Page 14 of Hexed, Vexed, & Undersexed
Preston and I follow Peter down aisle after aisle until he stops at what can only be ‘Witch Row.’
“Here we go,” Peter grunts, moving aside some items to pull down a broom decorated with sparkling gemstones in a rainbow of colors.
“Oooo, pretty,” I coo.
What?
I can love crystals andnotbe a hippie.
“I see you’re distracted by shiny rocks,” Preston jokes.
I stick my tongue out at him.
“Be grateful that I didn’t ask for a vibrating one since I’m not getting any action otherwise,” I taunt.
Preston’s eyes widen at the thought.
Ha!
Take that, Mr. Sexy Pants.
He can’t tease me and expect me to take the high road.
“And the cat is over here,” Peter directs after clearing his throat.
He walks over to a large crate where I hear a feral hiss—and take a giant step back.
“What the fuck kind of cat do you have in there, a rabid lion, because why the hell would you need a crate that size for a tabby?!”
Peter looks uncomfortable.
“The network picked him up from a local shelter in Danvers, actually. He’s nice, but he doesn’t really like people much.”
“Okay, A—it’s super creepy how everyone keeps referring to the network like it’s a person. And B—why would they pick a cat who hates people to be my ‘familiar’? I mean, to be fair, all cats hate people, but still—why?!”
“Apparently, he is exactly what the network envisions as your typical ‘witch cat,’” Peter explains unhelpfully. “And don’t knock the network, this place has ears and eyes everywhere.”
A chill of regret runs down my spine.
So much for trying to lure Preston into a broom closet for a little hanky-panky.
Cautiously, Peter approaches the crate and pops the tab to open the door. Then, he springs back quickly.
Comforting, real comforting—NOT!
Nobody moves as a large cat the size of a small Labrador saunters out. In truth, it’s more like a miniature panther—all sleek ebony fur and sinuous muscles. With a fluid grace I don’t have a prayer of ever having, the stunning creature walks over to me and places his head into my side. Then, he promptly starts purring while rubbing his scent all over me. My faint ‘animal whisper’ magic instantly bonds to this little monster.
“Huh—I guess he likes me,” I offer as I kneel down to pet the beautiful beast.
“I guess so,” Preston agrees, “but let’s be cautious.”
He reaches a hand to my shoulder to pull me back and my ‘familiar’ growls savagely at him.
“I didn’t know when I signed up for the show that I would get a guard dog, er cat,” I joke, already in love.
“Usually, all items must be returned to the set after filming, but I think the network will make an exception for this; he’s yours,” Peter announces.
“Does he have a name?” I ask.
