Table of Contents

Dedication

Foreword

Saguaros

  Watts Martin

Ghosts

  Searska GreyRaven

Froggy Stews

  Humphrey Lanham

Post-Isolation

  Ellis Aen

Resistance

  David M Sula

The Hard Way

  Val E Ford

Coyote Magic

  Ryan Campbell

The Last Roundup

  Amy Fontaine

Safe Mode

  John Giezentanner

Laotian Rhapsody

  Al Song

Qibla

  Bill Kieffer

Dear Sis

  Matt Doyle

Every Last Paw

  Blake Hutchins

Mixed Blessings

  Kittara Foxworthy

No Dogs

  KC Alpinus

About the Authors

About the Artist

About the Editor

ROAR

Volume 9

Resistance

Edited by Mary E. Lowd

Bad Dog Books

2018

ROAR Volume 9

First publication 2018

Edited by Mary E. Lowd

Cover by Kadath

Copyright © 2018

Published by Bad Dog Books

www . baddogbooks . com

All stories copyright their respective authors.

Print ISBN: 978-1-61450-440-5

eBook ISBN: 978-1-61450-441-2

All works here are printed with expressed permission from their authors.

No portion of this work may be reproduced in any form, in any medium, without expressed permission from the copyright holder.

Dedication

For the resistance.

Foreword

Foreword

Resistance is personal. Resistance is exhausting (so take care of yourself). And the children shall lead. These are the themes that emerged to me from the stories you hold in your hands. There are a lot of ways to look at the resistance, a lot of different angles an author can take.

In this year’s slush pile, I received—once again—a higher average quality of stories than I’ve received any previous year. Yes, the quality of writing in the furry fandom just keeps going up! Each year, the stories that I don’t accept become better and better, and I’m always delighted to see them find homes in other furry anthologies. (So you should read other furry anthologies too!)

When I sat down to sift through all the submissions I’d read this year and find the anthology hidden within them, I realized I was going to be learning more about my own priorities and vision when it comes to resistance than anything else. Last year, the stories I received taught me about what paradise means. But this year, I had to choose from many perspectives on resistance and many exceptional stories in order to assemble the vision of resistance you will find here, expressed through the voices of fifteen amazing authors.

Here are the lessons I learned about resistance from editing this anthology—it is always personal, because each person will experience the slings and arrows of oppression personally, oftentimes internally; life goes on, and so you must care for yourself and find the gems of goodness that keep you going as you resist; and as we get older and more tired, more used to the injustices of the world and more weary of the possibility of ever changing them, there is hope in the children who haven’t given up yet, for whom the unfairness of this world is still fresh, still changeable.

And yet, in spite of all that, at the end of the day, this is just a collection of stories, and I tried to pick stories I enjoyed, stories that I hope you, dear reader, will enjoy.

Take a break, take care of yourself, enjoy these stories, and when you’re refreshed, continue to resist.

-Mary E. Lowd

Saguaros

Watts Martin

Resistance begins with a surge of magic.

Saguaros

Watts Martin

When the walkway stones sang to announce Tamiisi’s return, lanterns flaring to brighten the path ahead of her paws, the mansion’s door barely had time to lift out of the way before Hanai marched onto the porch. The relief visible in her eyes yielded quickly to annoyance. “Tamiisi! Do you—”

“I’m sorry I’m late, Miss Hanai. The checkpoints are running slow tonight. Something must have happened.” Even though the small sled she pulled floated frictionlessly behind her, her breath came quickly, shallow with nerves.

The coyote woman frowned, leaning down to lift the rabbit’s right paw, to check the glowing strap encircling her wrist. In Hanai’s presence, it pulsed a familiar warm color sequence. “This didn’t let you right through?”

“Not tonight, ma’am. I’m very sorry.”

She let go, straightening to her full, imposing height. “Nothing to apologize for on your part, and nothing to be done for it either way.” She shook her head, motioning the maid to follow back inside. “Yes. Something’s happened.”

Nudging the sled along the walk, the rabbit circled the tall thorn-tree in the center of the yard, then made her way up into the house, guiding her floating payload away from the fragile vases decorating Hanai’s foyer. “Do you know what?”

“Yes.” She sounded tired. “And so do you.”

“More Collapse? But it’s not anywhere near here, is it? And it’s not as if double- and triple-checking…” She trailed off as the coyote’s ears went back.

“As if it helps?” Hanai kept her voice level.

“I mean no offense, ma’am. But I just don’t see how it does.”

“It’s checking the magic, Tamiisi. And the Collapse is very near here. Just three blocks east.”

“Oh.”

“The Cultivation is—” She took a deep breath. “It’s holding. But I’ve never heard of Collapse like this. Do you remember Toljee? His estate’s across the park from the market with the beautiful fish you found just this summer. It’s all…gone. Just gone.”

She’d seen the guards closing the roads she used to travel down, but nothing beyond them. “What happened to Mister Toljee?”

“His son took him in. But he’s lost everything.”

“What about his servants?”

Hanai looked nonplussed, then disquietingly lost. “I don’t know,” she said softly.

Tamiisi nodded, biting her lip. “Have you…have you seen it? The Wild?”

“Only from as far away as possible.” The coyote cocked her head, eyes narrowing as she looked down at the rabbit. “Have you had dreams?”

Tamiisi’s voice didn’t hide her puzzlement. “Dreams?”

“Of the Wild. Nightmares of the Horned.”

“I…” She looked away, out the window. “Not since I was very young, ma’am.”

“I have, little one. I have.” She set her jaw, then lowered her voice to a confessional whisper. “I’m worried we’re failing.”

“Coyote magic is strong.”

Hanai sighed, a thin hissing noise. “I wish I could be as sanguine as that. But yes. It is.” She lifted an arm and brushed her paw through the air, claw tips leaving a trail of shimmering golden butterflies, then smiled, reassured. “Put the groceries away and start on dinner.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

***

Coyote magic is strong, coyote magic is strong. Hanai said it so often. Others said it so often. Even Tamiisi had said it, never struck before now by the sheen of desperate reassurance. But tonight, the words were just the butterflies that followed her into the kitchen: incongruous bright spots against plain stone and wood. Here, like her room in the servants’ quarters, lanterns lit only when someone struck a match to a gas-soaked wick. (She was Hanai’s sole servant now. When she tried to talk to the mistress about the butler who had vanished in the first nights of Collapse, she was nearly dismissed. Being left not just homeless but, given Hanai’s connections, unemployable, terrified her as much as the Wild did. She suspected, though, that Hanai would never let her go: the coyote, widowed and childless, had her own terror: that of being truly alone.) Batting in irritation at a butterfly that hadn’t yet dissipated, she maneuvered the sled toward the pantry and set to work.

She’d done this enough, prepared this very meal enough, that the motions had become automatic. But tonight, worry gnawed at her, tripping her paws, forcing her to pay closer attention. For tonight, Tamiisi had lied.

Each of the last three nights, she’d had nightmares. She had dreamt of monsters. The monsters, the Horned Ones. The creatures the coyotes had wrested part of the Wild from, keeping them at bay, casting light over darkness, wonder over fear. Hanai’s people had given the timid rabbits safety, and homes, and purpose. They were under no illusion it was an equal bargain, but they had always believed—well, she had always believed—it was a fair one.

