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Sorry about your luck, kid.
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“If you don’t take it, I swear I’ll find the nearest incinerator and throw it in,” Olivia said.
Journi stared at her as if the woman had lost her mind. Which, given the night’s events so far, wouldn’t be too much of a leap.
“I don’t do cats,” Journi said, eying the beige plastic pet carrier Olivia held out. Inside was a still-unconscious Horace. The sleek, white cat had since reverted to its normal state. Normal state of evil. Because all cats were evil, infected with dark magic or not.
At Olivia’s knees, Tilda looked up at Journi with red-rimmed, tear-filled eyes, her plump cheeks blotchy. She tugged on Olivia’s pant leg. “Please, Mommy. Don’t give away Horace.”
Hayley stepped forward and took the carrier from Olivia. “Let me.”
All too eager to unload the offensive animal, Olivia passed it over and wiped her hands on her tattered, blood-smeared blouse with a disgusted curl of her lip. “If I ever see that beast again, I’ll kill it. Tilda, come.” She took the little girl’s hand, but Tilda pulled away, clinging to Hayley, burying her face in the nanny’s jeans.
Gritting her teeth, Olivia looked skyward as if praying for patience and then glanced at Hayley, her voice coming out high and shaky as if she was this close to losing her shit. “See to it that she’s bathed and in bed within the hour. I’m going to find some wine and eat a bottle of sleeping pills.”
“Of course,” Hayley said with a nod.
When Olivia had departed, Journi looked at Hayley. “I’m not taking that cat.”
Hayley’s expression turned pleading. “He’s got nowhere else to go. Please. He’s a good cat. Really.”
Was there such a thing? Journi had her doubts. “Look, I’m sorry, but no. There has to be someone else.”
Tilda’s sobs grew somehow more pitiful, and Hayley looked stricken, shaking her head. “There isn’t. I would take him, but I board here as part of my salary.”
Journi did her best to ignore the crying child. Since when did little girls’ tears bother her anyway? “Hide it in your room.”
Tilda looked up at Hayley, hope alighting on her face.
Hayley’s mouth thinned, and she gave Journi a look. “You know I can’t do that. What about your aunt? Doesn’t she run that cat shelter? The Hissing Booth?”
Journi cursed, remembered a child was present, then cleared her throat. She stared at Hayley. Hayley stared back. Tense silence stretched, and Journi had to give the nanny credit. She could hold her own in a staring match. “Fine,” Journi finally growled. “But if Frieda won’t take it—”
Hayley pinched her lips and gestured silently at Tilda in warning.
Journi closed her mouth and cleared her throat again. “Give it to me.”
Letting out a relieved breath, Hayley passed the carrier to her, suddenly looking exhausted. “Thank you.”
At the street, Gramma Jude honked the horn, the words root and canal carrying above the racket of her engine and the buzz of CST activity. Journi grunted under the carrier’s dead weight, holding it with about as much grace as she would an infant. “I have to go.”
Under the pale glow of the Burkes’ porch light, Hayley’s smile trembled. “Thank you so much, Journi,” she said, brushing her fingers over Tilda’s blonde curls. “You saved her. And the baby. All of us.”
Awkward in the face of so much gratitude, Journi nodded stiffly. What did she say in this situation? You’re welcome? Totes magotes? Feliz Navidad? “Sure.”
“And, please,” Hayley went on, gesturing toward the curb with her chin. “Thank them for me as well.”
“I will.”
“I’ll recommend Say It Ain’t So to all my friends,” Hayley assured her. “What you do is important. People need to know.”
It wasn’t as if Journi couldn’t use the business. “Thanks,” she said. “I appreciate it.”
Hayley looked dangerously close to hugging her.
Which was Journi’s cue to leave. She turned to go but realized Tilda was staring up at her with round, shimmering eyes and all the sadness one so young could muster. Journi hesitated, guilt turning over inside her like a rusty trolling motor that hadn’t been started in years. She should probably say something comforting. Hayley nodded encouragingly at Journi as if prodding a bashful child to sit on Santa’s lap.
Pursing her lips, Journi crouched in front of Tilda, turning the pet carrier so she could see Horace through the wire door. “Do you want to say goodbye?”
Tilda lingered at Hayley’s side a moment and then nodded, coming over to peer inside at her cat. Fresh tears filled her eyes. “Please don’t take him.”
Something very close to horror swelled inside Journi, and she looked up at Hayley for help. Hayley put her hand on Tilda’s shoulder and said gently, “She has to, honey. You remember what your mommy said, right? She doesn’t want Horace to live here anymore.”
Sniffling, Tilda put her fingers through the wires to touch the sleeping cat’s ears. Her bottom lip quavered as she looked up at Journi. “You’ll take care of him, right?”
Journi hesitated. Even she didn’t want to lie to a heartbroken kid. “Yes,” she said, feeling like she’d just signed a contract in blood.
