Page 71 of Zalis
“Mittens is a cat,” Emry said.
“An Earth cat?”
“Yes, an Earth cat.”
“That’s not a cat. I’ve seen cats. They’re like this big.” Gemma demonstrated with her hands. “That’s a small mountain lion.”
“She’s a caracal hybrid. We’ve got the papers.”
Gemma eyed Mittens, who appeared to be casually napping in her cat bed. Her ears were pulled back, clearly listening. The ears and the size of the cat clearly saidwildcat, making Gemma believe she was a hybrid. “Really? A designer breed? I bet that comes with a silly name.”
“Caracat,” Emry admitted, sounding embarrassed.
“Oh my God! That’s obnoxiously cute.”
“Hey, I didn’t come up with the goldendoodle name and Ren adopted her.”
“And named herMittens?”
“Murder Mittens, actually.”
Gemma clapped her hands in delight. The name fit so perfectly. Mittens did indeed have murder mitts the size of teacup saucers.
Mittens sighed loudly, like Gemma disturbed her nap. She wanted to pet the danger kitty so bad.
“Don’t do it. She doesn’t like people,” Emry warned.
“She likes you.”
“She doesn’t.”
“She follows you everywhere,” Gemma said.
“She doesn’t trust me.”
Gemma narrowed her eyes and pointed an accusing finger. “Emmarae LeBeaux, what did you do to this sweet baby who has never done anything wrong in her life ever?”
“I may… have… stolen Ren’s ship.” Emry’s cheeks darkened with embarrassment.
Gemma was stunned.Shewas the impulsive fuckup. While they both had a bit of a temper, Emry had been the responsible one. “I’m sure he deserved it.”
Emry hid a yawn with her hand. “Sorry.”
“No. I should head out. Baker hours.” The yawn was infectious.
“Early to bed, early to rise makes a gal tired and sweaty but it also makes the bagels,” Emry said, reciting the twisted maxim they often said in the bakery.
“But it makes the bagels,” Gemma agreed.
Gemma made her way back to her residential block. The community was laid out in a hub, with communal facilities in the center. Clusters of mid-rise apartment buildings and private cottages radiated out. It was a walkable design. The streets were lined with lamp posts that turned on automatically. Sounds of conversation and music drifted out through open windows. The center glowed with warmth and light.
The farther she walked, the more the light vanished. The sky dimmed with the fading twilight. This part of the community was empty. No sounds of people going about their evening, only apartment buildings waiting to be converted to dorms and cottages with dark windows. The lamp posts grew farther and farther apart. Half of them weren’t working. The ones that did only offered a pale, flickering illumination. The darkness increased between puddles of light. Metal towers stretched the sky like the grasping fingers of a giant, dark against the twilight sky.
All evidence pointed to her being alone but the crawling sensation of being watched dogged her steps.
“Don’t be silly,” she told herself, and instantly cringed. That was what the first chick to die in a slasher movie always said right before meeting her demise.Hey, don’t be silly. There’s no guy with chainsaws for hands hiding in the old barn. I’ll show you.
It was spooky. She could admit that. The atmosphere, the groans from the massive towers, and the flickering lights: spooky. There was no point in denying that she was spooked out. All that was missing were leaves tumbling down the street, caught in a chilling breeze. Oh, and Chainsaw Hands.