So why the dreams? Why now? When she awoke, she could barely remember the shape of the monsters, the shape of the wilderness. Tall beings with tall antlers, neither deer nor elk. Even taller cacti, proud and spiked, standing watch over the high desert. Uncultivated, yes—but dangerous? Wild? She couldn’t remember. Had there been fire? Music? Dance? All she knew for sure was that she was just as unsettled as the coyote. You should have told her, she chided herself. But sharing the dreams with Hanai would only make her worried, or angry, or both.

After she had rubbed the spices deep into the tenderloin, spread the vegetables and meat across the comal, slid it into the earthen oven over the smoldering charcoal, Tamiisi washed her paws repeatedly. She used more soap than Hanai would approve of, too, but the mistress never noticed, and the cedar scent covered most of the meat-stink left in her fur.

As she rinsed off, she saw the wrist strap had stopped glowing.

No rabbit knew what the straps were made of, and no coyote would tell; Tamiisi doubted most of them knew, either. In lieu of the truth, rabbits shared whimsical, cynical theories amongst themselves: they were pure light, or enchanted water, or cold liquid glass—or coyote teeth that would bite off their paws if they misbehaved.

But now, for the first time, she saw a strap, her strap, without that beautiful, softly shifting glow. Now, it was just a strand of twine. Dirty, frayed twine, not even tied off very neatly.

She ran a finger across it. Before, it had been pliable, stretching over her paw to snug against her wrist when she let it go, soft yet unbreakable. Now it felt like twine, too. Frowning, she tugged at it gently. It wouldn’t go back over her wrist without untying it.

Panic began to rise in her chest. Instead of the strap the employed rabbits always wore, she just had a worthless, dirty string. This wasn’t her fault! The enchantment, the magic, it had just—

Her breath caught. Not here. Yes, Hanai had said a mere three blocks away, but that was—that was downhill. That wasn’t this neighborhood. No, no, it had to come back! She shook her wrist, flinging the ragged string about. “Glow,” she whispered at it furiously. “Damn you, glow!”

Nothing happened. Squeezing her eyes shut, clenching her paws into fists, she shrieked. “Glow!” The shriek threatened to end in a sob, and she stood still, cradling her wrist, breath coming in gulps.

“Tamiisi?”

She jumped back, eyes flying open at Hanai’s voice.

The coyote stood in the kitchen entrance, hands on her hips, expression balanced between irritation and concern. “Did you just scream? Are you all right?”

“I—I—” She looked down at the strap, and her eyes widened. It had returned to shimmering life, colors slipping and melting along its once again mysterious material. “I b-burned myself, ma’am. It’s nothing serious, though. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Burned?” The coyote stepped forward, reaching out with a large paw. “Let me see if it needs a quick heal—”

“No, no, I think it’s fine. I mean it will be. It j-just startled me. Thank you, ma’am.”

Hanai frowned. “All right,” she said shortly. “Do be careful.”

The rabbit shifted on her paws uncomfortably. “I will, ma’am.”

After Hanai had left, Tamiisi breathed out a long, silent sigh, then hesitantly touched a finger to the strap once more. It felt the way it should, but now she could see it no longer looked the same. The colors had shifted. It showed far more purple than before, almost the same shade as the rabbit’s eyes. It was her favorite color, but she doubted it would get her through the right checkpoints. She’d have to work up the courage to ask the mistress to fix it.

But how? She couldn’t tell her what had just happened. Not only would it worry her, if not enrage her, Tamiisi didn’t know what had just happened. If it had been the first glimmer of Collapse reaching here, of the Wild threatening to overwhelm this sanctuary, it wouldn’t have reverted to normal—yes, all right, close to normal—so quickly.

She remembered her earlier moment of doubt in coyote magic, and paused again. No, that wasn’t merely foolish, it was absurd. She wasn’t a pipe the magic flowed through, a valve she could shut off like gas to a lantern. Even if coyote magic wasn’t as strong as coyotes told themselves, a rabbit’s bitter passing thought would hardly…

Her nose wiggled. The meat was done, maybe even a touch past the point Hanai liked it. Thankful for the distraction, Tamiisi hurried to finish preparing dinner.

After setting the mistress’s customary place, filling her wine glass and bringing both steaming plates to the table, Tamiisi rang the summoning bell and started back to the kitchen to prepare leftover vegetables for her own meal.

However, when the coyote entered, she threw things into disarray once more just by speaking her name. “Tamiisi.”

“Ma’am?”

“Stay with me a moment.”

Hiding a nervous swallow, the rabbit nodded, moving to stand by the table as the coyote dropped into her chair. Seated, Hanai’s ear tips just reached Tamiisi’s eye level. “Can I help you with something else, ma’am?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps.” Hanai looked across the dining room, out through the glass wall. “Has anything…changed?”

Tamiisi stepped toward the wall. The neighborhood lanterns were first to meet her eyes, fixed lamps glittering from lawns and porches and thorn-trees, floating lamps trailing behind or in front of unseen travelers. As her eyes adjusted, she could trace the lines of sidewalks and carriageways, see the pennants atop the highest tents of the Great Market. Sky-fish flitted through the air, over and under the stone bridges, leaping to touch the rare flying sled. If she remained perfectly still, listened ever so closely, she could hear the clockwork birds twittering in faint harmonies as they returned to the park to roost for the night.

At length, she turned and shook her head. “It looks the same as ever.”

The coyote stared past her searchingly for long seconds, then shook her own head, sighing. “Never mind.” She waved her hand dismissively, then looked down at her plate, speaking more softly. “Go get your own meal.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

As she walked past the table, Hanai caught her wrist.

Tamiisi looked back in surprise, then caught her breath. The coyote’s gaze had locked onto the wrist band. “The colors.”

“Ma’am?”

“They’re wrong. The colors are wrong!” She looked up, horror in her eyes. “When did this happen?”

“I—”

At once she was on her paws, towering over the rabbit. “When?”

“I don’t know!” Tamiisi squeaked. “I-I-It must have changed in the kitchen!”

Hanai turned back to the window, gaze darting among the lanterns, then whirled down on the rabbit. “Why didn’t you tell me? You know you have to tell me!”

“I didn’t see, ma’am! I didn’t know something was wrong with the magic!”

Hanai snarled, yanking her hand away hard enough to knock the rabbit off balance. “Nothing is wrong with the magic!”

“I’m sorry!” Tamiisi stumbled back, covering her head with her paws, covering the horrid purple blotches across the strap. “I didn’t mean—I know coyote—”

For a sharp, quick, dizzying moment the world spun around her. It spun into her dream, the figures and shapes now as clear as a cold full moon. As the vision faded, the words froze in her throat.

Hanai had her paws to her head. “The Controllers’ Office. That’s who to call. They’ll know what do. They can fix this.” She thrust a finger at the rabbit. “Stay right here. Don’t twitch a whisker.” She stepped back and waved her other hand, calling a shimmering window into being in midair.