Tilda studied her face as if trying to determine her sincerity. Journi didn’t pretend to smile or offer assurances. Just stared back. Finally, Tilda nodded as if satisfied. “He doesn’t like green beans.”
“Got it,” Journi said. “No green beans.”
“Or tuna.”
Journi arched an eyebrow. “What kind of cat doesn’t like tuna?”
Tilda ignored her and said sternly, “Or baths.”
Journi had to hold back a grin. She nodded seriously. “Okay.”
“He likes to sleep by your feet under your blanket,” Tilda went on. “Even if your mom doesn’t like it.”
This time, Journi laughed. “Don’t worry. I can handle my mom.”
Tilda looked relieved. “Can I visit him every day?”
Chuckling, Hayley crouched beside the kid. “Not every day, but maybe Journi wouldn’t mind if you visited Horace sometimes.” Hayley glanced at Journi for confirmation. “Right?”
Tilda looked at Journi too, adding a layer of pleeeeaassee?
Though she was a badass vanquisher of ancient, maniacal gods, Journi was, apparently, not a crusher of kids’ hopes and dreams. A revelation that was somewhat embarrassing. “Right,” she said. “Of course.”
Before Journi could react, Tilda hugged her. “Thank you, Miss Toothsayer.”
Taken aback, Journi hesitantly put her arms around the little girl, meeting Hayley’s eyes above Tilda’s head. “You’re welcome.”
Hayley hid her laugh behind her hand as if delighted by Journi’s discomfort.
Tilda spoke in a tremulous voice, her tiny arms still around Journi’s neck. “You’ll hug him lots, won’t you? He’s a really good kitty.”
Despite Journi’s aversion to hugs, children, and—most of all—hugs from children, she found her heart melting. A little. She wasn’t talking a glacial thaw or anything, but there was definitely some defrosting. “I will.”
“Okay,” Tilda said, pulling away.
“Come on,” Hayley told her, rising. “Let’s go get that bath. I’ll even sneak in some cookies and milk if you promise not to tell your mom.”
Tilda’s eyes lit up. “Okay.”
Journi stood too, one-handing the carrier. “Call the office if you want to bring her by.”
Hayley smiled. “I will. Thanks again.”
At the sound of brakes screeching, they all looked to see a gleaming black BMW skid to a halt at the curb, the streetlamps glinting off its hood.
“Daddy!” Tilda shrieked.
The driver’s door opened and the silver-haired, distinguished man Journi recognized from the Burkes’ family portrait emerged. He looked around in utter horror at the destruction and debris left by the dark-magic funnel cloud, all of which was eerily illuminated in the flashing red and white lights of the CST’s armored trucks. He appeared road-weary, his suit jacket missing and his tie askew, as if he’d been driving all night, but when he spotted Tilda on the porch, relief visibly washed over him, and he sprinted for her, forgetting about the open car door.
Tilda bolted past Journi and met him in the yard. He dropped to one knee, gathering her up in a frenzy of hugs and kisses, demanding to know if she was all right.
Journi watched the reunion, strangely relieved to know that at least one of Tilda’s parents seemed to have more than obligatory interest in her.
“Thank God,” Hayley muttered, letting out a tired breath. “Olivia would have been unbearable tomorrow without him to keep her in check.”
Journi smirked. She could imagine. Vividly. Hefting the pet carrier, she nodded one last time at Hayley before starting down the steps.
Mr. Burke met Journi midway up the walk, Tilda clinging to his chest like a barnacle.
“Miss McCutcheon?” he guessed, his face stern but handsome. He was older than Olivia, and while he had the same high-society air about him, there was a genuineness in his eyes that Mrs. Burke lacked.
“Guilty as charged,” Journi said.
He held out a hand. “I want to thank you and your family for what you did. Hayley told me everything on the phone.”
Journi shook with him and nodded. “Comes with the territory. Glad we were able to help.”
He released her hand and gazed across the yard to Mr. Jenkins’ house. It was still standing, but the cyclone had torn off large sections of the roof, strewing debris all over his prized landscaping. CST agents had cordoned off the property and were collecting samples in hazmag suits, while others walked around with magic-radiation meters. And Mr. Jenkins’ place wasn’t the only one under investigative attack. Up and down the street, the homes of his partners in crime were being similarly scoured. The whole neighborhood was alive with lights, radio static, and agents. So much for the quiet Mr. Jenkins had so desperately sought.
“I had no idea,” Mr. Burke murmured, shaking his head. “All this time.”
“Your family is safe,” Journi said. “That’s what’s important.”
He looked at her. “I’ll be sending a check to your office this week. A token of my gratitude.”
Journi held up a hand. “That’s not necessary. Mrs. Burke already paid my fee.”
