin, and he'd made the mistake of letting her know it, too. Sure, she might have fed him some crap about their beliefs being too different, but Luke wasn't an idiot. He was good at reading people, and the gutsy redhead had been scared as hell of the thought of a serious commitment between them.

Pushing to his feet, he smiled and moved toward her. No one could accuse him of being a coward.

"Don't tell me you decided to audit my class, Miss Crawford. Last I heard, you thought—what was it you said?—that it was one thing to be open-minded, but another to be so open-minded your brains fell out."

At least she had the decency to grimace at that.

"In case you hadn't noticed, I can be kind of a bitch sometimes." Her throat muscles moved beneath a swallow. "You look good, Luke."

He stopped a couple of rows away from her, leaned against the wall, and crossed his arms. Even from this distance her lavender scent teased his nostrils and made them flare with pleasant memories.

"I can say the same to you." And then he waited, because hell if he knew why she was here, and he wasn't going to give too much away this time.

She blew out a breath. "Anyway. I was in town and wondered if you wanted to get coffee. Maybe we could catch up? It's been a while."

"Almost seven months." Not that he'd been counting.

Shaking her head slightly, she moved to her feet, saying, "Yeah, I knew this was a bad idea. Never mind. I should go."

He let her get almost to the exit before calling out, "I didn't say no to coffee."

She froze, and he almost wished she would ignore him, keep walking, and never look back. When she finally turned around, her gaze looked so tormented, he had to stop himself from rushing to embrace her.

"You didn't say yes either."

He pushed away from the wall. "Then I'm saying yes. My next class is in an hour and a half. Let me grab my jacket."

They walked to a café on the edge of campus, neither one saying much beyond mundane chitchat. He seriously doubted if she cared how his radio show had been doing in the ratings, but he answered anyway. She didn't seem surprised when he confessed he'd been given an extra hour on weekends.

"Must be hell on the personal life." The smile she aimed his way seemed a little forced.

He took a seat across from her at a table. "Can't complain." Or rather, he wouldn't. He'd gone out a time or two, had some fun, but nothing serious. Not since she'd kicked him in the gut by walking away.

After ordering some lunch with his coffee, he handed the waitress his menu and carefully took in Hailey's appearance as she did the same. Her face looked strained from lack of sleep or stress, maybe both. Dark lines shadowed her eyes. Her color was pale, noticeably so.

"Why are you really here, Hailey?"

Her green gaze met his, surprised. Blinking fast, she couldn't stop the tear that escaped her control. Before he could ask what was wrong, her face crumpled beneath a sob. She buried her face in her hands and sniffed while he reached across the table, uncertain what the hell he was supposed to do.

"Hailey, baby, tell me what's wrong."

After composing herself enough to be coherent, she did, spilling out some story about driving home late one night and hitting an old woman with her car.

"Hell." Luke didn't care about propriety. He took one of her hands in his, soothed his thumb over hers. "That's rough, sweetheart. At least she's not dead. She's in a coma—that means she might pull out of it."

Sniffling, it took her another minute to pull herself together, her fingers clinging to his without pulling away. Finally, she lifted her gaze and asked, "Do you believe in curses?"

He smiled. "That's a trick question, right?"

"I'm serious."

Luke considered his words carefully. "Hailey. Listen to me. What happened to you was an accident. It wasn't your fault. You're not going to be cursed because of it."

"Luke, she said something to me and used words I didn't understand. She spat on me. And then—" Shaking her head, she pulled her hand away. "I just think she might have done something."

"Like what? Put a curse on you?"

"Maybe." She pushed her hair behind one ear and looked away. "I don't know."

"You've had a shock. That's all. You can't beat yourself up over this."

Their food arrived, and Hailey's expression slowly hardened as he encouraged her to eat something. When he saw she'd closed up again, Luke swore beneath his breath before reminding himself she'd come to him in her time of need. That had to count for something.

Luke would let her retreat, but he wouldn't let her hide. Not this time. Not after he'd seen a glimpse of the vulnerable woman beneath her exterior.

