Right Hand Magic by Nancy A. Collins Page B

tongue. “I eat trespassers. It’s what I do. Me, I like to start with the head. ...”
    “Scratch! Stop that right this minute!”
    Hexe was hurrying toward me, dressed in nothing but a pair of jeans. Although I was going into shock, I still noticed he looked damned good without a shirt on.
    “Can’t I take just a teensy bite?” the familiar grumbled, his crocodilian tail swishing back and forth in consternation.
    “No!” Hexe replied sternly. “Not even a nibble—and that includes the ears!”
    “You’re no fun.”
    Hexe knelt beside me, peeling back one of my eyelids to study my pupil. “Are you okay?” As he reached to take my pulse, he noticed the bloody scratches on my arms. “You weren’t bitten, were you?”
    “I’m all right,” I assured him. “Just scratched up, that’s all.”
    “Thank goodness. Bites from shape-shifters can be worse than those from a rabid animal for humans. I’m glad you’re unhurt.” He looked genuinely relieved I was okay. I hoped it wasn’t simply because he’d have to find a new tenant if I’d been eaten alive.
    As Hexe helped me back onto my feet, I felt a tiny thrill of excitement brushing against his naked chest. I was expecting him to put a solicitous arm about my shoulders and escort me safely back to the house. No such luck. Instead, he sprinted over to the pinned-down were-cat.
    “It’s okay, boy,” he said soothingly as he inspected the creature’s wounds. As he knelt beside the were-cat, the beast tried to squirm free of Scratch’s talons. “Nobody here’s going to hurt you. ...”
    “Speak for yourself, buddy,” Scratch growled.
    After a cursory inspection of the bastet’s hind paws, Hexe stood up, a disgusted look on his face. “He’s been hambled. The balls of his feet have been cut out.”
    To my surprise, I saw something like sympathy flicker in Scratch’s eyes. “Poor bastard,” the familiar grunted.
    From the pocket of his jeans Hexe removed a copper tube the size and shape of his sixth finger. He placed it to his lips and a puff of fine white powder jetted forth, coating the were-cat’s muzzle like a French Market beignet. The creature struggled for a moment; then its eyes rolled back and it went limp.
    “Is it dead?” I whispered.
    “No, only sedated. And he’s a ‘he,’ not an ‘it.’ ” Hexe turned and spoke to his familiar. “Take him to the house. Put him in the spare room on the second floor and keep an eye on him.”
    “As you wish,” Scratch said, bobbing his head in ritual obeisance. Without another word, the demon picked up the unconscious shape-shifter the same way a mother cat moves a newborn kitten, and, with a single beat of leathery wings, soared into the air.
    “Are you nuts?” I exclaimed in disbelief.
    Hexe frowned, genuinely puzzled by my reaction. “Beg pardon?”
    I was so mad I could barely see straight. It was all I could do to keep from taking a swing at him. “You’re actually bringing that thing into the house? After it did its best to try and turn me into a chew toy? What is a were-cat doing in New York in the first place? Don’t they live on the wildlife preserves?”
    “I don’t know why a were-cougar would come to the city,” Hexe replied. “But not all of them live on the preserves. All I know is what was done to him once he arrived in this city is a crime. That ‘thing,’ as you put it, is an innocent victim, I can tell you that much. He is also badly injured. I am a healer. I can not turn him aside simply because of what he is. I understand your being scared—but Scratch and I have things well in hand. Now, are you ready to come back inside? Or do you need me to refund your deposit?”
    “No, that won’t be necessary,” I grumbled. “I’m upset, but I’m not that upset.”
    “Good. Because I already spent the money on bills,” he said wryly. “C’mon—let’s get back in the house. I’m getting cold.”
    “So I noticed,” I said, nodding to his bare chest. His