“And I’m paying you more,” he insisted, his tone brooking no arguments. “You went above and beyond, Miss McCutcheon, and I’m grateful.”
Journi held his gaze and then nodded. “Okay.”
He noticed the pet carrier, and his expression fell. He sighed. “I appreciate you taking Horace. He was a gift for Tilda’s fourth birthday last year. I was hoping Olivia would grow to love him too.”
Journi looked at the cat, whose whiskers were twitching slightly as if it was in the beginning stages of waking up. “I think perhaps the whole trying-to-eat-her-unborn-baby thing was the last straw.”
Mr. Burke’s mouth quirked. “Yes, I think you’re right.”
At the curb, Gramma Jude honked again.
“Well,” Journi sighed, inclining her head. “I can’t say it’s been a pleasure, Mr. Burke.”
“No, I’d say not. Goodnight, Miss McCutcheon.” With that, he turned and carried his daughter up the porch steps. From over his shoulder, Tilda yawned and waved.
Journi waved back, shared one last parting glance with Hayley, then made her way to the car.
Gramma Jude was in the driver’s seat, glaring at her as she approached. “You’re slower than a one-fingered typist!”
“Calm down,” Journi told her. “Your roots and canals aren’t going anywhere.”
Frieda glanced up at her from the passenger’s seat, blowing out a plume of cigarette smoke and pointing at the pet carrier. “And who’s this?”
“This,” Journi said, handing it to her. “Is Horace. He’s for you.”
Frieda examined the cat inside and smiled but didn’t accept the carrier. “Beautiful boy, but he ain’t for me.”
“Yeah, he is. Mrs. Burke threatened to kill him. Practically held me at gunpoint.”
Amusement danced in Frieda’s eyes, and she shrugged. “Sorry about your luck, kid.”
Journi stared at her. “You can’t be serious. Take him to the shelter.”
Frieda raised her cigarette as if to say my hands are tied. “The shelter is a mess. Probably still under quarantine for all I know. Even if it isn’t, I’m going to be lousy with recovering cats.” She drew on her cigarette and gazed past Journi, a shadow darkening her face. “I hope.”
From the back seat, Josephine attempted to hide her smile. “Looks like you got yourself a cat.”
“Frieda,” Journi pleaded, ignoring her mother. “You know I don’t do cats. I hate them. They hate me. It’s a hate-hate relationship.”
“Don’t be so dramatic, Journi Renee,” Gramma Jude said. “A little pussy never hurt anyone.”
“Besides,” Frieda added, “people are going to be dumping their cats in droves after this. The Hissing Booth will be swamped. I won’t have room for him. I’m overloaded the way it is.”
Journi could only stare at her, speechless. This couldn’t be happening. Saving the world from cats was one thing. Adopting one was another. She turned to Dr. Daniel, who leaned against the car with something in his arms, watching her with a slight grin.
“You have to take this cat,” Journi told him, pretending that he hadn’t mentioned asking her on a date just an hour before. So far, today had been hazardous, grueling, and downright bizarre. She didn’t need to add awkward to the list.
“Sorry,” he said, holding up the limp form of another unconscious cat. She recognized it as the one he’d sedated on the Burkes’ porch earlier. “I’m full up. And the clinic will be a madhouse tomorrow.”
She looked around for someone to hand the pet carrier off to. A passing CST agent. A gawking neighbor. A hobo. Anyone but her.
Frieda slapped the car door. “C’mon, son. Let’s make like a tree and get out of here.”
In response, Gramma Jude revved the sputtering engine.
Dr. Daniel’s grin widened as if he sensed just how dismayed Journi was and was pleased by it. Pushing off the car, he opened the rear door and winked at her. “I had a good time saving the world with you. Let’s do it again sometime.”
“Wait—” Journi began, but he’d already climbed in, closing the door behind him.
“Don’t worry,” Gramma Jude called as they left. “Cats are a girl’s best friend!”
Journi stared after them with her mouth ajar, watching the Beetle’s taillights disappear into the street’s chaos. “That’s diamonds,” she said to no one. “Diamonds are a girl’s best friend.” She held up the carrier and stared inside with a grimace. “Not cats.”
The cat’s paws jerked as if it was chasing something in its sleep.
Sighing, Journi lowered the carrier and hefted it onto her scooter’s luggage rack. To her relief, the scooter had somehow survived the night unscathed aside from a tree branch wedged against the rear fender. Lifting the seat, she rummaged around until she found a bungee cord and then stretched it around the pet carrier, securing it to the rack. After removing the tree branch none too gently, she climbed on, situating her satchel. Then she glared. And pouted. And scowled. She even threw in a huff and puff.
And still she was the not-so-proud owner of a secondhand feline.
With a dramatic groan, she turned the key and kicked the stand, pulling away from the curb. She’d just gone from zero to cat in less than sixty seconds.
