Seymour looked down at his feet. “Oh, hey, kitty girl.”
Day reached up and kneaded the air, her eyes wide.
“Uh. Right.” Seymour kneeled as if checking his shoes, but really it was the only thing he could think of to scoop up a cat no one else could see. He cradled her against his chest, whispering, “There. Better?”
“Meow.” Day purred and nuzzled at his neck.
Seymour smiled, giving her a little scratch.
Yes, he probably did look insane, but he couldn’t not cuddle the adorable kitty cat girl.
Who was invisible.
Also incredibly powerful.
Ate Godzilla that one time.
Which literally happened only a short while ago, and the crunching still rang in the back of Seymour’s head…
Seymour gulped and hugged Day a little tighter.
She hadn’t acted the least bit aggressive toward either himself or Sariel, so he figured he probably didn’t have too much to worry about as long as he kept her happy and fed. The way she was so insistent about being held struck Seymour as a creature who was lonely and desperate to connect. He had so many questions for her—about the missing head, those rebel monsters, his father.
And his father’s murder.
Who had killed him? Why? Was it really for the head or something else?
Was there some sort of monster police they could report it to?
Seymour had no idea, but one problem at a time.
First, he needed some damn coffee.
It was Seymour’s turn at the counter, and he’d been so absorbed in his mental monster mash that he hadn’t even looked at the menu. He felt like an ass, muttering, “Uh, just one sec.”
The cashier smiled politely. “No problem, sir.”
“Right, so…”
Behind him, a Black woman with long gray locs and a green leather vest sighed. There was a deathly pale man standing next to her, dressed like he’d fallen off the set ofSleepy Hollow,other than the tiny round purple sunglasses he had on.
He also sighed.
A lot.
And loudly.
“For the love ofGod, it’s coffee.” The man hissed noisily. “Why can’t he just pick something? Does it really matter?”
“Someone’s cranky,” the woman said with a smirk. “Woke up on the wrong side of the coffin?”
“I hate being awake this early.”
Seymour’s brain locked up for a moment because although he wasn’t entirely sure of the time, it had to be late afternoon, if not almost evening, by now. Also, knowing now that monsters were real, that crack about a coffin made his skin crawl. He cleared his throat, saying to the cashier, “Uh, could I please just have the biggest, strongest coffee ya’ got? All the espresso, all that.”
Day poked Seymour’s face.
“Oh! And a small cup of milk.”
