Page 109 of Love at First Fright

The cat purred louder, kneading my thigh with its paws.

Was Bat disgusted with himself? Regretting his unlife choices? Had kissing me been some kind of ghostly mistake he’d immediately panicked about?

Honestly, I couldn’t help but be a bit annoyed at Bat. I didn’t ask for him to kiss me. He’d initiated the whole thing—the dancing, the hand-holding, the leaning in with those sad, kohl-rimmed brown eyes and that stupidly attractive pale face.

And now I sat here alone. Again. Story of my bloody life.

“What do you think, kitty-cat?” I asked the purring weight on my lap. “Did I do something wrong? Or does my sad boy emo ghost just have issues?”

Meow.

“I mean, he probably does, what with being murdered and doomed to haunt this manor forever and whatnot. That would probably do it.”

The cat meowed again, and I swore it sounded like it was agreeing. Like it understood every word and offered its feline sympathy for my romantic disasters.

The salmon treats!

I’d bought those earlier in town, along with the books and chess set. Where had I put them? I shifted carefully, trying not to disturb the cat too much, and leaned towards my jacket draped over the chair. Fumbled through the pockets until my fingers closed around the crinkly packet.

“Here.” I tore it open. The smell of processed fish filled the room. “Gourmet cuisine for his lordship.”

I tipped a few treats into my palm. The cat’s eyes widened, pupils dilating to black saucers. It leapt forward with outstanding enthusiasm, nearly knocking the rest of the packet from my hand.

Sharp little teeth scraped my skin as it devoured the treats. Then kept going. And going. Licking my fingers long after the salmon had disappeared. Licking rather enthusiastically. Too enthusiastically.

My palm. My wrist. Up my forearm.

The rough tongue dragged across my skin in long, deliberate strokes. Not catlike at all. More like—

“Okay, that’s enough of that.” I tried to pull my hand back.

The cat gripped my wrist with its paws, holding on, continuing its assault of hot, wet licks.

Suspicion crept up my spine.

The cat’s behaviour since it had appeared. The frequency of it popping up to find me. The way it hated Brad. How it had sat through entire conversations almost like it was listening. The spider murdering with perfect timing. Diligently cuddling me all night long. This weird persistence in grooming my arm like I was covered in the most delicious thing it had ever tasted.

Oh no. Oh, no, no, no.

“Please, please, tell me you haven’t been possessing this cat the whole time, Bat.”

The cat froze mid-lick.

We stared at each other.

Its ears flattened. Tail puffed. Eyes went wide with what looked unmistakably like alarm.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Bat!” I stood, dumping the cat onto the duvet. “Leave that poor animal alone and come back here!”

The cat meowed. Plaintive. Guilty.

“Now, Bat!” I threatened. “We need to talk.”

sixteen

Bat

The cat’s body— my body, currently—froze on the duvet. Charlie stood over me, hands on hips, face flushed with indignation and something else I didn’t dare name.