Page 30 of The Cupid Chronicles

It makes a squeaking “meow” sound.

Okay, fine, that was sort of cute—for a little satanic animal.

Satanimal?I absently think, chuckling at the portmanteau, and I reach out to pet its head, then drag my hand along its back. It arches as I do this, squeaking adorably, and I think maybe I was wrong to judge cats so harshly.

This one, at least, doesn’t seem to warrant a priest and a bucket of water.

First Shandy, now this cat . . . I understand Darla’s comment about animals being such a better comfort than people. Still, I tried everything to find a cat for Winnie, and now one just appears?

Feels a lot like magic.

The unwanted thought sends a strange tingle down my spine.

The cat moves toward me, purring and brushing up against my leg. I pick it up, unsure how to hold it. Its claws dig into my coat, and I cradle it in my arms, petting its head as I check to make sure it doesn’t have a collar. “Where did you come from, cat?” I say out loud. “Are you magic?” Then, I switch to baby talk, which I’m not proud to admit, and say, “Are you a magical kitty cat?” while continuing to pet it and—oh, great—now I have become its best friend.

It mews a soft reply, and I carry it back to my car, letting it sit in my lap while I park, doing my best to go with this weird turn of events.

It’s perfectly content, curled up on me.

I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation that the exact cat I’ve been looking for would appear in my parking space atthe exact time I was planning to show up at Winnie’s door. Winnie, the old woman who has a special affection for black cats with white feet and who is probably going to be very concerned that she has a stalker when I pop in and gift her alive animal. I cradle the kitten, walk into the building, and go straight to the elevator.

“I hope she wants you, cat,” I say out loud as the doors open and I step out onto Winnie’s floor. “Otherwise, this is going to look utterly bizarre.”

I reach Winnie’s apartment and knock, petting the cat absently while I wait for her to answer the door.

In the pause, it occurs to me that I might be too late. Winnie may already be?—

But then the door opens, and a tall, wispy woman stands on the opposite side. Her gray hair is pulled up in a loose bun with escaped strands framing her face, a lavender scarf tied up into it like a headband. Her long, billowy dress matches the scarf, and she’s got on a full face of makeup.

Winnie St. George is beautiful. And regal. And elegant.

“Uh, hi,” I say. “I’m?—”

Her gaze drops to the cat in my arms, and she cuts me off. “Well, aren’t you the cutest little thing?” With crooked fingers, she reaches out and pets the cat. “Is he yours?”

“Actually,” I say. “I found him. He’s, uh, looking for a good home.”

“Oh, my goodness, really?” The trail of bracelets on her arm jingle as she motions for me to hand him over, which I do, watching as her face brightens the second he’s in her arms. “He’s homeless?”

“I found him in the parking garage,” I say. “I took a chance knocking on?—”

But Winnie doesn’t need my lame explanation, which is good because I actually have no idea what I was about to say. She doesn’t even seem confused by the fact that Ihappenedtofind this cat and then Ihappenedto bring it straight to her, a woman I’ve never met.

Instead, she beams at me, then looks back to the cat. “I used to have one that looked just like him.” She cradles the cat. “I miss my Lenny so much. I’ll take him if you’re sure he’s homeless.”

I stuff my hands in my pockets. “I’m pretty sure he is.”

As most magic cats are . . .

“Oh, he’sdarling,” she coos. “Let’s call him Squiggy. Like inLaverne and Shirley?” She looks at me, but I only stare. I have no idea what she’s talking about. “Are you a cat person?”

I grimace. “Honestly? Not really.”

“Well, youshouldbe,” she says. “There’s no more wonderful companion. They love you unconditionally. They’re always there for you.” She gives the cat a slight squeeze. “Are you sure you don’t want to keep him?”

“Oh, I’m sure.” I feel awkward, like I want to disappear. Is it enough to give her the cat and leave? “I’m not quite ready for the commitment.”

At that, she laughs. “You young people. Always afraid to commit. Oh, here, come in! Can you stay a minute?” There’s hopefulness in her eyes, and I unconsciously think about how easy it would be to become a lonely person. After all, you can be surrounded by people and still be lonely.

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