by Molly Fitz
The whole thing made me sick… and terrified. All I wanted to do was wake up from this horrible nightmare and go back to my normal, if a tad unexciting, life.
So I changed into my favorite matching flannel pajama set even though it was still the afternoon and the outside temperature was well over eighty degrees. Sometimes I missed my hometown in Northern Michigan where it was chilly more often than not, and my jammies—along with the added help of an overworked tabletop fan—helped allay the occasional bout of homesickness.
Right now, I wanted my mama. It didn’t matter that I was an independent twenty-something. I’d been hurt, and I was scared. And just because I’d grown up didn’t mean I couldn’t turn to my mother in times of great need…
The fact that she didn’t answer the phone when I called, however, meant precisely that. I hung up instead of leaving a voicemail, then fired off a quick text asking her to call me back whenever she got the chance.
Fluffy meowed and jumped up on the couch beside me. His whiskers twitched as he tried to discern whether I had anything worth eating. When he didn’t find any food, he sunk his teeth into the edge of my sleeve and growled softly.
“Good idea,” I said. “Today definitely calls for some ice cream.”
I scooped up some of our favorite flavor—plain vanilla bean—into one of my lesser used breakfast bowls, grabbed a spoon and the remainder of the gallon, and settled myself back on the couch. The bowl was for Fluffy. I needed the entire container.
As we ate together, I began to share the events of my day with my feline companion. “That cop was so mean,” I whined. “I mean, why would she just automatically assume I killed my boss? It was terrible. Just awful. To see the life leave his eyes. I don’t think I’ll ever forget it.”
Fluffy sat up straight and cocked his head to the side. Sometimes, in moments like this, it felt like he could actually understand me.
“Mew?” my Maine Coon asked.
“Oh, yeah. I guess I should start at the beginning, huh? Well, my boss at the coffee shop, Harold. He died today.”
“Harold is an awful name,” Fluffy rasped.
“I know. I never thought anyone in the—” I stopped suddenly and closed my mouth up tight, then just stared at Fluffy for a long moment. Was I really so worked up that I was now hearing things?
I laughed at myself. “Silly me,” I said with a deep breath out. “Thinking you’re talking to me, Fluffy.”
“My name’s not Fluffy,” the cat said, then hopped off the coffee table and onto the sofa beside me. “So don’t call me that anymore.”
“Wh-wh-what?” I sputtered, rubbing my eyes until I saw stars. “I’m seeing things. This isn’t real.”
Fluffy clucked his little sandpaper tongue. “You meant to say you’re hearing things, and no, you’re not. I’m talking to you, Gracie.”
I jumped off the couch and spun wildly around the living room. “Come out, come out wherever you are!” I shouted with a mad laugh, not really sure who I was confronting here. “The joke’s up. Haha, you actually had me convinced Fluffy was talking. Yup, I’m crazy! You win! Now come out and fess up!”
Fluffy let out an enormous yawn, then settled down with his paws tucked into himself. “You are most definitely acting crazy. Also I already told you my name’s not Fluffy, so will you please stop calling me that?”
I gasped, then sunk to the floor before I could pass out and crash down onto it. “This is not real. This is not real,” I murmured, acting quite similarly to how Kelley had when she was balled up and rocking in that club chair back at the coffee shop.
“What’s not real?” Fluffy asked, jumping off the sofa and striding over to me.
“You can’t talk.”
“I can talk, but it seems you’re not very good at listening.”
“Are you going to hurt me?”
“Of course I’m not going to hurt you. I need you to feed me, don’t I? Silly human.”
“What do you want from me?”
“The aforementioned food and also for you to stop calling me Fluffy. I much prefer the name given to me by my ancestors, thank you.”
“Um… Okay. What should I call you?”
“The name’s Merlin, and I come from a long and noble lineage of wizards dating all the way back to King Arthur.”
“You’re magic?” I asked with a quick breath in.
“Duh,” my cat spat, and then I officially passed out.
4
Night had already fallen by the time I regained consciousness. I’d like to say that I experienced a few blissful moments of ignorance as to the day’s events, but that’s not what happened.
First one eye squinted open… and I remembered my boss had died right in front of me and that I was a suspect in his possible murder.
And when my other eye popped open… I remembered my cat could talk and also claimed to have descended from wizards.
Ugh. I just wanted to go back to sleep and wake up when this was all over. Was it too late to drop out of school and move far, far away from this place?
Well, I was awake now, and I had to do something. I had no idea what to do about my cat, and I felt uneasy being home alone with him here in my dark house, so I decided to drive to the coffeehouse and see if I could find something that would prove my innocence.
Thankfully, I had a key from the many times I’d been forced to work both opening and closing shifts. I parked at the other end of the strip mall out of some small sense of self-preservation, then crept toward Harold’s House of Coffee and let myself in.
A shiver wracked through me as I used my cell phone’s flashlight to guide my steps toward the tiny back office. I probably shouldn’t have been there, but I definitely shouldn’t have been blamed for a crime I didn’t commit. Maybe Harold’s paperwork would reveal a secret mistress or embittered rival. I thumbed through stack after stack of timesheets, noting that despite having less seniority Kelley earned more per hour than I did.
