No Kitten Around

by R. J. Blain

  Within twenty minutes, the tow truck driver escaped the chaos, heading for the outskirts of town to one of the many junkyards. Kitten, Destroyer of Worlds sat on my lap, her ears pinned back at the change of our routine. I expected her to flip, taking her sour temper out on me, but she kept her claws sheathed and limited her protests to the occasional hiss.

  The junkyard operator took one look at my car, which still had a few pigeons on it, and laughed. “I’ve seen a lot come through here, but this is the first time I’ve gotten a wrecked car with birds still attached. What’d you do? Get tired of them damned city chickens and plow through a flock?”

  “Air bombardment downtown,” I replied, and unable to help myself, I laughed, took out my phone, and showed the man the picture I’d taken. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “Damn, that’s something else. You scrappin’ and callin’ it a day?”

  “How much can you give me for it?”

  “It still run?”

  “Engine still worked after, the brakes were fine when it happened, and I didn’t hit anything. Just damage to the body and windshield as far as I know. The airbag did deploy. I just don’t think it’s worth replacing the windshield and repairing the body. My insurance probably won’t cover it.”

  “Let me check the book and see what I can give you. Put it there,” he ordered, pointing at an open spot near the junkyard’s office. “I’ll call the boss and ask; don’t get many vehicles through here just needing body work.”

  The tow driver dumped my car where instructed and bailed, leaving me alone at the junkyard with a cranky Kitten who seemed ready to literally destroy the world for the disruption to her routine. I sat on the crumbling curb, put her on my lap, and used the end of her leash as a toy to give her something to play with while we waited.

  My phone rang, and with one hand occupied playing with my cat, I answered without checking the display. “Reed Matthews.”

  “Hello, Mr. Matthews. My name is Samantha. Hamhock asked me to teach you how to use a sword along with a friend, who I understand will be using a naginata.”

  “That’s correct. Thank you for calling. Where do you want us and when?”

  “Meet me at Hamhock’s. I’ll guide you to where we’ll train and make your future training schedule. Am I correct in my understanding you’re a raw beginner?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I am.”

  “You’re late to the sword, but I can make you passable. Maybe. If you’re determined. I recommend you be determined. I dislike failure.”

  “That’s fair. Did Hamhock tell you about our pets?”

  “She did, yes. I’ve been told you’ll have carriers for them?”

  “Yes. The puppy is young enough he’d be hurt if he got under foot. Kitten is smart enough to stay out from under foot most of the time, but I’d rather be safe than sorry. Just need to have a place to put them, and we need to give the puppy his milk every few hours.”

  “A very young puppy, then.”

  “A rescue. Kennedy found him on the side of the road and brought him home. My doctors want Kitten going with me everywhere.”

  “What is this kitten’s role?”

  “She helps if I have a panic attack,” I admitted.

  “A feline therapy animal? Most humans rely on dogs. How interesting. I will accommodate these animals. Be aware neither will likely enjoy my company.”

  I had no idea what made Samantha so damned scary, but I’d find out soon enough. “What time do you want us at Hamhock’s place?”

  “Six. Don’t be late.”

  “Understood. I’ll see you at six then, Samantha.”

  She hung up, and before I had a chance to worry about Samantha, the junkyard employee emerged from the office and said, “The boss wants to talk to you about your car.”

  With my cat and her things in tow, I headed inside the building to see what I could get for my car and rendezvous with Kennedy for our date with disaster.

  Chapter Twenty

  All things considered, I appreciated the thousand dollars I got for my car; it would cost me a lot more than a thousand to repair. If a dent on the hood cost five hundred, I didn’t want to know how much replacing the entire exterior of my vehicle would cost. Add in the glass, and I could buy a whole new used car for the same price of fixing the old used car.

  Between the accident, waiting for the tow, and scrapping my car, I doubted I’d have time to take Kitten, Destroyer of Worlds to the vet, but she seemed to have emerged unscathed. At a loss of where to go until I was supposed to meet with Kennedy, I texted her to tell her I’d finished dealing with my car and would head to Hamhock’s place early.

