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“Both.”

“Probably not.”

He growls.

I flee.

What else can a girl do in a situation like that?

Avoiding Damian is easy for approximately three hours. Because, of course, I have to take Sparky to the vet.

My tabby has been acting strange since we arrived in Arrhythmia. Hissing at empty rooms, disappearing into walls he definitely should not be able to walk through, and yesterday I catch him floating six inches above my bed.

I’m worried.

The veterinarian assures me strange things happen to animals when they first arrive in Arrhythmia. Still, I’m waiting with Sparky when the clinic door opens.

Damian walks in.

“Oh, come on,” I mumble.

He stops.

“Not thrilled either, Sweet.”

Sweet?

Before I can decide how I feel about that, something chirps from the cage in his hand.

I stare.

“You have a canary?”

His shoulders stiffen.

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing.”

Sparky’s head slowly turns. His pupils expand.

“Oh, shit.”

“What?”

“Sparky loves canaries.”

Damian looks almost pleased. Then I finish.

“As a snack.”

His expression changes.

“Your cat goes anywhere near Albert⁠—”

“Albert?”

“Yes.”