And that jerk Harold had told me minimum wage was the best he could do! I continued flipping through the records of money in and money out, finding no alarming departures from the standard totals week after week. I was just about to move my attention away from the desk and toward the filing cabinet when a clack-clacking sounded just outside the office door.
I froze in place and willed my galloping heartbeat to settle.
“Please be a rat. Please be a rat,” I whispered to myself when I realized it would be impossible to hide from an intruder, then grabbed the biggest, most solid object I could find—a stapler—and crept out of the office.
“You’re about as stealthy as a one-winged bird,” a deep, vaguely familiar voice said from the shadows.
And then Fluffy—I mean, Merlin—stepped forward, his pale green eyes giving off an eerie otherworldly glow.
“What are you doing here?” I whisper-yelled.
“I know you left the house to get away from me,” he said, his tail swaying in a large sweeping motion behind him.
“What?” I said. “That’s—no. No, I didn’t. Um, how did you get here?”
He sighed, letting out the unpleasant scent of stale milk, thanks to the ice cream we’d shared earlier. “I used magic, obviously.”
“Oh, um. Why? I can handle things on my own here?” I wasn’t sure why that came out as a question. I guess my nerves were still rattled by the fact my boss was dead and my cat could talk.
“Sure, you can.” Merlin scoffed at my alleged independence, then shook his head and continued. “Look, I don’t care why you killed this Harold guy. That’s your business, not mine. But the thing is since you’re my familiar now, I’m going to have to ask you to stop taking wild risks with your safety.”
“Come again now? I’m your what?”
“My familiar. All good witches and wizards have them, and you’re looking at one of the best.”
“I don’t want to be your—”
“Too late! Since I confided my secret in you, we are now bonded. N
o take-backsies.” That irksome feline had the audacity to smile as he announced this.
I swooned and staggered backward. “I’m sorry. This is all a little much. Also I didn’t kill Harold.”
“Sure, you didn’t.”
“I didn’t! That’s why I’m here. I’m looking for proof that someone else did it. Although the best option is still that he died of natural causes.”
“He didn’t,” my cat informed me matter-of-factly as he sniffed at the air. “I can sense the rage and ill feelings in this place. It’s thick like a smog.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Oh, then you know who did it, too?”
“Not a clue, but it’s probably better you let the police handle this. You’ll have enough to keep you busy now that you need to learn the ropes of being someone’s familiar.”
“I really don’t have the energy for this,” I pouted, then let out a long yawn.
Merlin touched my foot with his paw, and a little jolt of energy ran through me—a sudden pick-me-up that was even more powerful than a double shot of espresso.
I stopped to gape at my feline companion. “Whoa, you really are magic. Aren’t you?”
“Yes, clearly.” He rolled his eyes at me, a gesture I didn’t even know a cat could make. “Oh, and also, you can’t tell anyone.”
“I won’t,” I promised as my hands shook with fear. “Who would I tell?”
“Not my problem,” he informed me, turning to trot away. “But if you do tell, you’ll be immediately transported to the dirtiest, seediest, awfullest magical prison that ever existed.”
“Oh.” My hands shook even harder now, and I dropped the stapler. A loud clatter rang through the empty coffeehouse, and my heart practically stopped beating in my chest.
My cat returned with a sneer. “Stop futzing. You’re my representative now, and I don’t take kindly to being embarrassed.”
Ugh. What had my life become?
5
When we returned home, Merlin disappeared into the darkness, mumbling something about witchy business that needed seeing to and continuing my familiar education tomorrow.
I fell into bed in an exhausted heap and with a desperate prayer that tomorrow would be different.
I awoke the next morning to an insistent pounding on my front door. Upon squinting my eyes open, I realized that the sun already hung high in the sky. Normally my cat woke me in the pre-dawn hours to demand I refill his food bowl, but today he’d allowed me to sleep in. Why?
Knock, knock.
And who was that trying to break down my front door?
“I know you’re in there,” that unpleasant policewoman I’d met yesterday afternoon cried from the other side.
I groaned and pulled myself out of bed, quickly running my hands through my hair in a half-hearted attempt to tame it. When I flung the door open, Officer Dash snorted and pushed her way inside.
“Oh, please. Come right in,” I muttered and closed the door behind her.
“Coffee?” I offered as I padded toward the kitchen and let out an enormous yawn so she could see firsthand how much she was inconveniencing me.
“Just waking up, I see,” she noted with a disappointed shake of her head. “You sleep pretty easy for someone who just committed murder. Guess that makes you a psychopath.”
I shook off her over-the-top insult and forced a smile. “Do you want the coffee or not?”
Officer Dash held up a hand. “None for me. Thanks.”
I sighed and turned my back to her as I went about the business of rescuing my favorite mug from the dishwasher and sticking a pod in the Keurig so it could begin the brew cycle.
When I turned back around a couple minutes later with a full cup of coffee in my hands, I found she had made herself comfortable at my messy kitchen table.
I set my mug down and grabbed the scattered articles I’d printed for my thesis research, arranging them into a sloppy pile just out of the officer’s reach.