"I'd better go," she said, pushing her half-eaten food away. Standing, she reached for her purse and tossed some money on the table. "Thanks for listening, Luke. It means a lot."

He said nothing.

"I'll see you around."

Turning, she weaved through the tables toward the exit. Luke watched her go, knowing he'd be seeing her again.

Soon.

Dammit! She was a cat again.

Hailey jumped, yes, jumped onto the bathroom counter and stared at herself in the large mirror.

Her small, feline body was covered in sleek black fur. The eyes staring back at her shone green, her natural eye color, the only part of herself she could halfway recognize.

She lifted a hand, and her right front paw rose in the mirror. She lifted both hands and nearly tipped herself backwards off the counter.

Dammit.

At least this time, there had been no excruciating pain during the change. She'd woken in her bed, disoriented, and seen a skinny black, furry arm lying in front of her.

Maybe I'm simply insane and this is a delusion.

Maybe someone slipped me some drugs and I'm tripping out.

Oddly, she kind of hoped that was true. At least she might stand a chance of regaining her sanity then.

No. This felt too real.

Muscles stretched easily as she flexed them. The fur was soft and a little gritty on her tongue. Tasted like cotton. Smelled like bed sheets that hadn't been washed in a while. _Gross_.

Venturing out of the bathroom, she explored her house with a new, lower perspective, grateful she was locked safely indoors this time. Testing her limbs and agility, she found she could leap pretty damn far without hurting herself and always seemed to land on her feet.

She did knock off one of her favorite vases, which pissed her off—damn cat, even if the cat _was_ her—and found she enjoyed peeking out of the uncovered window in the kitchen. There was a mouse crawling through the grass in the neighbor's yard, but Hailey could see the little sucker as clear as day.

Stomach growling, she glanced at the fridge. Well, dammit. She guessed she wasn't eating tonight.

When she walked, she practically floated, it was so easy. Wondering how high she could jump upward, she focused on the bookshelf. She tested her feet, pushed off the ground and almost hit the top but landed on the highest shelf instead, back paws clambering for a hold to pull herself up. Some objects tumbled to the floor, and she glanced down, a little surprised to see the framed photo of her and Luke among them. Hadn't she put that in a box already? Leaping down, she pawed the frame.

With his Native American heritage, Luke had inherited his rugged good looks from his ancestors. Dark hair, a little shaggy—she'd always had to remind him to get a haircut—brushed over come-hither gray eyes. The man had been something else. He'd always smelled like Irish Spring soap and sandalwood. Sniffing, Hailey's senses were assaulted by the musky smell of dust.

She sneezed.

The sound of a car door slamming and a child's voice drew her attention to the front door. Knocks vibrated through her body.

"Hailey? Open up. We need to talk."

Melanie!

Hailey sprang onto the sofa, calling out to her sister. Meowing followed.

The sound of a key scratching around the lock preceded the door opening, and Harper toddled in, screaming, "Kitty!" when she spotted Hailey on the furniture.

Her niece ran for her with the grace of some sort of miniature Godzilla, and every instinct in Hailey's small body said, _Oh, hell no_. She tried to dart away, but Harper's vise-like hands grabbed her hind legs before she could get far enough. The kid squeezed Hailey tight to her chest. "Mama! Look!"

"Why is there a cat in Hailey's house? She hates cats." Melanie walked to the bedroom. "Harper, be careful with the cat, honey. Hailey, where are you?"

Hailey squirmed. For the love of God, Harper was like an octopus. Her hands were everywhere Hailey didn't want them to be.

"Mama! Look!" Harper squealed and ran to where Melanie stood with a confused look on her face. "Can I have the kitty? Please!"

"Harper, no. Your dad is allergic." Melanie reached and Hailey found her body being used in a tug of war between mom and daughter as Melanie tried to extract the animal from the child's grip. "Careful, honey."

The sensation of flying startled Hailey as her sister lifted her, and her paws clutched at Melanie's shoulders. Holy fishsticks, she hoped Melanie didn't drop her. Fingers gently stroked the fur at Hailey's back, and a soothing purr escaped her control. Sweet mercy, that felt wonderful. Harper screamed and cried, demanding the cat, but Hailey barely noticed, she was floating in so much bliss.