  Maybe the centaur could give me a few pointers before my first lesson—or some advice on how to survive the lessons.

  My phone rang, and I checked the display. When Kennedy called, I answered, and I swiped my finger across the screen. “Hey.”

  “I’ll come pick you up. I’ve gotten done everything on my list,” she announced.

  At least she’d had a productive day. “Any luck?”

  “I had luck. Was it good luck or bad luck? That’s for me to know and you to find out.” She chuckled, and I wondered what sort of trouble she was going to get me into next. “Where are you? How’s your car?”

  “Since inviting you to self-defense torture probably isn’t a good date, how does car shopping sound? I would’ve spent more repairing it than I spent on the damned thing, I think. The entire exterior was hosed.”

  “I never would have thought pigeons could do so much damage. You and your kitten are all right?”

  “I think so. Kitten is acting like normal, and she didn’t seem bothered when I’d hit the brakes. Her airbag didn’t deploy.”

  “Kittens are tough. She’s probably fine. We’ll keep an eye on her, and if it looks like something is wrong, we’ll take her to one of those emergency clinics. From past experience, we’d be waiting for hours for someone to see us, and honestly, I don’t want to miss this self-defense torture date.”

  “I was specifically warned I shouldn’t present this as a date. You might hate me.”

  “I think it’ll be fine. I’ve been to plenty of self-defense classes. It’s required as part of my work. I also go to the range several times a week to maintain my carry permit. I’ll have to get a permit for Illinois, but it won’t take long; I just need to get my papers in from Mississippi and do a qualifying shoot. That should happen next week.” Kennedy huffed. “I think I can handle anything you throw at me.”

  “I’m going to remind you of this when I’m right,” I warned her.

  “It’ll be a cold day in hell, Reed. Tell me where to pick you up. Since we have some time to blow, we’ll get something to eat.”

  I gave her directions to the junkyard, listened to her confirm the address, and ordered her to drive safely, which earned me a low chuckle and a promise she’d try to avoid mass aerial assault by diseased pigeons. Dinner with Kennedy would make a nice start to the evening, which would inevitably sour once the beating portion of our doomed date began. I found odd comfort in one thing, however: if subjecting Kennedy to the mercies of an elf didn’t cause us problems, little would.

  Half an hour later, she arrived in her rental, grinning when she spotted me sitting on the curb with Kitten, Destroyer of Worlds and everything needed to keep my kitten somewhat content. “That cat has you whipped. I just thought I should let you know.”

  “I’d figured that out the instant I realized I was going to be taking a ball of fluff to the vet and keeping her without any actual say in the matter.”

  “It’s always good to accept defeat early. It gives you more time to figure out how best to cope with the situation. While I feel sorry for the pigeons, I’m pleased with the results. You’re now completely at my mercy.”

  “For the record, had you said that to me six months ago, I probably would have suffered an instant panic attack and fainted.” Either exposure therapy had worked wonders or I’d finally acc
epted everything, but my heart rate didn’t even spike admitting the truth, offering me some hope my future would be free of anxiety-induced hospitalization and blackouts.

  “You’re the first man I’ve met to readily admit he faints.”

  “After the first ten or twenty trips to a clinic or ER because of fainting, it’s pointless to deny it. For the record, I blamed you for every incident.”

  “Rightfully.” She joined me on the sidewalk, leaned over, and grabbed my kitten’s bag, offering me a good look down her shirt. “You all right?”

  “Never better,” I replied, shamelessly enjoying the view.

  “Enjoying yourself?”

  Busted. “If you’re expecting me to feel any shame for this, I’m going to remind you of my mixed heritage, two-thirds of which includes incubus and succubus. Has anyone told you today that shirt does wonderful things for your figure?”

  “Not yet.”

  “That shirt does wonderful things for your figure.”

