Penny was right. I’d text her to tell her, except my phone is in the pocket of my discarded jeans, and I currently have paws.
Fascinated by my cat body, I swish my tail back and forth and look around. The gates of Livia’s mansion are still nearby, and I’m small enough to slip through them. Unable to resist—because curiosity and cats and all that—I slink toward them, heading for the entrance. I’m a little worried to leave my clothes on the ground, but no one’s come up or down this street in the last ten minutes, so I figure I should be all right for a little while. I creep toward the gates, rub my side along the bars, trying to be as catlike as possible. When no alarms go off, I slide through the bars and head for the house.
There are scents everywhere, including that weird, gross, musty one that I can’t identify. Is it a spell component of some kind? A rotting plant? I head for the house, jumping up onto the ledge of one of the massive windows, and peer inside. Everything’s dark, and I can just make out a sitting room in all the shadows. There’s a baby grand piano in one corner, underneath a massive oil painting of a young woman who has to be Livia, judging by the mole on her forehead. She has a ruff around her neck, and she’s wearing a big, fluffy dress, Queen Elizabeth–style. Huh.
I press my wet nose to the glass, but I don’t see or smell anyone.
Then I hear it.
A low murmur of voices. It’s coming from somewhere inside, but I’m not entirely sure where. I wonder if I can get in. This seems like a good idea to my cat brain, so I jump down from the window and circle around the house, keeping to the trimmed hedges to hide. There’s a wonderful scent here, something delicious that makes my stomach growl, and when a tiny mouse scurries past the bushes, I drop to a crouch, instantly ready to hunt. God, it smells so good, but I force myself to focus.
Spying, I remind myself. You’re spying. Snack later.
I tiptoe around to the back of the house, and that musty smell is stronger. I can hear voices here, too—a man and a woman. That must be Livia and her familiar. I spot a pet door with a plastic flap, a small functional square in the otherwise gorgeous white door at the back of the house, and I head toward it. Sneak in, I decide, do a little spying, sneak back out. No one will know. I sidle up to the door, push my head in past the plastic flap, and sink my paws onto the checkered tile floor—
Something stirs. A low growl begins, and then I see it.
A dog.
A really fucking big-ass dog with a spiked collar. A Rottweiler. It spots me at the same time that I spot it, and all the fur on my back stands straight up, my tail puffing like a feather duster.
It growls louder and then races for me, nails clacking on the tile.
With a yowl, I race back out the pet door and across the yard. The dog is tight on my heels, chasing me, and the hot, musty smell fills my senses. He’s the thing I’ve been smelling, but I didn’t know enough about dogs to realize it. If he catches me, he’s going to eat me. Blistering fear races through my body, and I run as fast as I can, looking for the nearest tree.
There are no trees. Livia’s lawn is bare of everything but topiaries and sculpted bushes.
I veer along the fence, racing for the gates. Where are they, where are they, where are they—
The dog barks wildly, lunging for my tail, and catches a tuft of my fur in his mouth. I feel the fur being yanked from my skin, and I let out another cat yowl of pure terror. Adrenaline makes me move faster, and I race for those double gates as I’ve never raced before. The dog is so close that I can smell nothing but his gross, slobbery breath.
I’m dead, I’m dead, I’m dead—
I slam through the bars, my shoulder hitting one side, and wriggle my way through just as the dog catches my tail again. With a hiss, I roll frantically, getting away before he can get a better grip, and then arch my back, my fur sticking up on end as I spit fury at him.
The dog barks again, so loud and furious his slobber is going everywhere. I swipe at him with my claws, and then I see it.
The ring.
The fucking ring. Of course.
Scuttling away, I race back toward my clothing as the lights at Livia’s house come on and the sounds grow louder. “Go check and see who’s here, James,” I hear a voice call out. “If that Dru’s sent someone, capture them. I want to know what they’re up to.”
I make it to my clothes, a short distance away from Livia’s house, and the dog keeps barking and barking, setting my nerves on edge. I curl up on top of my jeans, trying to get the ring off my foreleg, but it doesn’t want to move. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I bite at it, scratching and clawing, until it moves. Just a little.
Then it practically falls off my foot and onto the ground.
The moment it does, my belly cramps and my back tightens. I hunch over, the urge to vomit moving over me, and then I’m human again, my cheek pressed to my shoe and my naked ass in the air.
A flashlight clicks on down the street. “If you’re out here, you little bitch, I’m going to find you.” It’s James, his voice cold and nasty. “Xerxes, sniff her out, boy.”
Fuck.
Sweaty with terror, I scoop up my clothes and my shoes and race down the street. I’m naked as could be, but there’s no time to stop and put my clothing on, no time to do anything except run. If Livia catches me and she really is a witch, I don’t want to know what she’s going to do to me. I choke back my fear until I turn the corner and find a house without a fence, a house with what looks like a small pool house in the back, and I press against the cold bricks, letting them scratch my naked ass.
A sob chokes out of me.
I nearly died tonight. I have no doubt that if that dog had caught me, he would have killed me. Strewn my cat parts all over Livia’s lawn, and that would have been the end of Reggie Johnson.
Shaking with terror, I collapse against the wall of the house, more tears rushing down my face. I struggle to put my T-shirt on, but I’m frozen with fear. I can still smell the hot, musty stink of the dog, still feel his breath too close to my neck . . .
I can’t stop trembling. I can’t function.
Weeping, distraught, I fumble for my phone and nearly drop it. I can’t hold it steady, and it takes me far too long to unlock it. Once I do, I stare at my contact list, trying to figure out who to call.
Not Nick—he’ll make me quit. He’ll lecture me like an older brother, and I don’t want that right now. I don’t want to have to explain anything. I just want to be safe. If James finds me . . .
I choke back another terrified sob and clutch my phone tighter.
Penny? No, Penny would be excited. She wouldn’t understand my terror, and I don’t want to answer her excited questions right now.
That leaves Ben.
The moment I settle upon his name, it feels right. I pull up his number before I can think twice, and text him.
REGGIE: Ben
REGGIE: Help
15
BEN
My phone pings with an incoming text, and I glance over just as I light the eighty-second candle atop the kitchen table. Aunt Dru has holed herself up in her lab with instructions not to bother her, so I’ve taken over the kitchen. One of my corporate accounts wants an unlikely stock of his to increase gradually without making it seem obvious, so I’m starting with low-level bad-luck spells—minor curses—on all the competitors and adjacent markets. I have two more candles to light, and then I can invoke Fortuna and start the casting properly.
Immediately, a second text pings right after the first.
Whoever it is, they’re impatient. I scowl at my candles and then quickly move over to the counter to check my phone. If it’s Willem, I’m going to add a candle to curse him while I’m at it, because he needs to know that midnight is prime casting time and—
REGGIE: Ben
REGGIE: Help