"I don't know why your aunt has a kitty here, but I'm sure there's a good reason." Melanie turned away from the child.

Hailey purred and purred in ecstasy, eyes closed as her sister moved around from room to room, petting her as she went. Finally, Melanie said in a low murmur, "She must have left with someone." She sighed and dropped a kiss on Hailey's furry head. "Of course, she didn't leave you anything to eat or drink, did she?"

As soon as Melanie set her on the floor, Hailey made a run for the sofa, squeezing underneath and out of reach of little hands. Peeking out, she watched her sister put two bowls in the floor. Hailey's mouth watered as the scent of tuna followed the tearing sound of metal.

"Here you go, Kitty." Melanie's feet moved to the kitchen table. Silence followed for several seconds. Finally, she moved back into view. "Come on, Harper. We've got to go meet Daddy."

"Won't the kitty be lonely?" Harper said in her sweet little munchkin voice.

"Know what? Let's turn the radio on for it."

Music filled the air, feet shuffled across the floor, and the door snapped shut. Seconds later, a car engine started, and Hailey crept out from the sofa.

The tuna exploded on her tongue with a fusion of flavors. _Nom. Nom. Nom._ This might have been the most delicious meal she'd ever eaten. She didn't even care that she practically had to bury her face in the bowl to get to it.

Licking her chops, she pranced back to the sofa and settled down. She sure was tired, considering she'd just awoken not too long ago.

Sometime later, the sound of a familiar voice teased her awake again, and she stretched, feeling well rested.

"...old friend today, and she asked me this question — 'Luke, do you believe in curses?' So I decided to make it the topic of the first hour of the show tonight. I want to hear your thoughts and your experiences."

Luke's deep, seductive voice filled the air, and Hailey remembered the radio had been turned on for her. Her ears twitched as she moved closer to the speakers. Curling up, she closed her eyes and let his voice comfort her. A soft purr rumbled her chest, and she popped her eyes open.

Good grief, that was embarrassing. How did she control it? Geez.

An hour passed of mostly uninteresting calls in which one lonely person after another shared stories of bad luck that could only be contributed to a curse. Just as she was about to doze off, Luke made things interesting.

"I thought I'd share a little research I did tonight on the topic," he said. "The legend of the skinwalker is prevalent in many Native American cultures, and since our closest neighbors here are the Cherokee, I wonder if any of our listeners have any tales of that sort to share. Call in and let me know. Rumor has it a curse can cause a person to transform into any animal. Fact or fiction?"

A few minutes later, an older-sounding man came on the line. His tone was slightly stilted in that way that indicated a Native American accent. "You mentioned the legend of the skinwalker."

"I did. What can you tell me?" Luke asked.

"I grew up on the reservation in Cherokee, and I've heard many stories of the skinwalker. My cousin claimed he knew of one. She'd been cursed because of some bad actions of her ancestors. Every night, she transformed into a cat. In the daylight, she was as human as you or me, unless she chose to transform at will."

"A cat?" Luke scoffed. "Why not a wolf or bear? A cat seems so simple."

"The cat was her totem animal. It is different for every person."

Hailey rose and arched her back. Totem animal? What the what?

The conversation detoured away from skinwalkers and curses in general, but Hailey continued to listen, feeling her first spike of hope since this ordeal had begun.

After asking Scarlett again to run the store, Hailey spent the morning researching skinwalkers and curses online. She couldn't find much in regards to the Cherokee origins of the legend, and certainly nothing to suggest a way to end the curse, assuming she was on the right track.

Frustrated, she got dressed and decided she had no choice but to turn to the one person who might believe her—if she could convince him this wasn't a joke.

Jerking open her front door, she gasped and sprang back.

Luke stood there, hand poised over the doorbell, a cup holder with two coffees balanced on his other hand.

"I stopped by your shop, but the girl there said you were sick." His eyes sparked with heat as his eyes raked over her. "You look okay to me."

