“Of course.” Hazel types something else. “A twenty-four-hour vet is a few minutes away from you.Helping Paws Vancouver Animal Hospital and Emergency.”
“Helping Paws.” Easy to remember.Help,like what I desperately need right now. “Got it. Thanks.”
Lucy yowls from beyond the door.
Hazel stands to resume her pacing andoh-my-godhands.
I draw a steadying breath. As usual, my roommate and upstairs landlords aren’t home, leaving me alone and in silence except for the gutter runoff splattering on the stone walkway outside my window. It’s a jarring change after growing up with three sisters and a very vocal husky.
I take out the little blue kennel I used for Lucy when I adopted her four days ago. A pang of sadness pierces the adrenaline. My sweet girl. Our life together, possibly over before it began. She was supposed to solve my loneliness in this new city, and now look at us. Why does nothing ever go the way I imagined it?
A burning sensation prickles at the corners of my eyes, and I grit my teeth. I refuse to give up on her. First, she’s already been abandoned once in her short life, and I could never bring myself to return her to the shelter. Second, I’m an Alexander, and Alexanders don’t give up.
With the kennel open, the laundry hamper dangling from my fist, and a red fleece blanket sitting by in case I have to throw it on her, I go to the door.
My pulse pounds as I grip the knob with a gloved hand.
Lucy stops yowling, and a heavy silence falls.
She knows.
I scan the room for things that could go wrong.
Window shut. Closet closed. The storage platform bed leaves no room for hiding underneath. My nightstand, desk, and shelves hold lamps, plants, textbooks, romance novels, the diffuser I use to mask the dank basement smell, three years’ worth of pictures of Hazel and me, and a lifetime’s worth with my sisters. It can all handle being knocked over. The plush cat bed, scratching post, and toys I bought her sit in the corner, mocking me.
“I’m doing it.” My voice trembles. “If things go south, call an ambulance.”
“Okay…” A note of worry tinges Hazel’s tone. Maybe she’s wondering how helpful she’ll be from across the country.
I raise the hamper like a shield, draw a breath, and muster all my resolve. Then, I whip open the door.
“Heyyy, girl.”
Lucy is sitting in the hall, a white fluff ball on the beige vinyl, her stubby tail sticking out like a cotton swab. She’s ten weeks old, her beige-tipped ears suggesting she could be part ragdoll. There’s a tiny brown smudge on her left rear paw like she dipped her toe in chocolate.
I fell in love with her the moment I saw her. But now…
A glint in her eyes makes dread creep up my spine. Maybe I’m imagining it, but I swear her retinas have turned purple. They’re gleaming, unnatural, like a little alien.
The lights flicker, sending a chill through me.
“C’mere!” I swipe the hamper down, but before I can trap her, she darts between my legs and into the bedroom.
“Crap.” I spin around, gritting my teeth.
“Katie, look out!” Hazel cries.
Searing pain shoots through my thigh. The kitten is latched onto me, clawing and biting.
I scream, kicking my leg. “She’s trying to infect me!”
“Grab her!” Hazel shouts.
I seize Lucy’s tiny body, and she spins to attack my glove. Her claws break through the material, and I yelp, shaking her off onto the bed.
“Get—off—” My big toe slams into something, making my eyes water. “Ow!”
It’s my biology textbook, lying in the middle of the floor.