In a few seconds, a coyote at the Controllers’ Office would appear, and then—what? What would “fix” this? The strap wasn’t broken. She was! She had to run—she had to—had to—

“No!” Tamiisi leapt up and pulled at the window, scrabbling with both hands. It tipped like a bowl set too close to the edge of a shelf, then fell to the ground, shattering into shards of foggy glass.

Hanai’s muzzle dropped open. She shrank back a step, then another.

“I’m sorry!” The rabbit brought her hands up in front of her face. “I’m sorry, Miss Hanai—I—” Then she lowered her hands again slowly, staring at the wrist strap once more. It glowed solid purple. Her purple.

She touched it, thinking of a blue sky. The color changed to match. Another touch, and it returned to a shifting rainbow. Then she thought of the dream, of the horned figures dancing, holding out their paws to her. Back to purple, now as brilliant as a lantern flame.

“It’s not coyote magic, is it?” Tamiisi whispered, looking up at the older woman’s frightened eyes. “It never was.”

“Stop being a fool.” The coyote gathered herself up, pointing outside at the glittering panorama, leaning forward to loom over the rabbit. “It’s all that protects you from what’s out there!”

“No. What’s out there is…us.”

Hanai stiffened, dropping her arm, then opened her mouth to protest. “Before we—”

“No!” Suddenly Tamiisi felt rage boiling over, felt dizzy with anger, light-headed with pain. “No more stories! You’re all so very good at stories.”

The coyote’s voice rose again, cracking in fear. “For all the stars’ sake, Tamiisi, they aren’t just stories!”

“Yes, Miss Hanai. They are.” Tamiisi stared accusingly, then sagged, hit with one last realization she hadn’t wanted. “You…don’t know, do you? You’ve heard the stories so long that you believe them, too. But the stories are to protect you. Not us. You know the truth in your heart. The truth in the dreams.”

“Nightmares!”

Tamiisi didn’t answer. She turned to look outside.

Hanai turned, too, trembling. The lanterns had faded; the faint mechanical music had fallen silent. The light outside had become only the stars and moon. She let out a low whimper. “What are you doing, Tamiisi? Please. Stop.”

“We are,” she said softly.

The whimper became a frenzied snarl, and she leapt for the rabbit, claws forward, teeth bared and glittering. Tamiisi spun about just before Hanai slammed into her—

—and the coyote’s eyes widened in abrupt, pained shock. She stared down at the sharp antlers impaling her shoulders, her side.

Tamiisi jerked back, her points pulling free, eyes as wide as the coyote’s as she watched her mistress sink to the ground, gasping in pain, eyes squeezing shut against the gathering violet light.

When the coyote felt the smaller—was she still smaller?—woman’s hand on her uninjured shoulder, she curled into a ball, barely hearing the last gently spoken words. “Find another story, Hanai. Find your story. This one has always been ours.”

***

Hanai didn’t uncurl until she felt an unfamiliar breeze through her fur. She lifted her head warily.

The shards from the broken window were gone. Her carved wooden furniture, her exquisite lanterns, her lovely intricate tiled floor, her colorful woven wall-hangings, all gone. Nothing remained to her but dirt and dry twigs and pebbles—and a strand of dirty twine.

Crawling forward, she moved toward the brightest light she saw, toward the wind, toward the distant sound of plaintive howls. She pulled herself out of the hole, a mere den scrabbled from the earth, then fell back against its side with a soft moan.

The landscape she’d known all her life remained, but nothing else did. No lanterns, only starlight. The shimmering, singing stone walkways had become only sandy paths. Where dazzling homes had sprawled, pathetic little piles of rock mounded in front of other sad dens. Where the magnificent, imposing thorn-trees had stood now rose dark, foreboding saguaros.

She put her hand to her shoulder, to the fur matted with blood. “Tamiisi,” she called, barely above a whisper. Then, more loudly: “Tamiisi. Please.”

Only the wind answered.

Hanai lifted up her hand, stretching out her arm. She spread her fingers apart, brushing them shakily through the air, again and again. Surely, the butterflies would come.

Ghosts

Searska GreyRaven

A nerdy cat delivering pizza has hopes for her future but is haunted by her past.

Ghosts

Searska GreyRaven

The street lights were just flicking on as I walked up the sidewalk toward a dimly lit industrial building. Well, dimly lit for a human. My feline eyes had no problem with it. I reached the entrance and hesitated, one paw clutching a thermal bag while the other hovered over a faintly glowing doorbell. I tried to take a slow, even breath. It came in ragged and left even worse. Damn it, I had it bad. Cats are supposed to be aloof.

I was anything but aloof.

You can do this, Cal. Breathe. Just ask her. The worst she can do is say no, right?

One hand-tossed anchovy and mushroom pizza, which is also how I like my pizza, and maybe sometime, if you’re available and you, you know, swing my way, we could split one together?

Even in my head, that sounded lame.

“God, I’m bad at this,” I muttered. My breath fogged the air, reminding me that the pizza in my arm wasn’t getting any warmer and I needed to quit stalling.

I tapped the buzzer.

A speaker near the door flicked on. “Hello?”

My heart skipped a beat. It was her. I mean, I knew it was probably going to be her, but another guy, a human, would sometimes answer the bell. But there were always two pizzas when that happened. Just one pizza tonight.

“Fantasma Pizza delivery,” I announced brightly.

“Oh awesome. I’ll be right down.” The speaker clicked off.

I waited a few minutes in silence, trying to slow my heart to a reasonable speed. My ears flattened anxiously and it was a struggle to get them to stand back upright. From the other side of the door came the stutter of footsteps and a sudden metallic clatter. The door knob twisted and suddenly, there she was. The most beautiful neko-form I’d ever seen. Sleek black fur covered her from head to toe, her whiskers were long and bowed, and her tail was long and tipped with only a small patch of white.

I stood straighter and held out the box I was carrying. A pair of green eyes studied me and my box for a moment, glittering hungrily. She took the box between her paws, claws scraping the cardboard, and grinned. Her lab coat fluttered as she shifted the box to one hand so she could reach into her pocket. Her paw pads are pink. Perfect seashell pink. They looked chafed, though. I wondered if it was just winter, or maybe whatever her current lab project was making her paw pads chap like that.

“That was really fast. You’re quicker than the sub place!” she said, pulling a pen from her pocket as well as a few carefully folded bills.

Her lab coat rustled closed, sending a zephyr of scent across my nose. Gods, she smelled like coconut and honey and something else. Jojoba? I swallowed back the urge to inhale deeper. Not polite to flehman at customers, no matter how lovely they smell. My hands clenched as I resisted the urge to smooth my fur. There was nothing sleek or sinuous about me. I was all wiry limbs, scruffy pale fur, and mis-matched eyes. I barely passed as feminine most days. It didn’t help that, as a neko-form, I lacked a few of the very obvious characteristics of a human female, like breasts. Don’t ask me why. I’m a pizza delivery girl, not a geneticist.

Say something, Cal! She’s talking to you!

“It, uhh, it was a slow night,” I replied lamely. So lame. I am so lame.

“I didn’t think pizza places had slow Friday nights,” she said, sounding amused. That feline grin widened and I swallowed. My heart was making a fantastic effort to pound straight through my ribs.

“We, ahh, also prioritize regulars,” I lied.

