Page 42 of Killer of the Bells
“Yes! Apple said to talk around you as much as possible to give you something to work with, and I’m pretty good at it. Hey, do you like cats? There’s one at your feet right now.”
I glanced down, but I saw nothing but snow. “I like cats.” I spun around (dragging Vix with me because, for some reason, he still hadn’t let go.), trying to find a cat, but I saw nothing. I did see little paw prints in the snow, though.
“Don’t step on him!” Vix cried out, throwing himself at me to push me away from the paw prints. There was no cat. I repeat. No cat. Just a tiny man on the verge of tears, clinging to me like his life depended on it.
It was good that I couldn’t say things spontaneously, or else I would have said,I’m supposed to be the crazy one here. Go find your own thing!
Vix released my hand, crouched down in the snow, and ran his hands over the pawprints. “I think you missed him, but I can’t tell.” He was sniffling, and I wondered if I should just walk away and let him have his mental breakdown in peace. I certainly enjoyed it when I had that option myself.
I’d begun to back away when Vix shouted, “Don’t move!”
I froze in place, one foot in the air.
“He’s behind you.” Vix began to crawl toward me slowly. “Don’t move or you’ll spook him.”
I stayed perfectly still, because you’re supposed to go along with people with dementia. I’d read that it’s bad for their bodies to be constantly jolted back to reality, and this little guy was clearly out of touch with it.
This conclusion was further proven when Vix sat back on his heels and held nothing up in the air, one hand under the butt of nothing and the other holding nothing’s scruff.
“It’s okay, little guy,” Vix crooned. “I’m so glad you didn’t step on him, Echo. He won’t admit it, but Oda Nobunaga is Vale’s favorite.”
“Vale’s favorite?” I dared to put my foot back down, hoping that Vix wouldn’t freak out and decide there were other imaginary cats around as well.
Vale had a favorite Japanese warlord? If one was going to have one, Oda Nobunaga was a good choice—if a bit basic—but I was partial to Ishida Mitsunari.
My mind was struggling to keep up as the topic hopped around, but I thought I was doing pretty well until Vix yelped and his hand developed a scratch for literally no reason.
That was when I decided that I was the one hallucinating, not Vix. I hadn’t actually been rescued from the tent by Vale. Instead, I was slowly freezing to death and vividly dreaming about fake cats.
My hypothesis was further reinforced when a small black cat appeared out of thin air, now standing in the snow and giving Vix a dirty look.
Yep. I had totally lost it.
“I’m sorry, Oda Nobunaga, I thought that was your butt, not your head. It’s hard to tell what’s what when you’re invisible!” Vix pouted, and he cradled his hand, blowing on the scratch.
His eyes had teared up again, and I sighed. Wow, Vix’s emotions were on a hair trigger, weren’t they?
I crouched down and patted him on the head like I would a child.
It was the correct choice, because he smiled up at me. “You’re nice. I’m so glad Vale didn’t kill you. You’re gonna be so good for him.”
I didn’t know what to do with that comment, so I pointed at Oda Nobunaga the cat—not the Japanese warlord—and asked “Cat?” making my face look as dubious as possible. Oda Nobunaga was tiny and looked far more like a kitten than a cat.
“He stopped growing after three months, but the vet checked him all over and said he’s a healthy kitty, just teeny tiny. Paris told me Oda Nobunaga is happy to be his size because he can go anywhere he wants. That’s why he’s outside right now. Hekeeps finding mouseholes to escape through. Otherwise, he’s a perfectly normal cat.”
“Invisible,” I pointed out dryly.
“Okay, that one is my fault, and the vet yelled at me about it, but in my defense, Baz and I both thought it was an amazing idea at the time. It didn’t hurt him or any of his littermates. They just go invisible sometimes. Also, I think it’s really cool that you can cherry-pick words and only say what really needs to be said. There’s a lot of people out there who talk way too much. Like, they can’t shut up no matter what you do. It’s incredibly frustrating because it’s impossible to get a word in edgewise. You know what I mean?”
“I know what you mean,” I deadpanned.
“I thought you would. I told you my name is Vix, right?” Vix reached out like he was going to try and shake my hand again, and I nodded quickly to show him he didn’t need to start that all over again. My hand was going to get sore. “Good, good. Hey, are you evil? It’s kind of a prerequisite around here. Paris is an exception, but only because he’s practically an angel and will forgive or tolerate anything. Except for cruelty to animals. You definitely don’t want to do that around him. So, you should skedaddle if you’re evil to animals.”
I don’t think he took a breath the entire time. I wasn’t sure how to respond. Not due to lack of words, though. Vix had given me plenty of them. It was because I didn’t know if I was evil or not. How does one know if they’re evil?
It seemed more like a label than an actual, tangible concept. What could be considered evil to one person might be exactly what another person needed to do in order to survive. How did one quantify such a thing?
So, I shook my head and shrugged.
