The Familiar (13 page)

"I see you've run into a barrier, there, boys. Too bad. I guess you won't be able to stop us burning the customer list, then." I turn and hand the sheaf of papers to Gillian, smiling. "Gillian, would you do the honors?"

We share a smile as she takes half the papers, and we feed them into the fire sheet by sheet, giving each one a flourish on the way to the flame. It doesn't take long, but boy, are we having fun.

I turn back to where Kreepy stands, still spluttering. "Okay. That was the last of it. The client and supplier names. There's nothing you might want in my little shop now, so don't break in any more, okay? If you decide to try it, I've still got my bat, and I bet I could score a good hit on your other shoulder, too. Plus, I don't think I'll be giving up Corey Woods, either. It seems I have a heritage here that I never knew about. And I've decided I'm going to stick around and become more familiar with it."

Robert is talking under his breath to Kevin now, and from what I catch, it isn't pretty.

Kevin starts to say something, but his father cuts him off. "I'll handle this." Then he turns to face me. "You're right. There's no longer anything in the shop Kevin might want. I want you to know that I didn't know what he'd done until just now. My apologies for any damage he caused in the store. We'll be on our way." He turns to Kevin, "Come on. We're done here," and stalks to the car, refusing to look at his son further.

"Oh my," says Gillian as the Merc throws up a scatter of pebbles when it backs around to leave, "I think we may have touched off a family squabble."

"Yeah, looks like. I know I feel real sorry about that." Gillian and I grin at each other like the madwomen we are.

She puts her arm around me and flings her other hand out toward the barrier. There's a slight sizzling sound as it dissolves.

Oh yeah, she is so going to teach me that. I don't care how crazy this is, because it's crazy exciting, too.

I'm in.

"That's taken care of," says Tom, as he finishes mashing the fennel in the mortar and dumps it into a jar, putting the scoop back on top before he seals it back up with the lid. "All the loose herb jars are filled, and I rearranged the storerooms now that there's some extra space. I put the perishables in the small storeroom to take advantage of the dehumidification and separate thermostat."

"Thanks. Good idea," I say, as Tom turns and heads down the hall. He doesn't seem to have any problem expressing himself now that's he's been human for a few days, and he's been super helpful with a lot of stuff around the house and shop. He's even teaching me what all the herbs and potions can be used for when they're infused with magic. He doesn't have any magic of his own, not since Eunice did to him what she did, but Gillian says she'll teach me how to use mine, so I've been taking notes.

I watch him walk toward the parlor where he'll stay out of sight while the shop is open. I can't help but admire the way his jeans fit. More men should wear bell bottoms. It's a look.

Omigod. Where's my brain? I just snuck a look at the butt of a guy who's in his sixties or something—Gillian's age, at least. And he's Gillian's ex-husband. I should have my eyes removed and burned, shouldn't I? But, well, I've seen Tom in the raw a couple of times now, and Gilly was one lucky woman. And it's not like Tom looks or acts like he's sixty.

I think about Dan now, force of habit, I guess, and how he would look just as yummy in bell bottoms with his short, blonde hair, killer tan, and sculpted abs. Suddenly, I miss him intensely. I miss the way he held me and the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled. I miss his arm thrown across my body as I sleep. I miss everything about him in a big, giant ache. I press my eyes shut for a minute. I force myself to remember how badly he hurt me. Otherwise, I'd take out my phone and hit the call button.

I'm thinking about what to make for dinner while I look up when Tom calls from the back, "Hey, I've got a surprise for you. Come upstairs when you're done."

Can't imagine what it might be. At least he's not dropping mice at my feet any more.

I walk up the stairs, and I see he's moved the kitchen table into the living room. It's laid out with Granny's best dining things—fancy linen table cloth, silver candlesticks with candles lit, and the good tableware, including a classy sixties white bone china with a simple platinum rim. The goblets are similarly rimmed with platinum. It looks gorgeous. There's a lovely smell coming out of the kitchen, too, but I have to tease him.

"Wow, Tom, you put a lot of work into this! And you cooked, right? Because it wouldn't be much of a surprise if I have to spend hours in the kitchen making something good enough to put on this table."

He stands in the kitchen doorway, one of Granny's old frilly aprons tied on over his sixties garb with that lopsided, sexy smirk on his face. He looks ridiculously adorable that way. He's got a bottle in either hand.

"I definitely cooked. And I'm good at it. A talent I inherited from my mother. But I'll let you decide on the pre-dinner cocktails while we wait for the chicken to be done." He puts one of the bottles forward and then the other, "So, will it be rum in your mai tai or bourbon in your mint julep?"

Not being a cocktail kind of girl, I don't know which one to pick. They both sound good. And brimming with much needed alcohol. "What are you having?"

"Neither. I still have to focus hard to think like a human, so it's not a good idea to scramble my thoughts any more than necessary. But if you're looking for a recommendation, I'd say I'm partial to the mai tai."

I smile. "Okay, that's what I'll have then."

Tom disappears into the kitchen and returns with the drink. "Sorry about the lack of garnish, but while the liquor cupboard is still fully stocked the way Eunice liked it, there aren't any cherries or pineapple. I was glad to find the lime juice, though."

I take a sip and quickly decide I may become a mai tai fan. "That's fantastic!"

"Glad it hits the spot. You relax, and I'll have dinner out in a jiffy."