Warmth heated her cheeks. He looked delicious, too. "I've taken a couple of mental health days after what happened."

His expression softened. "How are you doing? I wanted to come check on you. Make sure you were okay."

He'd driven all the way to Mason to check on her?

"I was coming to see you, actually." She stepped aside and gestured for him to enter.

"Really?" But he didn't sound surprised.

She shut the door and considered how best to approach this as she shrugged out of her jacket. "Can we talk?"

"Of course."

He took a seat on the sofa, and she sat, one leg curled under her so she could face him. He passed her a coffee, and she sipped it gratefully.

"Have you heard anything from the hospital?"

She shook her head. "I haven't checked." Clearing her throat, she glanced at him from beneath her lashes. He was watching her, a hint of wariness mixed with interest glinting in those gray-blue depths. "Luke, I need to tell you something. You'll probably think I'm crazy, but I'm being completely serious."

"I'm listening."

She began carefully, sharing the details of the past few nights. Once she started talking, she couldn't stop, and her voice rose and sped up with each word. "And then I woke up again this morning and I was human again. Oh god, I sound like a lunatic."

She buried her face in her hands.

After a few seconds, her fingers were pried away. Luke frowned, even as he curled his fingers around hers. "Baby, look at me."

She met his gaze and saw concern etched there.

"You've had a shock."

"I'm not crazy, Luke." She swallowed. "Am I?"

He shook his head and tugged her across the space separating them. His heat comforted her as he pulled her into the curve of his arm. "Of course not."

"You believe me?"

His hesitation spoke volumes. "You said yourself—you heard the caller last night. That's kind of a coincidence, don't you think? Maybe your subconscious...I don't know. We'll figure it out."

He thought she was suffering from some kind of delusion? The jerk! She shoved away from him. "Fine. Why don't you stay with me tonight and see what happens?"

His tone was slightly strangled as he repeated, "Stay with you tonight?" He cleared his throat, his mouth ticking upward. "Baby, as tempting as that is, I have a show. You know that."

"I'll come to the station with you."

His eyebrows lifted. "You want to come to the station with me?"

She shrugged. Why not? It could solve two purposes—either prove she was telling the truth or that she was crazy. And if she was telling the truth, Luke could invite his listeners to offer solutions.

She moved to her feet and crossed her arms. "Yes."

He sighed and stood, too. "I guess we can do that. In the meantime, why don't we stop by the hospital and check on the old lady? It might ease your mind if she's no worse."

She considered it. "Maybe."

"Come on. You need to get out of the house for a while. We'll spend the day together. I promise I'll help you through this."

His words tugged at something deep inside her and triggered a wave of longing so strong it ached. "Promise?"

"I promise."

Considering all he'd learned today, it was no wonder Luke was feeling a little overwhelmed as he directed his car into the parking lot of his apartment building. His show didn't start for another few hours, but it would be dark soon.

Maybe he shouldn't have brought Hailey with him, but the idea of leaving her alone after what she'd confided had seemed innately wrong.

Their visit to the hospital hadn't put him at ease either.

Momentary surprise had flittered through him seeing the small tattoo just below the old woman's collarbone. It had been a tattoo of a cat with turquoise-colored eyes. Many Native American tribes believed turquoise warded off evil.

Walking into his apartment with Hailey at his side brought back a rush of memories. She'd spent most weekends with him when they'd been together. It felt right, seeing her here again. Her presence filled the space like a warm heater on a cold day.

She paced, her eyes flicking to the clock over his TV every few seconds. "Do you have a video camera?"

"I use one on investigations."

"Can we set it up?"

His mind immediately spiraled to naughty thoughts involving them and a bed. Or maybe the couch. Or the floor. Or wherever the hell she was willing.

She caught his look and must have mistaken his hesitation for something else. "Humor me?" She began tugging her jacket off, which did not help the direction of his thoughts.

He retreated to his bedroom to find the camera, made sure the batteries were charged and grimaced when they weren't. He blew out a breath. Maybe they had enough juice to capture whatever she wanted captured.

He walked back into the living room and nearly dropped the device when his gaze saw that she was standing there, dressed only in a bra and panties.

