The Cat's Meow: A Halloween Anthology

by Hera B. Magic



  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 https://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.r />
  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 barel
y 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.”