“Because you’re doing it wrong.”
She froze. The cat sat in the doorway, watching her while his tail flicked against the rug.
“Please enlighten me.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm.
“Do they not teach you basic first aid?You need to apply pressure first.”
“I know that.” She pressed the gauze against the wound, her jaw tight.
“Clearly not well enough.”
How did a cat know so much about patching up wounds?
Heat crept up her neck. Here she was, bleeding because of him, and he had the audacity to criticize her. She wanted to throw something at his smug cat face.
Minutes passed in silence while she held the gauze to her finger. When she pulled it away, the bleeding had finally slowed to a sluggish trickle. She managed to wrap the bandage around her finger this time, though it looked sloppy. The white fabric already had spots of red seeping through, but at least it was something.
“There.” Her middle finger had been the one that had been affected, and she flipped him off to show him. “Happy?”
“You should clean the blood off the floor before it stains.”
Her fist clenched at her side. The good one. “You are the worst familiar in the history of familiars.”
The dorm was silent.The cat curled up next to the fireplace, its matted fur illuminated by the flickering orange light. Guilt coiled in her gut.Luckywas still an asshole, but she had a duty of care to this familiar. He must be so uncomfortable in his own skin. Maybe that was why he was being so rude.
She had spent the night researching familiars on her laptop, including asking,Why is my familiar an asshole, and found nothing to explain any of it. Nowhere did anyone say anything about them being able to talk to you. It was unheard of. She had tried to ask him about it, but he was extremely reluctant to give out any information. It was like trying to talk to a furry brick wall.
But researching was an excuse. She needed to present him as her familiar tomorrow. To the class, to her mother, who was probably sending the enforcers soon to escort her out of the university to some shitty apartment in town. A familiar was supposed to be the highlight of a witch’s life, the moment where all their hard work paid off, but when she thought about it, it was like a giant weight had been placed on her chest, refusing to let up.
Staying light on her feet, she tiptoed over to the fireplace and kneeled next to the cat. She went to pat him, but before she made contact, she stopped, remembering he hated to be touched. She wondered if a familiar had ever hated its witch so much. A sadness throbbed through her, and she felt tears threatening to fall. It seemed every road to being a witch would be a hard one. It seemed most witches climbed a hill, where she was climbing anEverest—which, in her opinion, was a really dumb thing to do. He slept soundly, more soundly than any familiar should when he just bit his witch. Did he feel no guilt? She wasthisclose to a mental breakdown.
The cat was still filthy. She had given him a day to clean himself cat-style, but he seemed to have no interest. He needed to be clean before she presented him tomorrow. A bath it was, even though she knew she would receive many more bites and scratches, and some verbal abuse, too.Fantastic. A small part of her reveled in getting back at him, though. He’d bitten her. Now he’d get dunked. Revenge would be wet and soapy.
Before he could react, she lunged forward, scooping him into her arms, ignoring his startled yowls and claws digging against her bare skin.
“Witch!” he yelled into her mind. “Put me down, or you will regret it.”
She held Lucky—she refused to call him Felix—tight against her chest as he fought desperately against her grip, thrashing, twisting, and clawing his way to freedom, but she only held him tighter.
“I swear to God, let me go, or I will murder you.”
She ignored him and kicked the bathroom door shut behind her and locked it, all the while trying to contain the monstrosity of a cat in her arms. After many scratches, she let him go, and he bolted to the corner of the bathroom. Its bright eyes stared up at her, and for the first time, she noticed they were different colors, one brown, the other green. She left it in the corner to sulk.
The taps groaned as she turned the handle, and the steam rose from the water as it started to fill the bathtub. For good measure, she poured a small amount of chamomile into the bath. Not that she was sure the cat would appreciate any of this, but it didn’t hurt to try.
The bathtub was large enough that washing him would have been too awkward to lean over the side, and her back seemed to fall out of place with the slightest twinge, so standing wasn’t an option. She peeled off her bandage and her clothes and let them fall to a heap on the floor, leaving on only her underwear. Using her good hand, she tested the water and found it adequate for what she thought a cat would like.
“I’m sorry,” she muttered toward the cat, cornering him and scooping him up in her arms. She hesitantly took the first step in the bath. He scratched her chest, leaving thin, weeping slices as he yowled with displeasure. The warm water lapped around her calf. It was a touch too hot for her freezing toe, but after a minute of standing, her body adjusted. As she submerged herself in the water, he went quiet.
It was too late to go back. For better or worse, they were in this together. Slowly, she lowered Lucky into the water. She cringed as a mix of her blood and mud seeped into the clear water, the mix of damp earth and chamomile steaming the room.
Using her hand, she scooped water from the bath and brushed away the caked mud on its fur. With each stroke, the water dirtied, and her guilt climbed. For some reason, he let her.
Until he didn’t.
The cat let out another yowl loud enough to rattle in her ears. Water splashed up the walls of the bath. Her familiar immediately tried to scramble out, claws scrabbling against porcelain, but she caught him and held him close, her arms getting caught in the bloody crossfire.
“This is your final warning, witch,” he growled. “Let. Me. Out.”