"It's not like you haven't seen it before." Her tone was full of sass as she put her hands on her hips. "When I change, I don't want my clothes getting in the way."

He swallowed and set up the camera, careful not to let his eyes stray toward her, afraid he might start drooling if they did.

"I have to be at the station in a little over an hour, Hailey. Are you sure you want to come with me?"

"Meow."

Something brushed against his leg.

"Meow."

Luke jerked upright and stared at the black cat twining itself between his legs. Holy freaking crap.

"Hailey?" There was no sight of her in the living room. Her bra and panties lay in a pile in front of his television. "Hailey, where are you?"

"Meow." The cat stretched up and pawed at his knee.

"Hailey?"

The cat sat back on its haunches and looked up at him. There was something about the animal's eyes that captured his attention. They sparkled with a green hue that was familiar.

Because Hailey's eyes were that color.

"I don't believe this." Stunned, he looked around his apartment again, just to make certain she wasn't hiding and playing some elaborate joke on him. The cat followed at his heels, meowing as if it was cussing him out.

Hailey wasn't in the apartment. Her clothes, her purse, her license and phone and everything else she'd brought with her still was.

Plus, a cat was here.

Sweet mother in heaven. She'd been telling the truth.

The next morning, Hailey found she could barely meet Luke's eyes across the table as they both struggled to force down breakfast. Waking up naked, curled up against him—where she'd fallen asleep as a cat—had been more than a little awkward given the circumstances.

He didn't seem to have the same problem. He stared at her as if she were a science project he was judging.

"For god's sake, what do I do now, Luke?"

He said nothing, but he finally looked away. Finally, he shrugged. "Someone has to know who the woman is. We need to find him." He stabbed his eggs and pushed them into his mouth. "The guy who called the show the other night. I asked my producer to track him down, and he sent me a text this morning with the man's phone number."

She nodded and watched him beneath her lashes. It was nice, knowing that someone believed her. Even nicer because it was him.

"Thank you, Luke."

A hint of a smile crossed his lips. "I've cancelled my classes for the day. We should get going. We're meeting Mr. Vann, and it's a bit of a drive."

Mr. Vann turned out to be an elderly man in his seventies who lived outside of Cherokee. His weathered face was softened by his clean-cut appearance. A former lawyer, the man didn't look like a Native American.

But he seemed to know a lot about his culture and didn't mind talking about it. After Luke prodded, the man admitted he'd been the one to know the girl, a skinwalker, and not his cousin.

"The girl I mentioned when I called your show—yes, I knew her. Not a girl now. She'd be a few years older than me."

"Do you know her name?"

"Leotie. Last I knew she was near Asheville. Mason, I think."

"Do you know if she had a tattoo?" Luke asked the man.

"Of a cat. Yes."

Hailey felt relief pour over her. Finally! They were getting answers. She scooted to the edge of the chair in which she was seated. "Mr. Vann, this is going to sound crazy, but you think she could really turn into a cat?"

The man considered her carefully. "I know it's true that she did. I saw it happen. I tried to help her after that. Nothing we found would end the curse. Except—"

"Except?"

He settled back in his seat and looked at his hands. "We found a shaman who taught her how to control the change, do it at will, even transfer it if the need arose. He told Leotie that the curse would always remain with her until she died. He suggested that if she found a love approved by the spirits, the curse might end. She hoped it would be with me, but I only cared for her as a friend. It was a long time ago."

"You said she could transfer it," Luke inserted. "How?"

"Oh, I don't know. It was a long time ago."

Hailey's optimism dulled, as no more answers were forthcoming. Luke drove her back to Mason in silence, obviously as disappointed as she was.

"Look, Hailey. We can still figure this thing out. I'll find a shaman. We'll get answers. It simply might take a while longer than we'd hoped." His hand slid off the steering wheel to cover hers. "Don't be discouraged."

"Easy for you to say. You're not the one who turns into a cat every night."

"We're in this together. You hear me? I promise."