She laughed. She had a wonderful laugh. Jellicle cats, as a certain T. S. Eliot said, are merry and bright, and she was no exception. “I appreciate it. My experiments are at a critical stage, and I can’t leave. And I can’t leave Michael alone too long with my work. He’s a good test-tube jockey, but he’s no scientist.”

She scribbled a signature on the receipt slip and handed it back to me, along with tip money. The scrawling signature was almost illegible, but I knew who she was. Deanne Novak, scientist, inventor, and, I suspected, half angel. No mere mortal had eyes like that. Even for a jellicle, she had striking eyes. “Michael? Fellow scientist?” I asked. “Intern? Boyfriend?” I mentally kicked myself. Smooth, Cal, real smooth.

She snorted. “Intern. Definitely professional only. Ugh, no, I couldn’t stand to date him. I mean, I eat my share of junk food, but he seems to thrive on it. Disgusting. But as long as he keeps his chicken nuggets off my experiments, I can put up with him.” She sighed, and her ebon tail flicked smartly, just once, behind her. “Just a little longer. His internship ends in a couple of weeks and I won’t have to smell his greasy leftovers again.”

“Just, uh, what do you study in there?” I asked, trying to peek around her and into the lab.

She blocked my view, arm bracing against the door frame and her ears backed. “It’s really technical. I wouldn’t expect—I mean, not that you’re stupid, but—it’s just very complicated and…umm, I’m sure you’ve got other deliveries to make.”

For the first time since I’d first met her three weeks ago, I felt a crack in my hopelessly lovesick crush. I twisted my expression into something I hoped looked polite. “We can’t all be scientists,” I replied. “Or ghost hunters.”

She blinked and frowned. “Wait, how do you know about—”

I gestured with my now-empty hot bag to the mailbox next to the door, where the latest Ghost Hunting Monthly was half-falling out.

“Just out of curiosity, if a ghost has unfinished business that can’t be finished—”

“That isn’t what we do here,” she insisted defensively. “That’s…that’s not even mine, I swear. Michael and his juvenile obsession! It’s not even real science. Definitely not real science.”

I shrugged and tried to make it look nonchalant. But my tail was thrashing, my ears were backed, and I could feel the fur along my spine standing at full attention. “Sure. Whatever. I’m just a pizza delivery girl. What do I know about particle physics and alternate dimensions? Enjoy the pizza.”

I left without another word. My heart had stopped racing and settled into my chest like a caged bird that had lost the will to sing. Never crush on customers. It’s a rule, and a damned good one. You’re just a delivery girl, some rand-o chick. A means to an end, not the kind of person someone like her dates, even if she swung that way. Someone that perfect? Gotta be straight. Or maybe indifferent. You’re growling down the wrong hole, Cal. Probably better you learn now rather than later.

My rear-view mirror shivered, and it wasn’t because the roads were rough. Through the static of my radio, I could hear a low chuckle.

I snarled and turned my radio off.

***

A week passed before Fantasma Pizzeria got another order from Ms. Novak. Sanchez, the owner, was in the kitchen, throwing pizza dough into the air and spinning it while Lilu took calls.

“Large anchovy and mushroom for You Know Who at You Know Where. Ross, you finished eating yet?” she asked. Her enamel bracelets clattered and jingled as she set the phone down on the counter. Pure human, with dark hair and darker eyes, she looked like a smaller version of her uncle, Sanchez. Well, smaller and female. Same solid, stocky build, same warm smile. She liked her pizza with hot peppers and sausage, with the crust so thin it was almost an afterthought. Part taco, part pizza, the best of both worlds, she’d said.

I sighed. “I got it. Ross will get lost. That complex is a maze.”

“Rats are good at mazes!” Ross hollered from the break room down the hall. “And besides, I wanna meet the chick you been moonin’ over.”

“Shut it, Wormtail,” I muttered. “I ain’t moonin’. I’m over it.” Ross had always been a bit of an asshole, but ever since he’d found out that I wasn’t exactly straight, he’d become truly insufferable. But it was always this side of a firing offense, and Sanchez didn’t have a backup driver, so Ross had stuck around. I wasn’t exactly swimming in options either, so I hadn’t left.

Besides, I was here first, damn it.

“Sure, sure,” he said, coming into view and jamming a mouthful of olive and onion pizza into his maw. The crust was so floppy that he had to fold it over to eat it. He licked his greasy fingers, then smoothed the dishwater-colored fur on his head. “Maybe she’s looking for a little one-on-one with a real man.” He winked at me.

I scowled back at him.

“Don’t cats eat mice?” Lilu commented.

Ross snickered. “If I’m lucky.”

I glared at him. This was worse than usual. Then, I smelled it: the stale stink of alcohol on his breath. Either he was hung over or had a beer before his shift. With all the other scents in the pizzeria, Sanchez and Lilu wouldn’t have noticed. I couldn’t let him drive like this.

“I got it,” I said. “I already know the way and Ross is still on break.”

It was Ross’s turn to scowl. “You’re wasting your time, kitty cat.”

I zipped up my jacket and reached for my keys. “Hope springs eternal. We’ve got the same taste in pizza, so that’s something.”

Ross’s eyes narrowed. “That’s assuming she’s even your type,” he snickered. “Poor Cal, falling in love with a straight girl.”

“Shut. Up.”

“Ross, you shut your hole, or I let her take you apart,” Lilu warned.

“You know,” he slurred, “I always wanted to ask, is it a cat thing or a lesbian thing, liking fish on a pie?”

Lilu and I stared at Ross, stunned.

Lilu recovered first. “Ross! Line, crossed. Apologize, right now or so help me—”

“Pfft, right. What’s Caliban gonna do? Sic her ghosts on me?”

I didn’t even realize I had moved. Ross was suddenly pinned to the wall in front of me, his faded Fantasma polo collar bunched between my fists, limp pizza splattered across the floor, and his naked tail writhing against my legs. The stink of alcohol gagged me, but I didn’t let go.

“What did you say?” I snarled. Ross flailed, knocking the yellow-tinted glasses I wore to hide my odd-colored eyes off my face.

“God damn it, Cal, drop him. Ross, you apologize. Now!” Sanchez said, stepping out of the kitchen. I dropped Ross and he hit the floor with a thud.

“I’m sorry,” Ross sneered, “that you’re a freak.”

“Sanchez, he’s drunk,” I said flatly. I wanted to find my glasses, but I’d heard them shatter. Wherever they were, they wouldn’t be doing me any good now.

“You lying little b—”

Sanchez didn’t give Ross a chance to finish. The grizzled pizzaiolo simply picked Ross up by his collar and threw him out the front door.

“I’m calling a cab, not because I give one tin shit what happens to you, but because I don’t want you driving drunk and killing someone. You show your face here again, I take it off. We clear?” he said.

I don’t know if Ross replied. The blood roaring in my ears was too loud. After a moment, I realized it wasn’t just my blood pounding. I was growling.

Sanchez came back in, calm as ice, and shut the door quietly behind him. “Cal, are you alright? I’d’ve got out here sooner, but I was—never mind. I shoulda got out here sooner, dough be damned.”

I swallowed and nodded. “I’m fine.”