  “Thank you. Now, get your kitten and let’s get something to eat. I’m starving. I’ve been to so many viewings today I want to scream.”

  “Find anything worthwhile?”

  “I’m thinking about it. In the meantime, I secured an apartment big enough for two downtown through work; we have a month and a half to find someplace permanent, but that’ll give us some time and cut out some of the drive. If you’re all right with it, we’ll stay at your place in the boondocks over the weekends.”

  “That sounds like a plan I can get behind.” I expected it would take me time to get used to needing the extra time I’d once spent on the commute to and from work.

  When I’d been stuck in a mire of depression, I’d avoided thinking about why so many preferred to live closer to work. To them, those minutes mattered. Instead of driving, they wanted it to spend it with people they loved. They hadn’t understood me because I’d been hiding from even the chance of reforging those connections.

  “Good. Please tell me that’s not one of your expensive suits. You got blood on your jacket.”

  “It’s not. It’s one of the sacrificial lambs; I wasn’t sure if I’d have time to change before our self-defense lesson started.”

  “Smart move. You sure you’re both okay?”

  Kitten, Destroyer of Worlds took over her usual place on my shoulder and gave Kennedy a disapproving look. Stroking the kitten to soothe her earned me a nuzzle. “I think we’re fine, but I expect I’ll be sore in the morning with a new collection of bruises thanks to the airbag. I’ll probably feign misery for positive attention.”

  “It’s less effective when you warn me what you’re doing.”

  I grinned at her. “I’m just being honest and hoping for positive attention.”

  “You’re something else, Reed. Get your ass in the car.”

  Bossy attention worked, too, but I wouldn’t tell her that. She’d figure it out on her own soon enough.

  When she’d said dinner, I’d expected to eat at a restaurant, but Kennedy had other plans for us, and they involved a fully furnished apartment arranged by the FBI, minimal time for eating takeout, and a queen-sized bed. I’d need to figure out how to resist Kennedy sometime in the future, else I’d be too worn out to make use of anything I learned during my lessons with an elf.

  Had I been wise, I would’ve taken a nap of the restful sort. As always, Kennedy made all sense escape, but I liked the sort of trouble she brought with her. I’d been right all along.

  Love and hate were the opposite sides of the same coin, and we’d somehow made our coin do a complete flip, but along the way, I thought we’d one-upped ourselves. Before I’d killed a man, we’d never been tested, not truly.

  We’d made mistakes, and Kennedy carried the brunt of their weight; it showed through the most when she thought I wasn’t watching. I wondered what I’d see if I looked into her eyes. The temptation lurked just beneath the surface, but I resisted.

  Fear played a part in that. It always did. One day, I hoped to have the confidence to meet her gaze without worry of what her heart desired. I wanted her to desire me as much as I needed her to fill in the spaces that’d been empty and broken for too long.

  I needed to develop a serious case of courage and look her in the eyes, but at the same time, I liked not knowing.

  I liked the anticipation of seeing what she’d do. I liked watching her help us mend the pieces without my sight adding any securities or insecurities.

  For better or worse, I harbored the hope we’d be all right as long as we both worked at repairing the harm we’d done to ourselves and each other. What time couldn’t fix Kennedy had, and I wanted it to be a two-way street.

  Figuring out to accomplish my goal would be the real challenge. I couldn’t rely on time’s supposed magic to fix things. I’d seen the years wear away at me without repairing any of the damage. I couldn’t rely on the passage of days, months, or even years to change anything.

  I’d need to have a long talk with one of my doctors about the sudden shift of perspectives. Was I wise to roll with it and readily embrace the change I longed for? Was I setting myself up for worse failure down the road?

  Picking up where we’d left off tempted me. I had the money for a ring, although knowing she’d picked up a career requiring her to use firearms to protect herself would change my choice of band. I wanted to get her something she could wear, not something she’d have to pocket while on shift.

  I’d think about it, and if the time seemed right, I’d act.

