“What…?”
“A cat-sith,” he says.
I blink my eyes out of sync as I reach for the toilet paper. “A what?”
“A magical cat being that can steal souls.”
“Holy fuck,” I murmur as I wipe a lot less thoroughly than I feel like I should but also my arm is lead.
“Empty?” he asks.
“Yep,” I say, realizing I can’t stand up.
How embarrassing.
He pulls me to my feet, but instead of tugging my stockings up, he takes them off along with my shoes. He pulls me into his arms again and takes me to the bedroom where he lays me on the bed. Slowly and carefully—or at least I think it’s slowly because I’m coming tobetween removal of articles—he takes off my clothes and tucks me under the covers.
Oscar jumps onto the bed, his yellow eyes gleaming in the low moonlight.
“What are you?” I ask him.
He sits. “Mermow?”
Still love?
“Of course I still love you,” I say. “But also, I’m a little scared.”
“Mer mer. Mowow, mrrrf. Merow.”
No scared. I protect you, love you. I strong.
“Yeah, you’re like…reallystrong. Stronger than me. You bit that dude’s neck right out. OH MY GOD THE BIRDMAN IS DEAD.”
Bastian pushes me back down to the bed. “I’ll handle it.”
“Okay,” I say, because what am I going to do? Call the police?
Hello, Randy, who is still on vacation, there’s a dead parrot man in my bookshop…
“I know you will,” Bastian says, scratching under Oscar’s chin.
Is he talking to the cat?
Wait, I talked to the cat.
And I understood him.
What the fuck.
“Get some rest, Cait. You’ve exhausted yourself,” Bastian says and I feel his warm hand on my cheek.
“Okie dokie,” I repeat, my syllables lazy.
My eyes are already shut, and darkness takes me easily.
thirty-five
Oscar theMagical Boy