Sanchez narrowed his eyes. “You aren’t, but I’m short a driver now. I’m sorry, chica. I hate to do this, but you’re the only driver I got left tonight. You got this?”

I took a deep, shuddering breath and composed myself. “Yeah, I got this.”

Sanchez nodded curtly and slipped back into the kitchen. He emerged a few minutes later with a hot bag and handed it to me.

I frowned. “She didn’t order cinnamon sticks this time,” I said.

“An extra,” he replied with a smile. “The way to a girl’s heart is through her stomach.”

Lilu snorted. “Not just a girl’s heart. Didn’t Uncle Ray propose to you over a pan of lasagna?”

Sanchez laughed and shrugged. “Sí, but everyone proposes to me after eating my lasagna. Ray was the first one worthy of the honor.”

I sighed. “Sanchez, this isn’t going to work.”

He shrugged. “Won’t know until you try,” he said. “Chica, I don’t know who broke you, and I don’t care. Sooner or later, you gotta pick up those pieces and turn it into something worth fighting for. You can’t just drift through life like…a…”

“Like a ghost?” I prompted wryly. I tossed the shattered remains of my glasses in the trash.

Sanchez threw up his hands. “Just deliver the damn pizza.”

I fled with the bag and didn’t look back.

***

I half expected to see Ross leaning against my rust-bucket of a car, but the rat was nowhere to be found. Clearly, he’d taken Sanchez’s warning to heart and vanished. Probably for the best. I would have smashed the pizza over his head. Terrible waste of a perfectly good pizza.

I looked up at the night sky, moonlight trickling through the dead claws of the October trees, and sighed. Everything looked different without my tinted lenses. Clearer. Sharper. I missed how my glasses turned the world into a study in sepia. My breath puffed across my muzzle before ghosting into the darkness.

Ghosting. Ghost.

I grimaced and laid the hot bag on the passenger seat before I buckled in. That hot bag was the only thing that had ever used the passenger seat.

I was so tired of being alone.

“I’m gonna do it,” I said to the empty car. “I’m going to ask for her number.”

But what about your—

I bared my teeth.

He won’t be a problem, I vowed, finger pads slipping on the key in the ignition. I repeated that line to myself all the way to Deanne’s lab.

Once again, I stood before Deanne’s office door. But this time, I was armed with new courage and a box of cinnamon sticks. I took a deep breath, tapped the buzzer, and squared my shoulders. Even my wayward tail behaved, flicking only once or twice while I waited patiently.

Deanne answered the door a minute later. I could hear claws scrabbling with the lock on the other side, and then she was in front of me, eyes wide and whiskers spread.

She didn’t look as perfect this time. Her fur was dusty along her nose, and her lab coat had greenish spatter on it. Instead of coconut, she smelled like ozone.

“Oh. Oh my goodness, I—I’m glad it’s you. I wanted to say—I wanted to apologize for my unkind words last time. It was wrong of me and…um.” She squinted at me. “You aren’t wearing your usual glasses.”

I shrugged. “They broke.”

Deanne looked at me a moment longer, and I knew from her expression that she’d just noticed my eyes didn’t match. I braced myself for the inevitable and waited. Here it comes, the exclamation about my eyes being different as if I didn’t already know, asking if I could really see ghosts. The sudden reluctance to meet my gaze, lest I steal their souls and keep them in jars or something.

But she didn’t say any of it. She met my gaze without fear and smiled. “You have lovely eyes,” she said.

I blinked, nonplussed. “Uh, thanks?” Real articulate, Cal.

She cleared her throat and looked at the two boxes I pulled out of the hot bag. “I didn’t order cinnamon sticks.”

“No, but you do from time to time. It sounded like you were under a lot of stress so, uhh. Here,” I said, handing the two boxes to her. God, I’m such an idiot. Sanchez even gave me a perfect setup, and I can’t do it.

Deanne looked at the boxes like she didn’t know what to do with them. “I…thank you. Hang on, I have something for you as well.” She juggled the boxes for a moment and plucked something from the back pocket of her pants. A slip of paper.

A slip of paper with a series of numbers on it.

“Would you like to get coffee or something some time? I have tomorrow off, if that would work for you too.”

I took the slip of paper from her hand and stared at it, utterly and completely dumbstruck. “I…yes. Yes! I have tomorrow off, too.” I didn’t, but Sanchez would give it to me if I asked. When I asked. I tore off a corner of the slip of paper and scrawled my own number on it, my paw shaking slightly.

What are you thinking? You’re going to get her killed!

No, I thought, not this time. This time, it’ll be different.

***

When I returned to Fantasma Pizzeria, Deanne’s number in hand, Sanchez cheered and gestured to Lilu. Lilu rolled her eyes and sent a paper airplane into the kitchen. A paper airplane that looked a lot like a five dollar bill. Sanchez snatched it mid-air.

“Wait, you took bets on me? God, I work with a bunch of assholes,” I said.

“About time you got your head out your ass,” Lilu said. “So, where you gonna take your date?”

“Coffee,” I said bluntly. “It’s just coffee. Not a date.”

“Coffee can be a date,” Sanchez hollered from the kitchen.

“It’s not a date! She might not even be interested in me like that. She might just want someone to talk to about…things. On a related note, Sanchez, I need tomorrow off,” I said. “I know you don’t have another driver, but—”

Sanchez’s throaty laugh echoed from the kitchen.

“I got a nephew, though. He needs the cash and he just got his license. You got your night off, chica. Make the most of it!”

***

The next morning, I was a complete and total spaz and turned my tiny studio apartment into a disaster zone. I groomed my fur until it lay soft and sleek, then messed it up again because it just didn’t look right. Every single article of clothing I owned was inspected, scrutinized, and discarded. Graphic tees, too nerdy. Plain tee shirts, too boring. Blue jeans, too casual. Cargo pants, too…no. Slacks were too formal, I didn’t own a single pair of khakis, and I was definitely not showing up in one of my two skirts. An ex of mine had a thing for naughty schoolgirl roleplay and left them when we broke up. They were way too short for a first date. Hell, they were probably too short to wear in public. Would she like to see me in a skirt, though? I mean, I hate them, but for her, I’d wear one on a date—

It’s not a date! It’s just coffee. Everyone does coffee. Friends do coffee all the time.

I took a break and grabbed the snow globe off my desk. It was a cheap prop I’d bought ages ago at a yard sale, something you’d set out for Halloween. Unless you’re weird, like me, and consider Halloween decorations a kind of permanent décor. With a flick of my wrist, I sent the black glitter inside swirling. “What do you think, Felix?” I asked the little cat in the globe. “Date, or coffee with a friend?” The cat didn’t respond. He never did. Just stood on his little grave mound, mouth open in a hiss and back arched. I sighed, set it down on my desk again, and went back to the closet.

As I rummaged deeper, I heard a thump come from behind me, on my desk. I paused. There it was again, followed by a crash. I jumped back from my closet and skidded to a halt beside my bed.

Sitting in the middle of the floor were the shattered remains of the snow globe. The black cat stared up at me forlornly from the floor, tail and paws broken from the grave mound it once stood upon. Black glitter and fluid oozed across the floor and began to soak into the ragged rug next to my night stand.