Hailey wanted to lean against him and accept his warmth, but how could she? This was her problem. She cared too much for Luke to make it his, too. She'd been selfish in the past, putting her needs—or rather, her fears—above his. Not this time..

"Will you take me home?" She pulled her hand away. "I need to get back to work."

"Hailey—"

"Please, Luke."

He took her home, and Hailey hesitated in getting out of the car. Leaning over, she kissed him, soft, and whispered, "Thank you, Luke."

After changing clothes, Hailey started for the shop. Jimmy Renwick was outside, throwing rocks at something. A scraggly orange and white cat darted away from her neighbor's house.

She put her car in park and climbed out, yelling, "Jimmy Renwick! What the hell are you doing?"

His arm was drawn back to throw a brick this time. Spinning at her voice, he dropped it at his feet. "Miss Crawford. Hey. Uh, I was just trying to get rid of another stray. Damn cats keep coming around."

Kneeling, Hailey stretched out her hand and made clicking sounds with her tongue. "How would you feel if someone threw rocks at you?"

His brows lifted. A soft chuckle left his lips. "I saw you do it one day last week."

The skittish cat crept closer, and she scooped the ragged animal up in her arms. She shot Jimmy a glare over its furry head. "You won't ever see me do it again. I catch you doing it, I'll have words with your parents."

Turning, she carried the dirty pile of fur and bones back to her house. Placing it on the floor, she hurried to set out a bowl and some tuna for the poor thing. "You can stay here for a while. No one will bother you."

Scruffing the cat behind the ear, something stirred in her chest at the sound of its grateful purr. It brushed its head against her palm and flopped onto its back. Her lips tugged up. Maybe cats weren't such bad animals.

Scarlett was beyond happy to see her return to the shop, and together they filled some new orders that had come in. It felt good, to be back at work. Normal. But the threat of nightfall hung over Hailey's conscience like a weapon ready to strike.

For the first time, she wondered how her evening would go, now that she'd invited another cat into her home. Maybe she would put the animal out at night—just in case. Last thing she needed was to get into a catfight or fend off a horny animal all night.

Even though she knew she didn't have much time, Hailey stopped by the hospital to share the woman's identity with her doctors. It was the decent thing to do.

Leotie's eyes were closed, machines beeping out alerts and humming in the otherwise quiet space. Hailey took a seat beside her bed and sat for several minutes, processing everything that had happened.

She wasn't the same person she'd been three days ago. Oh, what she'd give to be able to take her niece trick or treating. Harper was an amazing child. Shame that she'd denied spending any time at all with the kid weighed like a cement block in the pit of her stomach.

And Luke.

Why had she driven him away? Love for the man filled her chest anytime she was near him, and most of the time when she wasn't, if she were honest.

Slipping her hand into Leotie's, Hailey leaned closer to the woman. Water blurred her vision as she whispered, "I'm sorry I did this to you. I'm sorry I treated you badly. If I could go back in time and change the way I treated you, I would."

A gasp left Hailey's mouth as she felt pressure grip her fingers. Glancing up, she saw the old woman's eyes gazing back at her. For long seconds, neither one said a word.

"I transferred it to you only because I cannot change while I'm here," the woman finally said. "It's not permanent."

Hailey sprang to her feet. "I'll get a doctor."

Leotie was still coherent as the doctor looked her over. When the man left the room, Leotie gestured Hailey over to her again.

"I can't change while I'm injured. When they release me, I will reverse the curse."

Hailey nodded. "I understand. Take as long as you need to recover."

"You _have_ changed." Her mouth eased into a smug smile as Leotie's eyes drooped. "Hurry. Almost dark."

Hailey got home in just enough time to lock Harry—the name for her new pet had come to her during the day—into the spare bedroom with food and water before she poofed into a cat.

Luke had no idea who would be knocking at his door this early. Bare-chested, he was zipping the fly of his jeans even as he glanced out the peephole.

Adrenaline spiked through him seeing a flash of reddish-brown hair.

He jerked the door open. "Hailey. Everything okay?"

He hadn't seen her since he'd dropped her off at her house. He'd figured she needed a little space, but he hadn't planned to stay away much longer.