She waited for me to sit and take a blessed sip before bombarding me with whatever news she’d come to share. “The M.E. has now confirmed that Mr. Harold Harris was murdered. We’re still waiting on the full toxicology report to come back, of course, but you could save us all a lot of time if you just confess now.”
I refused to be baited like this, no matter how insistently this detective clung to her false accusations. “I didn’t kill my boss,” I ground out from between clenched teeth.
“Uh-huh. That’s what they all say.”
“I don’t know who ‘they’ are, but I’m telling you the truth about me.”
Officer Dash widened her eyes and leaned toward me in what appeared to be an intimidation tactic. “If you didn’t kill him, then who did? Huh?”
“I have no idea. I’d only just arrived when he keeled over, so anyone could have come and gone by then without me knowing. Besides, I don’t even know what killed him, so I can’t really speculate.” Okay, that was probably a bit insensitive, but this whole thing was causing me way too much stress, way too early in the day. I just wanted Officer Dash to accept my innocence and leave me be.
She grew even more frustrated, a sheen of sweat rising to her brow. “Are you even paying attention? Toxicology means poison. We’re just waiting on the particulars.”
“Poison, huh? Well, Harold pretty much always had a coffee in hand. We often joked that he’d set up shop primarily to save on his habit.” I studied my coffee suspiciously, then deciding it was okay took another long swig. Heavens knew I would need all the caffeine I could get to make it through this conversation.
Officer Dash pulled a small notepad out of her pocket and clicked her pen. “We? Who’s we?”
Shoot.
“Oh, um. Just the others who work there. Drake and Kelley are the two who’re usually around for my shifts, but there are others, too.”
She studied me carefully. “So you believe one of your coworkers poisoned Mr. Harris?”
“I didn’t say that. I honestly have no idea. I’m just as shocked by all this as you are.”
“If the poison was delivered via his coffee, then you three baristas on shift had the greatest opportunity to pull off the crime,” she pointed out with a shrug that came across as incredibly unnatural.
I shook my head. “I didn’t say Kelley or Drake did it. Kelley was really, really upset.”
“And Drake?”
Instead of answering, I took another long gulp of coffee. I didn’t want to prove my innocence by throwing someone else under the bus, and there was no rule saying I needed to play Officer Dash’s little game. When I lowered my cup, Officer Dash was still staring at me intently.
She stood and pushed her chair back in toward the table. “If I find out the poison was delivered via his coffee, you better believe I’ll be right back here asking more questions.”
“I didn’t kill Harold, but I’ll do what I can to help you find out who did,” I called out half-heartedly.
She huffed. “They all say that, too,” she said with a sarcastic smirk. “I’ll tell your buddy Drake you said hi.”
6
After Officer Dash saw herself out, I threw on a worn pair of jeans and a fresh t-shirt from my laundry basket, popped another pod into my coffee maker, and waited for it to brew. Before it even had a chance to finish, Merlin came racing in through the pet door, a cat possessed.
“Come, there’s no time to waste!” he shouted, running laps around the kitchen with his tail flat.
“What’s the matter?” I choked out. I may have started getting used to the idea that my cat could talk, but I was still having a hard time following his dramatics.
He stopped in place, fell over onto his side, and yowled. “Wrong! Now we’re both dead.”
“Dead? What?”
“A familiar should always be in tune with her witch. A quick response could very well be the difference between life and death, between freedom and capture,” he lectured from his place on the floor.
I rubbed at my eyes. “You’
ve gotta give me some time to catch up here. And to wake up a little.”
Merlin hung his head and let out a dry laugh. “I chose poorly. Of course, I did.”
“Insulting me isn’t going to help me learn any faster,” I pointed out as the last drips of coffee landed in my cup with a plop and a plip. “By the way, when do I get magic?”
Merlin’s laugh came on loud and hysterical as he rolled from side to side on the linoleum kitchen floor. “Magic! You? Hoo, that’s a good one. Thanks, I needed that laugh.”
“It’s not a joke. You forced me into whatever this is, the least you could do is make it worth my while.”
“Oh, my dear sweet human…”
“Gracie,” I reminded him. “I have a name, use it.”
“Gracie,” he spat out, then wrinkled his nose unkindly. “Would you be open to changing that?”
I scowled at Merlin as he dragged himself to his feet.
“Fine, Gracie, it is. And, no, you don’t get magic. That’s not a familiar’s role.”
He was proving to be even more tiresome than Officer Dash this morning. “Then what do you even need me for?”
“In addition to your previous duties of filling my food bowl and cleaning my kitty box, it is now up to you to be my face.”
I stared at him deadpan.
“What part of that was a problem?” Merlin asked, tilting his head to the side.
I crossed my arms over my chest and sighed. “What do you mean by be your face? That makes zero sense. You already have a face.”
“I can explain by sharing a story. Once there was this ugly guy with a long nose. He loved a gorgeous lady, but was worried she would reject him, so he struck a deal with a brainless pretty boy to—”
“Are you telling me the story of Cyrano de Bergerac right now?”
“Oh, good, so you know it.”
“And in this scenario, I’m your…” I raised my fingers in air quotes. “Brainless pretty boy.”