“How the hell?” I murmured. Damn it, that had been my favorite snow globe. I’d deliberately set it far back on my desk so it wouldn’t get knocked off and broken. How had it ended up over here?

The fur along my spine stood on end. There was no way that snow globe could have simply fallen off my desk. No mundane way. I lived alone in a tiny little studio, so there were no roommates to pull pranks on me. I’d never seen a mouse able to throw a snow globe many times its own weight, so it couldn’t be that.

I shivered, running my paws across my upper arms, then froze.

No.

No, it’s been quiet for weeks. It can’t be that!

I whimpered and turned very slowly toward the mirror across from my bed. Panicked breath frosted the tips of my whiskers.

Caliban.

My name, written in blocky red letters, on the inside of the glass.

“Go away,” I said, my voice cracking in terror. “You aren’t welcome here. You’re dead. You can’t hurt me anymore!”

Sinful. Disgraceful. No kit of mine.

I shrieked and reached for something, anything to throw at the mirror. My paw landed on something cool and heavy. I gripped and threw, only belatedly realizing what I’d grabbed.

A snow globe. The one that was supposed to be in pieces on the floor. Only it wasn’t. It never was.

The snow globe hit the mirror and shattered. The words smeared together like wet ink until they vanished below the edge of the mirror. All that remained were the broken pieces of the snow globe. The mirror was unscathed.

“Gaslighting me, even in death,” I croaked. “I must have really pissed you off this time. Good.” I bared my fangs at the mirror. “If you’re angry, I must be doing something right.”

When the mirror remained quiescent, I knew my father’s ghost had run out of juice for the day. I cleaned up the mess, tossed the glass shards into the trash, and finished getting ready for my date.

Blue jeans, blue tank top with a Wonder Woman logo, and black Converse Chucks. The finishing touch was my backup pair of amber-tinted sunglasses with silver rims.

I looked at the mirror one last time. It rattled slightly. With a hiss, I fled my apartment.

***

Coffee was at a Rain Deer. There’s one on every street corner these days, and I have yet to find a better place to get a sugary drink that in no way resembles real coffee. It’s also considered a “safe” place for people like me. Non-human, non-straight, non-conforming, non-whatever. Thankfully, I’d come early enough that most of the tables were still unclaimed. A pair of corvine-forms occupied one table, talking in low voices. One had dyed the feathers along the center of her head bright blue. She looked at me, nodded, and went back to her conversation.

I ordered a blended concoction with coffee, caramel, mocha, and coconut before wandering to the end of the counter to wait. I was early; Deanne was nowhere to be seen. The barista (a lupine-form) finished my drink with a flourish of whipped cream and slid it towards me. I thanked him and found a table by a window.

What if she doesn’t come? What if she stands you up?

Well, then Sanchez can find someone else to deliver pizzas to her address. I’ll pick up a six pack of hard cider on the way back to my apartment, and by the time I finish it off, I’ll be over it. Probably.

And so, I waited.

I finished my drink.

I ordered another one.

I waited some more.

I was halfway through the second one when Deanne arrived, looking flustered. For a moment, I didn’t recognize her without her lab coat, but her laugh when the barista flirted with her gave her away. Deanne dug her wallet out of a shoulder bag covered in Doctor Who, Supernatural, and Ghostbusters pins, paid, and stepped to the end of the counter to await her drink. She peeked into her bag, rummaging around, and suddenly looked in my direction.

“Deanne?”

She looked at me blankly for a moment before her expression split into a relieved grin.

“Punctual, I like that,” she said, setting her bag down.

“I deliver pizzas,” I replied. “It’s a hazard of the trade.”

“Oh, right, sorry, I…” Her fur sleeked, suddenly making her look much smaller. Something in her bag vibrated loudly, and she swore.

“Stupid thing won’t…stop…got it! Sorry, notification from the lab on one of my experiments. I’ll just turn this thing off.” The buzzing sound abruptly cut off.

I smiled. “It’s fine.”

“I’ll…I’ll be right back. I’ll be less awkward after coffee, I swear,” she said, and retreated back to the counter for her coffee.

She returned a few minutes later with a very large, very dark iced drink.

“Did I hear that right? Are there six shots of espresso in there?” I asked.

Deanne nodded. “It’s basically a cardiac arrest in a cup. I’m a hopeless addict. So many late night experiments.” She settled down into the chair across from me, her bag across her lap.

I gestured to the buttons on the bag. “I take it you’re a fan?”

“Of which one?” she said with a laugh. “I stream episodes occasionally while I’m in the lab. So much of my work is the ‘hurry up and wait’ variety. I’m loving the new regeneration of the Doctor.”

I grinned. “Me too,” I replied. “The previous one was kind of annoying.”

“Oh my goodness, you thought so too? Everyone else seemed so enamored with him. I thought he was such an ass.”

We spent an hour just talking about geeky stuff. Not just favorite shows but books, comics, and movies. We nerded out over a mutual love of the new Star Wars, debated if Toothless could beat Smaug in a fight, and if Wonder Woman and Conan would be friends or rivals. Before I knew it, it was well after lunchtime.

“Oh crap, I need to head back to the lab. I can’t believe we spent the whole morning here!” Deanne said.

“We should do it again sometime,” I blurted.

“Any time,” Deanne said. “Please. You have no idea. No one at work even knows who Drizzt is. They think I’m discharging static when I say his name.”

***

Weeks passed, but I barely noticed. Funny how that happens when you’re in love. We went to movies, tried out every sushi restaurant within easy driving distance, and spent one memorable weekend at a sci-fi/comic convention, nerding out in all the best ways.

I prodded Deanne now and again about what she did in her lab, why she had an entire bookcase of paranormal reference books on her shelves, and while Deanne didn’t admit outright what she did, she eventually stopped denying it.

“Just don’t go telling everyone I’m some kind of ghost buster,” Deanne said to me. “Bad enough that paranormal phenomenon get derided as unscientific. I’ll lose what little funding I have if there’s so much as a whiff of pseudoscience to what I do.”

Every time I came home after a date with her, things got worse. I’d walk in to find every cabinet door wide open, contents stacked in unwieldy pillars to the ceiling. Or my mirror smeared with black ichor. My stereo would randomly turn on at full blast with deranged yowling. It was as if the longer my relationship with Deanne went, the stronger and angrier the spectre of my father became.

Soulless. Spiritless. Hollow, sinful little stray, my mirror scrawled at me. The blocky letters faded away after a moment, but the after-image of them was etched in my mind.

I whimpered. What would happened if—when—I moved in with Deanne? Would this ghost follow me?

You have to tell her.

No, I don’t. It’ll go away. It has to. Sooner or later, my father’s damned ghost will realize his unfinished business is never getting finished, and he’ll move on.

Denial, thy name is Cal.

By Christmas, I had one harrowing haunting event a day, occasionally two, whether I went out with Deanne or not. I started finding excuses to not go back to my apartment, taking late night shifts or camping out in an internet café. Anything to get me away from that place. I was tempted to spend the night at Deanne’s place, but I knew I’d never get any sleep. I’d be too terrified of what I’d wake up to.

“Cal! Order up!”

I startled. “Yes! Right! I heard you!”

“That’s the third time I said it. You sure you’re alright? You look like crap,” Lilu said.