  But first, I needed to survive training with an elf. Stretching so the stiffness from the accident wouldn’t set in, I considered warning Kennedy about the nature of our instructor. Assuming the elf didn’t run us both through the wringer, if we emerged unscathed and together, I figured our relationship would survive just about anything.

  Kitten, Destroyer of Worlds protested leaving the creature comforts of the apartment with a hiss but settled as soon as I had her harnessed and riding on my shoulder. She’d have reason to hiss when I kept her in her carrier for a while. With luck, she’d limit her revenge to using her litter box and ‘forgetting’ to bury her biological warfare.

  With my luck, she’d wage biological warfare on multiple fronts, opting to deposit hairballs in my shoes before sleeping on my face to ensure I properly submitted to her evil ways.

  “That’s one cranky cat,” Kennedy observed, setting her puppy, who seemed content to keep sleeping, in his carrier. His replacer milk and other supplies went into Kitten’s bag, earning a disapproving hiss from my feline overlady.

  Scratching under her chin soothed the beast for a few moments, transforming her hisses to purrs. “She might be jealous.”

  “There’s a good reason for that. She’s your therapy cat. She probably gets jealous whenever anyone holds your attention over her. I’ve heard that’s a tendency of cats.” Kennedy smirked and leaned towards Kitten, Destroyer of Worlds. “Don’t worry. I’m aware you’re a package deal, and I’m not going to take him away from you.”

  I worried my kitten would rip Kennedy’s hand off, but she accepted the offered petting with a purr.

  “She’s going to become your overlady, too, if you’re not careful.”

  “And my puppy will become your overlord. There’s no point in fighting the inevitable. Give it up, Reed. We’re owned.”

  If joint ownership by pets kept Kennedy around, I was all in. “I for one am eager to welcome my feline and canine masters.”

  “That’s the spirit. Go get your ass in the car so we’re not late for our date.”

  We got to Hamhock’s with twenty minutes to spare, but despite giving ourselves extra time so we wouldn’t be late, our new instructor had arrived before us. At first glance, Samantha resembled a human with pointy ears, but when she caught sight of me emerging from Kennedy’s rental, she smiled.

  Sharks had nothing on her teeth, teeth meant for one purpose: tearing meat from bones.

  Kitten, Destroyer of Worlds, perched
on my shoulder with her fur sticking up on end. Then, as she had no sense of self-preservation, she hissed.

  Samantha laughed. “What a brave little feline.”

  Kennedy got out of her car and smacked her hand on the hood. “Reed Hampton Matthews, you did not tell me the instructor was an elf. I swear, you’re going to pay for this.”

  Samantha’s smile broadened into a mischievous grin. “That is because Mr. Matthews is wiser than he looks. Did you miss me, Kennedy?”

  “Wait. What? Miss you? You know each other?”

  What had Kennedy been doing with an elf? My exposure to elves had been limited to scholarly interest, but everything I’d gathered from my reading—and Hamhock’s general warnings—implied what I’d read had more than a few grains of truth to it. The top rules for dealing with an elf involved not running and not pissing one off.

  Or picking a fight with one. Picking a fight usually ended in becoming the elf’s meal.

  “Sammy’s the bitch the FBI calls in when they need help whipping someone into shape in a hurry.”

  Resentment dripped out of Kennedy’s tone, and I stared at her with wide eyes. “Kennedy, has she taught you before?”

  “Taught is not the word I would use.”

  “What is?”

  “Tortured. Legalized torture she was paid to participate in.”

  Samantha beamed. “I missed your special brand of terror, Kennedy. You look at me, you know you want to run, but you know if you run, I’ll take my time catching you because I was hired to get you in shape in time for your basic training. Maybe if you hadn’t been a depressed mess in need of extra work, I wouldn’t have had to give you the special treatment.”

  “Maybe you need my therapists more than I do, Kennedy.”

  “Reed, you didn’t tell me we were being trained by an elf.”

  “I thought you’d run away,” I confessed. “I told you this would be a very bad date.”