Black Beast (29 page)

Catherine bolted out of the classroom, checking her watch as she did. The next bus was coming in about three minutes. If she caught it, she'd only have to wait another five to transfer to the 20 A. It was one of the rare times when the connecting buses synced up nicely.

The other night she'd written out a list of all the things she needed to buy: litter box, cat sand, supper dish, food and toys. The total came to about fifty dollars. Ouch. Forty dollars bought like twenty gallons of gas. But what was she supposed to do? Leave the kitten out there to fend for herself? She was scarcely larger than Catherine's hand, and far too adorable for her own good.

And it wasn't like her mother was letting her drive the car, anyway.

Sharon saw Catherine leaving the English building from across campus and ran over with a bounce in her step. “Going somewhere?”

“Shopping.”

“Ooh, where are you going? Target? I hear Macy's is having a sale!”

“Not that kind of shopping.” She held up her list.

Sharon's face creased in confusion. She picked up her pace a little to keep up with Catherine's brisk stride. “You got a cat?”

“Sort of. I found her on the roof last night. I think she's a runaway.”

“Ugh. Make sure it doesn't have fleas at least.”

“
She
doesn't have fleas. I checked.”

“Okay. Okay. Chill out. What's she like?”

“Sweet. Crazy intelligent.” Catherine frowned. “It was the damnedest thing. I woke up this morning and realized that I hadn't set out anywhere for her to, you know, do her business.”

“Let me guess. She gave your rug 'the business'.”

“No, that's the thing. She did it on a piece of binder paper.”

“That's lucky.”

“
Old
binder paper. Something I was going to throw away anyway.”

“I'd get the cat box anyway. Otherwise, you're really going to be shit out of luck.”

“I think that's the wisest thing I've heard you say, ever.”

“Well, make sure you quote me on Facebook. I want this moment to go down in history.”

They were almost at the bus stop with just a minute to spare. Sharon waved at a tall, attractive guy standing in the parking lot. He was a little mean-looking, rough. He didn't wave back.

“That's Mike. He and I are going bowling. I was gonna ask if you wanted to come but I guess you're okay.”

“Nope, sorry.”

“Have fun shopping, girlfriend.”

With a final wave, she danced off to meet Mike. He kissed her in a way that started out PG-13 and ended up bordering on R. The whole time, he kept his eyes open, and focused on Catherine, who looked away, cursing herself for it the moment she did.

What a creep. What did Sharon see in him? She was too good for that lowlife.

Why do women always feel they have to settle for less?

•◌•◌•◌•◌•

The bus let her off at the shopping center bus stop. From there it was just a short walk to Pet-Mo (the Mo standing for Mo' Money, she supposed). She thought about the kitten. How she'd crapped on the binder paper instead of the floor. How she almost seemed to tilt and bob her head as Catherine spoke, in all the same places that a human listener would. The pheromones she emitted even smelled the same as a human listener would—receptiveness, disgust, anger, shame.

Was she reading too much into this, like Sharon said? Was she going crazy?

She heard footsteps behind her, and was half-turning around even when she heard the distinctly male voice say, “I recommend the tuna.”

Catherine found herself looking into the bottomless blue eyes of one of the workers. He grinned at her, slowly, insolently. His name tag said “Ryan.” There was a box of cat food at his feet.

“Tuna,” he repeated, nodding at the can. “They don't like the chicken. Probably because it's not real chicken.” He added this in a low aside. “All the guts that are fit to can, and all that.”

She almost smiled. Almost. He was cute, although his proximity to the cat food made him smell too appetizing, but there was something off about him. Like the way he was standing so close to her, closer than polite human contact allowed. And his eyes. She didn't really like those, either. They were the kind of eyes that saw too much.

She edged away, discreetly putting space between them as she reached for one of the cans of salmon cat food instead. “Do I know you?”

“No, but I've seen you around school.” He started shelving a couple of the cans. Very slowly. “You're the girl who almost got hit by that car.”

“That's an understatement,” she said, moving around him to check out the dry brands.

“What did you do? Piss off the mob?”

So it was information he wanted. “I piss a lot of people off.”

She thought she saw him smile. “I might be able to help you with that.”

“Oh?”

“There's a meeting tonight. At our school. It's a youth group.” His eyes flickered over her in a way she didn't care for. “You should join. People find it helps them battle their…demons.”

“This club of yours. It wouldn't happen to be called Sterling Rep, would it?”

Ryan's smile widened. “You've heard of us.”

Even as she spoke them, she realized that David had said almost exactly the same thing to her.

Ryan's eyebrows shot up. They were thick, and a little too dark. As if someone had drawn them on with Sharpie. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“It means thanks for the cat food recommendation. I guess I'll be seeing you later.”

“Hey, gimme a chance.” He grabbed her shoulder as she went by. “I wasn't finished.”

She let her eyes drop to his hand, then looked him square in the eye. “Let go of my arm.”

He tightened his hold. Not a lot. Not enough to be overtly threatening. Just enough so that she could feel it. Fear and anger corkscrewed through her, in equal parts, braiding blazing ribbons of emotion that called the beasts to the surface.

“I'm serious, Catherine. What people like you need is a cause to focus their anger towards.”

“If you don't let go of me,” she said, very quietly, “I'm going to focus my anger towards the cause of kicking your ass.”

He laughed, as if he found this idea quite amusing. He also let her go.

Wise decision.

She paid the thirty-six dollars and seventy-nine cents. As the older woman at the register handed her back her change, Catherine looked up and forgot how to breathe. Leaning against the lamp post across the street was the witch from the gully.

What was he doing here?

She wasn't the only one who noticed him standing there. Ryan had frozen in the act of shelving boxes of dog treats. His left hand brushed against the pants of his uniform. As if he were reaching for a weapon that wasn't there.

The witch's eyes met hers through the very thin membrane of glass separating them.

Very deliberately, he ran his finger across his throat.
You're dead
, that gesture meant. When she stiffened, he gave her a smile that was calculating in the sheer measure of its cruelty as he dropped into a bow.

Ryan's eyes flicked from her, to the window, and back again. He raised an eyebrow and she saw his lips twitch into a smirk of understanding—although what he knew, or thought he knew, she wasn't sure. Didn't want to be, either.

What was the witch doing here? In broad daylight?

“Your change!” the lady snapped, waving her hand with the crisp bills and jangling coins as if she had been holding it out too long for her liking.

Mumbling an apology, fighting back the urge to rip said hand off, Catherine grabbed her change and headed for the exit. She was too late, though. The witch had already vanished—his presence extinguished as neatly as a snuffed-out candle. She couldn't even smell him.

Fuck.

When she glanced back at the Pet-Mo store, she saw that Ryan had disappeared, too.

Chapter Twelve

“Hi David. This is Catherine. I'm just calling to let you know that I'm going through with it. I'll be leaving around eleven tonight, so if I don't show up to lab tomorrow, you'll know why. I thought it was only fair to let you know ahead of time, you being my lab partner and all.” She paused. “And I know it doesn't mean much, but I'm sorry. About what I said.”

She ended the call. Shut her eyes. For a while, she didn't even move. She just lay on her bed trying to—what was it the human boy had said?—quiet her demons.

When she opened her eyes again, the kitten was watching her. There was something very human in its expression. “Don't judge me,” said Catherine. “I know what I'm doing.”

The cat meowed.

Catherine rolled her eyes.
Even the fucking cat disapproves.