“I’m fine,” I grunted. I shoved the pizzas in my hot bag.

“She’s not hurting you, is she?” Sanchez asked, leaning over the counter. His usually bronze colored arms were coated in flour all the way to his elbows. Even his eyebrows, furrowed with concern, were dusted with white powder. It took much of the bite out of his threat when he looked like he’d just face-planted into a snow bank.

“No, not—not Deanne. Never Deanne,” I said. “Just…having a lot of nightmares lately. Not sleeping well. Is that all for this round?”

Sanchez nodded and pushed back from the counter.

“Whatever’s got your tail in a twist, chica, I hope it passes. If talking about it will help, you know my door’s always open,” he said.

I swallowed, and almost broke. I almost spilled the whole story, about the doors slamming, the lights burning out constantly, the way milk would spoil without explanation or the strange skittering noises I’d hear in the walls at night.

Right. Crazy Cal and her crazy ghost stories. Like they’d ever believe me. I’d learned the hard way that the fastest way to lose friends was to tell them the truth about what I saw. What haunted me.

But Deanne. Deanne might. She was still shifty as hell when I’d ask her about what she did in that lab or whenever the topic of the paranormal came up, but maybe…maybe.

“Thanks, Sanchez,” I said, then grinned mischievously. “I would, but it’s a girl thing and—”

He threw his hands up. “Say no more! I get it! Talk to that lovely lady friend of yours, and best of luck!”

Lilu spat something in Spanish that I didn’t catch and finished in English. “My uncle, so brave until women things are involved!”

“It’s why I have a boyfriend, sobrina!” Sanchez chuckled. Lilu threw a pen at him, and he retreated to the safety of his kitchen.

I finished my shift and spent the drive home doing some hard thinking. I woke up to the mirror in my bathroom iced over and every light bulb burned out. I replaced the bulbs and ignored the mirror.

I’d tell her. And if she didn’t believe me, well, I tried. Better to know now, before things got any more serious.

***

I brooded into the evening and through the lovely dinner Deanne had made for us at her apartment. Finally, after half an hour of pushing my salmon listlessly around my plate, Deanne called me out on it.

“You keep scowling like that, and your face will stick that way.” She said it gently, her ears backed in concern.

I sighed. “Sorry, just…thinking about things. Rent. Bills. Family things.”

“You want to talk about it?” she asked. “It might help.”

You need to do this. She deserves to know. I took a deep breath, exhaled, and began to speak. I can do this. And if she throws me out or laughs, I can walk away knowing I tried.

“My father was…he wasn’t a good person,” I began. “He had his moments, and I’m sure he loved me before—before he realized I wasn’t like his other kittens. I was sick all the time and barely had the energy to walk, let alone play. But my parents did everything they could to keep me alive, because…because I had different colored eyes.”

“Heterochromia,” Deanne murmured, backing her ears briefly. “I’d heard that Angora purity cults try to ‘breed’ for it specifically. I’d…wondered, when I saw your eyes, but I didn’t want to pry.”

I nodded. “My father was no exception.” I took a deep, shuddering breath and continued, “God, it makes me sick to even remember it. My father wanted me to marry a nice Angora neko-form, just like him. Salt-white fur, pale green eyes. He wanted to keep our bloodline pure. Thing is, I have no interest in males, and even less in kittens. As soon as he made it clear what he thought my future should be, I tried to resist. I tried to convince him that I didn’t want that. He didn’t listen. The fights we had were epic, but I didn’t tell him why I wanted something else for a future until one day, I finally screamed at him I had no interest at all in toms like that and he—” I choked.

Soulless, spiritless, sinful little stray! No kit of mine. Get out! Get out! OUT! His voice howled in my mind, as loud as if he was right there, roaring it into my ear.

“He disowned you,” Deanne finished. She came around the breakfast bar and wrapped her arms around me, purring softly.

“He threw me out,” I said. “Wouldn’t even let me get any of my stuff. I don’t know if he thought I’d come crawling back or die in a gutter somewhere. I only knew I couldn’t go back. I just…drifted from doorstep to doorstep for weeks. Months. Didn’t go back to school, because there suddenly didn’t seem to be a point to it. Graduation came and went, and I barely even noticed it. Sanchez found me digging through his dumpster for pizza crusts just as the trees were starting to turn and…I don’t know. I don’t know why, but he let me inside, let me clean up in the janitor’s closet, and he asked questions. Not—not how I ended up like that, just if I could drive, if I knew the neighborhood. I didn’t have a car, but I knew most of the major streets by then. He offered to rent me a car, gave me a job as a delivery girl. I got free pizza and a steady paycheck; he got reliable help. I guess he’d had a bad run on hiring drivers.” I swiped at the damp under my eyes. I was not crying. I refused to. My father had stolen all the tears he ever would from me. “I didn’t even know he’d…that my father had passed away until I got a note on Facebook from a high school acquaintance. I looked up the obituaries and there he was. I didn’t even care. He’s dead, and all I felt when I saw that obit was relief. And then…and then, shit, I felt sick because I didn’t care, because I should care, because he was my father God damn it and…and…fuck.” I took a deep, shuddering breath and tried to compose myself. I pressed the back of my paw to my muzzle and squeezed my eyes shut, but it was too late. The tears came anyway. Ugly, wracking sobs that broke the dam I’d built to hold the pain back and left me shaking uncontrollably.

Deanne got up and hugged me. “How long ago was this?” she asked.

“Almost four years since he passed. Next Tuesday, it’ll be four years,” I said between sobs. “I shouldn’t be upset. I shouldn’t be so broken up about it. He was an asshole, and he treated me like crap because I wasn’t what he wanted, but he was my father and I can’t…I don’t…it’s all so confused. I tried to call my mom, but she never answered her phone.” I had tried, several times a day, from the Fantasma landline and later from the cheap cell phone I could afford. After a week of nothing but voicemail, I took the hint. I don’t know what I expected. It wasn’t like she went looking for me after my father had thrown me out.

Deanne made a soft hushing sound and hugged me tighter. “I know it’s only been a few months for us, but if you didn’t want to be alone, you could stay here. I don’t have a guest room, just a couch, and you’d have to share with The Holtz, but—”

“The what?” I blinked, rubbing the last of the tears from my eyes.

Deanna giggled. “My cat. Sorry, I know you haven’t met her yet. She’s so shy of new people. Let me see if I can coax her out from under my bed.” She scurried off to the bedroom.

“You never told me you had a cat!” I called after her.

Deanne laughed, sheepish. “A lot of people think it’s weird for a neko-form to have a cat for a pet. But she was a stray, and I couldn’t just leave her out in the cold. Don’t worry, she’s had all her shots.”

I sniffled and tried to groom my fur back into some semblance of order, but I knew it was a lost cause. Nothing short of a real shower was going to get the tear stains out of the white fur under my eyes.

I curled up on the couch, one pillow hugged to my chest, and I swore I’d only just closed my eyes when something soft and cool touched the tip of my nose. My whiskers twitched, and I opened one eye to find a very tiny black-and-white colored kitten in front of me, one paw raised and ready to bat my nose again.

I opened both eyes and looked at her. She looked back at me. Neither of us seemed to know what to do about the situation.