She held up a cup holder. Two coffees.

"Did I wake you?" She looked indecisive. "It's almost eleven."

"I had a late night." He gestured her inside. "You okay?"

Nodding, she glanced around, her gaze stopping on his naked abdomen. "I hoped we could talk. I can come back later."

"No." He reached to stop her exit. "I'm glad to see you."

Her shoulders relaxed. "I'm glad to see you, too." She explained what had happened since he'd last seen her, adding, "I've been visiting Leotie every day in the hospital. The doctor says she should be able to leave in a day or two. I've offered her a job in my store. She loves flowers. That's why she always hung around my boutique."

"And the curse?"

"I'm getting used to it, but I trust Leotie to reverse it when she gets out of the hospital. She couldn't risk turning into a cat while she was there. I was the most convenient person to do the switch with, and I'm actually grateful it happened."

He couldn't help smiling at her. "Care to explain that bit?"

She shrugged. "I needed a new perspective on life. I made a new friend in Leotie. I have a new appreciation for cats. In fact, I have a few now. I keep rescuing strays because I feel sorry for them. Heaven help me, but my niece thinks I'm the coolest person on the planet because I now have cats, and I hope to take her trick or treating in a few days." She held up her fingers, crossed. "It also gave me a chance to see you again."

He liked the direction this was taking. "Is that right?"

Nodding, she took a step toward him. "I'm sorry I pushed you away, Luke. I fell for you like a ton of bricks, and that scared me. I've never felt that way about anyone before."

He took a step forward. "Same here."

"Really?"

"You know I'm crazy about you." Her face was warm beneath his fingers. "I think I fell in love the moment I first laid eyes on you."

"Who wouldn't? I looked pretty good that night." She flashed him a mischievous smile as she stepped even closer, their chests brushing against one another. Sighing, she looked up, more serious, and slid her arms around his middle. "My nights aren't free yet, but I figured we could spend some time together during the day. If you want."

"Oh, I want." Gripping her hair in his fingers, he tugged her head back, tilted her mouth into the best position to cover it with his own.

Call him crazy, but he thought she might have even purred.

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### About the Authors

Angela Campbell, who served as the Cover Magician for this anthology as well as a Contributing Scribe, is an overachiever with a soft spot for men who dress funny. Superman, Charlie Chaplin, Dracula, Doctor Who, Elvis—those are her kind of heroes. Angela read her first romance novel at 16 and immediately attempted to write one, too. Many attempts (and a couple of decades) later, she published her first novel through Carina Press. A mild-mannered reporter with almost 15 years of experience as a general assignment reporter, features editor and graphic designer, Angela has also worked as a production assistant in TV and film. Learn more about her books at http://www.angelacampbellonline.com.

**Shona Husk:** Three time ARRA finalist Shona Husk lives in Western Australia at the edge of the Indian Ocean. Blessed with a lively imagination she spent most of her childhood making up stories. As an adult she discovered romance novels and hasn't looked back. Drawing on history and myth, she weaves new worlds and writes heroes who aren't afraid to get hurt while falling in love.

With stories ranging from sensual to scorching, she write paranormal, sci-fi, fantasy and contemporary romance. She is represented by the Ruben Agency, and her website is www.shonahusk.com

**Cindy Spencer Pape** firmly believes in happily-ever-after and brings that to her writing. She was determined to make sure Dash and Delphie ended up together! Award-winning author of 16 novels and more than 30 shorter works, Cindy lives in southeast Michigan with her husband, two sons and a houseful of pets. When not hard at work writing she can be found dressing up for steampunk parties and Renaissance fairs, or with her nose buried in a book. Visit her at http://www.cindyspencerpape.com

### About Meankitty Publishing (MKP)

Meankitty Publishing is the self-publishing "arm" of author Jody Wallace. The other Here Be Magic authors agreed it would be funny for MKP to release this free anthology. MKP is not taking submissions, and it is not a formal company. It is merely a label that amuses Ms. Wallace, the other Here Be Magic authors, and Meankitty very much. The list of all MKP releases and version information is at www.meankittypublishing.com.
