Page 29 of The Cupid Chronicles

*THWAP*

“What the?—”

I fumble around for a second, disoriented, and rub my eyes open just in time to see a disappearing golden wisp.

The newspaper hit me again.

“Oh. Oh! Oh,yeah?That’s how it’s going to be now?”

I can’t be sure, but I think I hear a soft tinkle of wind chimes, maybe from outside. I immediately sit up and look around for another newspaper.

There are none.

I hop up and look in my drawers, under the bed, but nothing. It’s weird, but I’m a little disappointed.

That feeling of disappointment is quickly replaced by the overwhelming feeling of helplessness. The article said something needed to happen by Thursday.

That’s today.

A weird pit forms in my stomach. Time is running out.

I’ve imagined every worst-case scenario my overly active imagination could conjure, and by the time I’ve made my morning coffee, I’m so worked up I almost call the school and take a personal day.

I mean, not to be overly dramatic here, but was the newspaper suggesting that without some sort of intervention Winnie might die?

It’s the “Before it’s too late” bit at the end of the article that gets me.

Menacing? Macabre? Or just an added punch at the end to show it’s serious, but not to be taken verbatim?

I’m not going to chance it either way. I have to figure out how to help her.

I spend most of the day hiding out in the art room, eating lunch in my car, and calling all the animal shelters one more time on the off chance that a random, black and white cat came in last night.

“We have an orange tabby that would love a new home,” one woman tells me on the phone. I tell her, “No, I really do need a black one with white booties.”

“That’s a very specific request,” she says.

And I agree, then hang up questioning whether I’m being too literal. I truly have no idea why the catneedsto look like her old cat, but would the newspaper have mentioned that detail if it wasn’t important?

My brain is in run-on sentence mode.

I head home after work, planless, cat-less, hopeless. Even so, I’m determined to knock on Winnie’s door and at least say hello. I’ll just check in and make sure she’s okay. Tell her I’m new(ish) in the building, trying to meet all my neighbors, casual-like.

I will not mention magic.

As plans go, it’s pretty basic, but it’s the best I’ve got. The newspaper seemed to want more to happen, but I’m just not sure what.

I pull into the parking garage and navigate my way to my dedicated space but slam on the brakes when I see it. There, sitting right at the center of my parking spot, is a small, black cat with white feet. He even has a circle around one eye. I stare at it and blink.

It doesn’t disappear.

I stare longer, like my mind conjured it from thin air.

It stares back, unmoving.

You’ve got to be kidding.

I put my car in park, get out, and walk over to the cat. As a rule, I’m not a cat person. I think they’re weird and possibly demon-possessed. But I kneel down to inspect it, wondering if it’s a figment of my imagination.

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