“Hello,” I said softly. “You must be The Holtz that Deanne was talking about.”

The kitten tilted her head to one side. Slowly, she closed both eyes and opened them again. I returned the gesture, which in Cat meant something like “I trust you, you can trust me.” She made a happy prurrow and curled up on my shoulder, purring softly.

“Sorry Cal, I can’t seem to find—oh, you found her.”

“I can’t move,” I said. “It’s the law. When a kitten falls asleep on you, you become the furniture until they wake up and move on.”

“Wow, she must really like you. I’ve never seen her stay in the same room as anyone but me, let alone fall asleep on them.”

“I can’t believe you have an actual cat,” I said. “And a jellicle cat at that. She’s practically a cousin to you.”

“It’s not illegal, just weird. It’s not even the weirdest thing about me,” Deanne protested. “Also, you never told me you read Elliot.”

I laughed, and the tiny kitten woke. She glared at me, then meowed plaintively at Deanne.

“Needy,” she said, picking her up and plopping down on the floor near me.

“So what is the weirdest thing about you?” I asked.

Deanne sighed. “It’s complicated. Besides, we were talking about you, not me. What do you want to do next Tuesday?”

“Do?”

“You need a distraction,” Deanne said. “Something to take your mind off it. Movie? How about a movie. What do you say? Is it a date?”

“Yes! Yes, I’d like that.”

“It’s a date, then. I’ll drop you off at your apartment on the way to work tomorrow morning.”

“What? No, I can’t…I’d be imposing, and I don’t want to—”

Deanne hushed me. “Don’t worry about it. I wouldn’t have offered if I thought it was an imposition. You’re safe and sound here.” The corner of her lip quirked wryly. “No ghosts will haunt you here, I promise.”

I relented, too tired to argue.

We said our goodnights, and while I was a little disappointed not to be sleeping in the same bed as Deanne, I was content to just be near her for the night. Even if she’d wanted to do more, I wasn’t up for it. Too much on my mind to enjoy it. Our first time—if we had a first time—shouldn’t come on the heels of me having an emotional breakdown.

God, and I still hadn’t told her everything. She needed to know about the broken dishes and the light bulbs that kept burning out, and…but it would have to wait. Again.

I curled up, Holtz nestled under one arm, and closed my eyes. I was safe. I was sound. Nothing could get me here.

When I heard a cabinet rattle in her kitchen in the middle of the night, I didn’t think anything of it. Deanne probably just got up for a midnight snack or something. It couldn’t be anything else. Couldn’t.

***

Before I knew it, Tuesday morning arrived. The hauntings got worse, but having something to look forward to made it easier to clean up after each episode. I even hummed to myself while restocking on light bulbs. I finished my shift at Fantasma and practically flew out of the parking lot toward my apartment to change. Sanchez and Lilu both cheered as I left, wishing me luck on my date.

I expected to walk in on an uncanny disaster, cabinets open and my mirror seeping black ichor. What I found was…nothing. My apartment looked exactly as I had left it, down to the last tin of Neko Chow tuna.

I didn’t question it. Maybe it’s finally winding down. Maybe his ghost finally realized his business can’t be finished and moved on. I changed into jeans and a tee shirt as fast as I could and was back out the door, zooming toward Deanne’s place.

I slid into the guest parking space and called her from my cell. “Dee? I’m here!”

“Be right down!” She made a kiss sound and hung up.

My heart fluttered and I grinned like an idiot. For the first time in what felt like my entire life, I was happy. I didn’t think I could feel any better. But then Deanne was walking down the path toward my car, and…wow.

She wore a black long coat and a TARDIS-blue scarf, with a matching hat covering her ears. Deanne slipped into the passenger side and huffed, rubbing her paws up and down her arms. “Damn it, it’s freezing. I don’t usually see my breath this much unless I’m in my lab.”

“With any luck, they’ll have the heat in the theater cranked up,” I said. “Wait, your lab is cold enough to see your breath?”

“Well, yes and no,” Deanne replied, flustered. “It’s not important.”

“You still haven’t told me exactly what you do in there.”

“Science. Lots of science. With physics!”

“Paranormal science?”

Deanne gave me a look, and I grinned. My grin faded a moment later as a thought occurred to me.

“Alright, so a question about ghosts,” I said. “Why do they haunt a place?”

“Or a person,” Deanne said. “They can haunt people.”

“So…why?”

Deanne sighed. “Look, this is all hypothetical, okay? No one has ever proved there are ghosts or even souls. But say they’re real, and say people can leave pieces of themselves behind as they live, like fingerprints or hair, only spectral. Sometimes, that’s all a ghost is: a walking memory. And sometimes, it’s less like a fingerprint and more like a drop of blood smeared over the face of reality. Whatever it is that makes up a soul or a ghost, it lingers and it remembers much more than a moment in time. It remembers what it meant to be alive. Most of the time, they fade away in a few days, off to wherever souls go after their body stops supporting them. But sometimes they died so suddenly or violently that they don’t know they’re dead. Or they know that they’re dead, but can’t let go because they have unfinished business and can’t rest until it’s been settled.”

The steering wheel creaked under my paws. “So…hypothetically, what if a ghost’s unfinished business can’t be completed?”

“That’s when it gets complicated. They can’t move on, they can’t find peace. Most go mad. They become what is known as a poltergeist, and if they’re really strong, they become demons.”

“Wait, demons are real?”

“No! Of course not. There’s no such thing as demons. Or ghosts.” She didn’t sound certain.

“So these imaginary ghosts with unfinished business, what do you do about them when they go mad?”

Deanne grimaced. “Not going to give up, are you?”

“Nope!”

She sighed. “You promise you won’t call me insane or deluded?”

I held up three fingers in a salute. “Scout’s honor.”

“You were a girl scout?”

“Not for very long,” I said. “Things are better now, but at the time, by troop wasn’t very open-minded. They could tolerate a Neko, but a Neko who wasn’t straight was too much for them.”

“Smooth-skins can be so close-minded,” Deanne muttered darkly.

“What, we’re ghouls now?”

“Nah, real ghouls don’t look like they’re rotting apart. That’s a zombie.”

I pulled up to a red light and I turned to look at Deanne. She winked.

“You’re yanking my tail,” I said.

“Would I do such a thing to my own girlfriend?” she said with mock indignity.

“Wait, I’m your girlfriend?”

“Cal, you’re slower than molasses in January. The light turned green.”

“What? Oh! Damn it.”

We made it to the theater with plenty of time to spare, but any time I tried to broach the topic of ghosts again, Deanne hushed me with a pointed look.

“Not here. I’ll tell you more when we’re alone, I promise.”

***

“That was way better than I thought it would be,” I said as we left the theater. I popped a few last pieces of popcorn into my mouth and tossed the empty bag in the trash by the exit.

“Eh. The book was better,” said Deanne.

I laughed. “Isn’t it always?”

I followed her out the back door and into the cold. Deanne took my hand, interlacing her fingers with mine and kissed me on the cheek. Snow fell gently all around us, dusting her black fur. I could barely see the fluffy flakes on my own pale pelt. Deanne licked a snowflake off my whisker, catching it on the tip of her tongue.