hand on Vivian’s, “we’re trusting you—”
“—to get us out of it,” said Clotho, placing her hand on top of the pile.
Vivian looked down at their hand pile, hers buried beneath theirs. That was how she felt, her mind buried beneath the weight of the thing she had sent out, the thing that felt like a sneeze.
She had no idea what she was doing, but even without her sixth sense, she knew that she’d better do it quickly.
Time was running out.
*Chapter Five*
Dexter Grant brought his laptop to the store, along with the nursing mother and her kittens. The mother cat wasn’t too thrilled with him. So far, he’d taken her and her brood to the vet, to his home, and now back to the store.
She’d actually tried to bite him when he picked up their basket this morning. He was keeping a close eye on her, knowing the ways of mothering cats. She’d had enough interference with her litter in the past twenty-four hours—and she probably remembered searching for them in the woods, that awful sense of panic when she couldn’t find them. If he so much as looked at the kittens wrong, he knew she’d hide them somewhere inside the store.
The last thing he wanted to do was spend the day searching for a cat hiding place.
Dex rubbed his eyes. He hadn’t gotten much sleep. Between caring for the kittens and having nightmares about kittens, he felt as if he were taking care of a whole brood instead of only a handful.
Because he’d arrived early, he had opened the store, turning on the outdoor lights, and feeding the fish—a task that had almost gotten the mother cat’s full attention. The only thing that kept her near her basket was the can of tuna-flavored cat food he’d given her. He could almost see her thought processes. She couldn’t tell if he was a good or a bad guy, but she was willing to reserve judgment so long as he fed her well.
He was seated behind the counter, the basket at his feet. The computerized cash register hummed behind him, and his laptop was open on the other counter. The radio was playing a syndicated blues program that came out of Texas and whose DJ clearly knew what he was talking about.
Dex rarely missed the show, and it was keeping him company now. It certainly suited his mood. Even though the only lost loves he’d ever had had been beloved pets who’d died, he understood the blues. Maybe it was the loneliness that was a part of the music. In all his years, he’d never had anyone who had been able to help him, who had known him well enough to take some of the burdens of his life off him.
Like this burden. He was searching his database for customers who had bought cat food in the past five years, people who had multiple animals. He was running out of potential cat parents. He’d already asked all his friends to take previous kittens left at the store. He didn’t believe in taking perfectly healthy cats to the shelter—dumping his problems on someone else—and he didn’t have enough money to put a special ad in the paper.
The vet suggested that he look through his old client records to see who might be amenable to adopting a kitten, but the farther he got into this project, the more Dex realized he couldn’t do it.
Maybe he should just do a bulk mailing—50 percent off cat food and cat supplies for the next three months if someone took a kitten off his hands. Of course, that didn’t solve his real dilemma.
He didn’t trust people he didn’t know to take care of their animals. He gave his customers the third degree—and the fourth, and the fifth—and sometimes he used his magic illegally to spy on them. He’d even been known to take an animal back if he thought someone was abusing it.
Dex looked down at the basket. The kittens were nursing, except for one adventurous black-and-white who was crawling across the tile floor and mewing. Dex picked him up by the scruff of his fuzzy little neck.
“I know you want to explore,” Dex said, “but this store isn’t the
“—to get us out of it,” said Clotho, placing her hand on top of the pile.
Vivian looked down at their hand pile, hers buried beneath theirs. That was how she felt, her mind buried beneath the weight of the thing she had sent out, the thing that felt like a sneeze.
She had no idea what she was doing, but even without her sixth sense, she knew that she’d better do it quickly.
Time was running out.
*Chapter Five*
Dexter Grant brought his laptop to the store, along with the nursing mother and her kittens. The mother cat wasn’t too thrilled with him. So far, he’d taken her and her brood to the vet, to his home, and now back to the store.
She’d actually tried to bite him when he picked up their basket this morning. He was keeping a close eye on her, knowing the ways of mothering cats. She’d had enough interference with her litter in the past twenty-four hours—and she probably remembered searching for them in the woods, that awful sense of panic when she couldn’t find them. If he so much as looked at the kittens wrong, he knew she’d hide them somewhere inside the store.
The last thing he wanted to do was spend the day searching for a cat hiding place.
Dex rubbed his eyes. He hadn’t gotten much sleep. Between caring for the kittens and having nightmares about kittens, he felt as if he were taking care of a whole brood instead of only a handful.
Because he’d arrived early, he had opened the store, turning on the outdoor lights, and feeding the fish—a task that had almost gotten the mother cat’s full attention. The only thing that kept her near her basket was the can of tuna-flavored cat food he’d given her. He could almost see her thought processes. She couldn’t tell if he was a good or a bad guy, but she was willing to reserve judgment so long as he fed her well.
He was seated behind the counter, the basket at his feet. The computerized cash register hummed behind him, and his laptop was open on the other counter. The radio was playing a syndicated blues program that came out of Texas and whose DJ clearly knew what he was talking about.
Dex rarely missed the show, and it was keeping him company now. It certainly suited his mood. Even though the only lost loves he’d ever had had been beloved pets who’d died, he understood the blues. Maybe it was the loneliness that was a part of the music. In all his years, he’d never had anyone who had been able to help him, who had known him well enough to take some of the burdens of his life off him.
Like this burden. He was searching his database for customers who had bought cat food in the past five years, people who had multiple animals. He was running out of potential cat parents. He’d already asked all his friends to take previous kittens left at the store. He didn’t believe in taking perfectly healthy cats to the shelter—dumping his problems on someone else—and he didn’t have enough money to put a special ad in the paper.
The vet suggested that he look through his old client records to see who might be amenable to adopting a kitten, but the farther he got into this project, the more Dex realized he couldn’t do it.
Maybe he should just do a bulk mailing—50 percent off cat food and cat supplies for the next three months if someone took a kitten off his hands. Of course, that didn’t solve his real dilemma.
He didn’t trust people he didn’t know to take care of their animals. He gave his customers the third degree—and the fourth, and the fifth—and sometimes he used his magic illegally to spy on them. He’d even been known to take an animal back if he thought someone was abusing it.
Dex looked down at the basket. The kittens were nursing, except for one adventurous black-and-white who was crawling across the tile floor and mewing. Dex picked him up by the scruff of his fuzzy little neck.
“I know you want to explore,” Dex said, “but this store isn’t the
Similar Books
