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I cut him off. “Supe? Like a superhero or something?”
He sniffs. “Like a supernatural.”
Hang on—
“Bonnie? Bonnie from the souvenir shop? She’s a supernatural? Is she a warlock?”
Vincent looks pained. “She is a witch.”
“A witch! And you’re a boy witch, right? That’s what a warlock is, isn’t it?”
Now he looks offended. “I’ll have you know, we are completely different species, dear Kate.”
Maybe he’s right. “Because you want me to believe you’re also a cat!”
He shakes his head as thought I’m the crazy one here.
“You know, for all this time, I had to get used to the idea that you would be a witch because, let me tell you, warlocks and witches… we don’t get on. But even if you were, this would be so much easier. But since you’re not…” Vincent waves his hand. I have no idea what my dream man is doing now, but when he’s done, he’s holding a small pamphlet that’s made of a couple of folded pieces of construction paper, all stapled together.
“Here,” he says, walking over to the stairs and holding it out for me to take. “Read this.”
Sure, I think. Why the hell not.
I look at the letters printed in black Sharpie on the front cover.
So your cat is really a warlock…
Pretty apt title, huh?
Because it seems like something dream Kate would do, I flip it open.
On the left page, there’s a polaroid of Mr. Whiskers in the fur. Beneath it, it says in the same print: Me, 364 days a year.
On the right page, there’s a polaroid of the same man in front of me, wearing the same black clothes as he is now (of course). Beneath that picture, it says: Me, Halloween.
I flip to the next page and am greeted with some more big, bold text and way too many exclamation points.
Yes! Magic is real!
Yes! I’m cursed to be a cat!
Yes! You’re my chosen human this year. Congratulations!
Yes! On Halloween, I’m a man. My name is Vincent Morrow. I’ve been a cat since 1987, but I’ve only aged as a man every Halloween since then. I’m thirty-one. Don’t age me up. It makes me cranky.
No! There is no breaking my curse unless you’re my one true love.
I glance up at him. “‘One true love’?” I read out loud to him. “Like in fairy tales?”
“One true love?” If he was still a cat like he wants me to believe, his fur would be on end. “Why are you asking about a one true love?”
I turn his handmade—pawmade?—book toward him. I tap the line where it says ‘one true love’.
He eases the booklet out of my hand. “Right. Forgot I had that in there. It’s been a while since one of the humans that adopted me for a couple of seasons realized I was a warlock.”
And not just a warlock, I realize. The man in front of me does look like he’s thirty-one, but if I believe his pamphlet, he’s actually seventy. Gotta say, he looks good for his age, and I can’t believe I’m being so nonchalant about that even though it has to be a dream!
Vincent waits a beat, then asks, “Is there anything you want to ask me that my helpful guide didn’t cover?”
