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“I can’t believe you named the house kraken Kitty,” Annie says.
“I can’t believe we’re standing in the doorway, about to watch Blaire get eaten by a house kraken named Kitty,” Sophie says.
“I’m not going to get eaten.” I roll my eyes. “And I didn’t name her Kitty, her name is Kitty. As in, that’s the name her kraken mommy and daddy gave her when she was born. Or hatched. Or…however baby krakens are made.”
“Definitely hatched,” Sophie says. “The strongest ones hatch first and hurry to eat as many of their brothers and sisters as possible so they’re strong enough to fight off other predators.”
Annie turns as green as her holiday sweater with the holly leaves and berries embroidered on the arms. “Can we hit pause and talk about this a little more, please? I understand that you feel you’ve established a bond with Kitty, but could it be possible she’s just um…”
“Winning your trust so you’ll set her free to devour everyone on the ground floor of the home,” Sophie supplies, doing that “finishing Annie’s sentences” thing that was once my exclusive purview. She arches a brow. “I mean, that’s not an unrealistic fear. House krakens have been known to devour their hosts.”
“Like pigs,” Annie says, her eyes going wide. “Pigs eat farmers that fall into pens all the time. Even if the farmers have been super nice to them.”
“And krakens have also been known to be incredible cooks,” I say, determined to get our evening back on course. “Kitty has a surprise for you guys, okay? She’s been working on her recipes all week and she just wants to treat us to a lovely dinner to celebrate the longest night of the year and to thank us for welcoming her into our lives and not installing plastic pipes. Try to be a little open-minded, all right? You’re standing in the doorway. You can be out of the house getting help in five minutes if needed.”
“Five minutes is plenty of time for Kitty to pop your arms off,” Sophie says with a little shrug. “But I’m game if Annie is.”
“I think I’m going to be sick,” Annie says, looking like she might actually vomit.
She’s been off the past month and a half, ever since she went to see Baron the Grouch in his swamp, got snowed in overnight, and came home with roly-poly bugs in her hair. She refused to share anything about the visit aside from the fact that she did end up getting the vampire blood we needed for a spell to heal the rash between my breasts—turns out getting rejected by your fated mate isn’t all that bad aside from the heartbreak, crying, and rashes in weird places. I have an outbreak between my toes now, too.
I hope Darcy’s rash is on his big ugly balls and that he can’t find a single witch willing to give him the blood to ease his suffering.
As soon as the thought is through my head, I counteract it with a wish for Darcy to be healthy, happy, and whole. My ego is hurt by the way things ended with us, but my higher self wants the best for all the people I love, even if they don’t love me back.
But that’s okay. Love and forgiveness are their own rewards.
And hell, I have a kick ass house kraken jonesing to make my family dinner every night from now until the end of time. Considering how much I hate cooking, that’s nearly as good as living happily ever after with a smart and sexy man the stars incarnated just for me.
“You’re not going to be sick; you’re going to be amazed,” I assure Annie as I reach for the metal grill covering the drain in the sink, the one I unscrewed before my sisters came into the room because I know I can trust Kitty. I just know it, the way I know that Nightfall is where I’m supposed to be, and that beer always tastes better after a hard day’s work.
Using the edge of the grill to pop the top off the beer waiting for me on the counter, I call to Kitty, “Take it away, sugar. The sisters are waiting to see what you’ve got.”
A split second later, one of Kitty’s tentacles bursts through the drain hole. Annie and Sophie both stumble back a few steps, but when Kitty waves their way with an eagerness that can only be described as puppy-like they both let out a relieved sigh. Sophie even whispers a soft, “wow,” as the drain widens under Kitty’s special breed of magic, allowing her to reach six of her eight tentacles through the hole.
In seconds, she’s slicing herbs, warming oil in a cast iron skillet, pulling pork chops from the refrigerator, and pouring the twins a glass of wine.
Sophie accepts hers with a giggle, but Annie waves a hand and says, “No, thank you. But that’s very sweet.” She reaches out to give Kitty’s tentacle a warm squeeze, which excites the poor, over-eager house kraken to the point that she starts wagging her limb and drops the wine glass.
For a second, everything freezes in the aftermath of the shattering goblet, but then Annie says, “Don’t worry about it, sweetie. We have plenty of extra glasses. I’ll grab the dustpan and tidy that up while you finish dinner. I can’t wait to try your dishes. Things are already smelling amazing in here.”
Kitty resumes her preparations with renewed vigor and relief that I can sense prickling across my skin. In order to claim her as my familiar, I had to work a spell that brought our souls into the same field of energetic vibration. Which basically means I can feel how she’s feeling, and we often communicate without either of us saying a word—though she does understand English and is pretty handy with a pen and paper in moments of confusion.
That’s how I learned she loves it when I play 1930s jazz music while we work. Kitty’s been helping me shore up the foundation and is the best at holding pictures steady while I mark where to hang them with chalk.
Annie leans in to give me a hug on her way to fetch the broom and dustpan. “Good job, sis. Sorry I doubted you. This is so cool.”
“Thanks,” I say, my eyes sliding closed as I hug her tight, savoring the moment of closeness. She’s been at the library a lot lately, learning about her Wyvern heritage and making up for lost time with Sophie, but we’re still as close as when we thought we were twins.
Some bonds can never be broken. I’m grateful for that, and for my new sister, who’s been looking out for us big time the past two months. Sophie is on education detail, Mama Spider is our fierce, front yard protector, and Kitty is a class act of a familiar who loves to cook like her mother and grandmother before her.
Everything would be coming up roses if it weren’t for the fact that almost everyone in the campground disappeared after they drugged and jailed Darcy and me and we have no idea why. Colin and the rest of the Nightfall PD are still investigating, but the few remaining people at the campground genuinely seem to have no clue what motivated the attack.
They did agree, however, that the campground was a shitty, marginalized place to live, and they’d rather not be the “weirdos on the bad side of town,” anymore if that was an option.
The town council is building new affordable housing for the refugees in response and Nightfall feels safer than it did before. Combined with my new knowledge of all things supernatural, the fact that the people who attacked me are long gone is comforting.
I’d be blissfully happy here if it weren’t for this fucking rash. Since the poultice I made from Baron’s blood ran out last week, the itchy red sores are back with a vengeance. Colin’s still out of town, trying to track down the fugitives, so I can’t ask the one vampire I actually like—now that I know he never intended to force Annie into a miserable marriage—for a blood donation. And I’m not about to ask Annie to go back to Baron since that clearly didn’t end well the first time.