I do relax, finally, for what feels like the first time in a long time. It's only been a little over two weeks since Granny died and I left Dan, but those weeks have been packed with the most emotional and bizarre events of my entire life. I still don't understand how Granny was able to keep me shielded from the goings-on of her witchy life. Not to mention being an illegal importer as well as the owner of a shape-shifting house slave.

I say "house slave", but I'm pretty sure that it was something more. I mean, that box of "toys" she had upstairs and Tom's generous helping of hotness...but there's no way I'm going there and asking those questions. No way at all.

I just hope that the three of us who are in on Tom's predicament can figure out a way to get him free of it soon.

He's made roasted chicken with onions and potatoes. The potatoes are buttery and crusted with herbs, and the chicken is moist on the inside with just the right amount of crispy on the outside. He's also opened the baby carrots I bought yesterday and cooked them in a butter sauce. The food is amazing. But I think Tom will have to learn new cooking skills since a lot of the meal depends on butter, including the perfectly browned skin on the chicken. I'm tempted to pick it off, but it's one meal, right? I can go low fat again tomorrow. Yeah, I won't say anything. Why ruin a fantastic meal with a gorgeous man over a few hundred calories?

I look up from my plate, and Tom is watching me instead of eating. His messy, longish brown hair makes him look like he just got out of bed. He smiles, and I feel myself blushing like a kid and getting hot and bothered, too. Come on, Cassie, get yourself together. This isn't a date, so stop reacting like it is. The man was a cat like only a week ago.

I say, "It's all just really delicious."

"It's nothing. I wanted to say thank you for everything you've done for me." He lowers his eyes back to his meal, but I can't stop thinking about how brightly emerald green they are, and how they'd pierce my defenses if I'd bothered putting any up.

Geez, I'm having what my old Sunday School teacher would call "inappropriate thoughts" about a guy who is wearing my former cat's collar. Not to mention all the other incredibly good reasons not to be thinking of him like that.

Then suddenly, I have no trouble readjusting my attitude to something more "appropriate" as he launches off his chair to grab a spider off the wall and stick it in his mouth. I think I'm going to be sick. Okay, maybe I'm not going to be sick, but I'm definitely no longer turned on.

Tom doesn't come back to the dinner table. Instead, he sinks to his knees with his face in his hands and hangs his head, shaking it back and forth. I don't think he's crying, but I couldn't say for sure.

"Tom?"

"I'm so embarrassed. Even though my human side is in charge again, Cat's still a part of me. And he needs to hunt. It's who he is." Tom raises his head, and those sexy green eyes look a little crazed now.

"Would it help if you were Cat for a while? I mean, do you need to be Cat every so often? 'Cause this werecat thing you've got going on, does it have rules like that?"

"Maybe. I've almost never been human this long at one time since..." His voice trails off and he's quiet for a moment. "Eunice kept me as Cat unless she wanted something. Even then, if she needed me to redecorate or do other manual labor, she'd shift me to Cat afterward unless she wanted me that night in bed."

I so do not want to know that last part even though I'd suspected it. But wow, not going there. I don't need to think about Gran that way when I'm still so mixed up about her. "Well, what do you think, then, if you don't know?"

"I think yes, I probably need to spend an hour or two as Cat."

"Okay. Come back to the table and finish dinner with me. Then I'll say the magic words so he can go out hunting. Because this is a great meal, with good company, and I don't want it to go to waste."

Tom comes to the table, his eyes sad, but the hungry, crazed look is gone, at least for now. They really are beautiful eyes. Oh blast. I'm turned on again.

After dinner, I tell him what a bad Tom he is, and in a moment, a sweet-faced kitten pushes his way out of the pile of Tom's clothes and purrs endearingly as he rubs the side of his face against my ankles. It's nice but weird, given my current state of horn-dogginess. Then again, he doesn't know about that. I think I'll just keep it to myself.

I walk to a downstairs window and open it wide enough for him to get out. There are sliding bolts on either side to make sure that an intruder can't lift it more than seven inches or so. That's all Cat needs to get back in. I slide the bolts in place and go into the kitchen to take care of the dishes.

Okay, so I'm adapting, right? I'm apparently a witch, and there may be a psycho warlock trying to take everything I have. Plus, my new house comes furnished with a magical werecat. And how do I know I'm taking it in stride? Because suddenly I'm daydreaming about hooking up with some guy who wears bell bottoms because he was around the first time they were cool. With nothing underneath. Because there wasn't a single pair of men's underpants in the house.

Aargh! I so did not mean to think that.

When I wake up, Tom is snuggled into the small of my back, sleeping soundly. I'm not sure if that's weird or not. I mean, he's a cat, but...

Well, at least sleeping with a cat snugged up against my back doesn't turn me on. I'm pretty sure it would if he was spooned up against it in human form. And
now
I'm thinking about snuggling against Tom in a whole other way. Note to self: I really have to stop thinking like this. I haven't even gotten over Dan yet.

Dan. Well, that helps. Now I'm sad again. I slide my feet off the side of the bed and get in a half-hearted stretch. Cat wakes up and stretches, too, his pink tongue showing through his sharp, white teeth as he yawns.

I go to the closet and grab his red robe, which I lay out for him in the hall just outside the door. He rubs against my legs and looks up at me expectantly. Cat wanting a scratch? "Outside the room, please." He pads along obediently.