“Is that why you starved him? Is that why his fur was coated with mange and fleas?”
“No! Dad wouldn’t let me keep him. Not after we had to move to the apartment. They don’t allow dogs, and there isn’t even a porch. Dad said we had to take him to the shelter, but they were going to kill him, so I freed him. I couldn’t let him die!” Sam was babbling, near tears.
I wanted to strangle Sam and hug him at the same time. What did I say to a kid whose heart was still good, though his actions had led to Max’s suffering and transformation?
“He wouldn’t let us keep the kittens I found, either,” Sam continued. He darted around Connor to the box behind the second backpack. “Mr. Brunsian ran over the mom with his car. Said I should drown the kittens, but I couldn’t! They’re so cute and—”
“You need to grow a pair,” Connor said.
I, on the other hand, tried to control the urge to vomit. Sam held up a soggy cardboard box that reeked of urine and sour milk. Inside, perched on wet towels and coated with soggy cat food and dirt, were three tabby kittens, all no more than a few weeks old. Two clawed about the box, trying to get out. The third lay huddled in a ball in a corner, its soul a dim flicker in Primordium. I could count the ribs on all three.
“Why didn’t you take these to a shelter?” I asked, my voice hollow.
“I didn’t want them killed.”
“There are no-kill shelters all over the place.”
“Oh.”
I reminded myself that Sam had only been trying to help. That he was a teen, misguided and uninformed. I thought it was helping until I looked up and saw their faces. Connor’s arrogant stance had melted, and he eyed my hips, licking his lips nervously. I glanced down. My fingers were caressing my guns and I hadn’t even been aware of it.
Hello to Psycho Dice. You’re coming in loud and clear. Still, a little physical emphasis couldn’t hurt. I took the box from Sam and pulled out a gun with my free hand. Sam flinched and backed away. I aimed the gun at Connor’s crotch. The color drained from his face. That’s for you, Max, and whatever it was these boys did to you.
“If you boys ever hurt an animal again—by neglect or any other reason—I will hunt you down and shoot you. The same goes for stealing and vandalizing. I won’t go easy on you because you’re a juvenile. This is your one and only warning. Max is being taken care of and so will these kittens. But if you want to reach adulthood as men”—I waggled my gun for emphasis—“you’ll never, ever, harm another animal. Get out of here.” They hesitated, and I realized they were frozen with fear. Good. I raised the gun to point at Connor’s head. “Now!” I yelled.
They ran.
The box began to crumple around its soggy edges, and I hastily set it on the ground. Through the trees, I watched the now pristine souls of Connor and Sam race through the marsh around the creek and up the other side of the greenbelt on a well-traveled trail. They slowed to a fast walk when they reached the bike trail.
“Did she follow us?” Sam asked, his voice carrying across the quiet plant-filled gully between us.
“No, thank God.”
“I didn’t expect her to chase us from her car. Or to be so fast.”
“No shit,” Connor agreed.
“What’s an enforcer?”
“Must be a crazy person. She totally had a gun on me!”
“She was totally hot.”
“And scary insane,” Connor said.
Sam seemed more awed than horrified, and I shook my head. I’d be coming back by this spot in the next few weeks to make sure I’d scared those boys straight. Right now, the kittens were far more important.
I tried to lift the box by its sides, and the cardboard tore off in my fingers. Had the kittens been laying on these cold, wet blankets since the night before? Longer? The unmoving kitten had me worried. I covered it with my hand and gently fed it lux lucis until its dim life force glowed half as bright as the other kittens’. I would have fed it more lux lucis, but it felt like it resisted, like the pet wood had at Accessories and More before I’d burned it out. Even with more energy, the kitten remained cold. It needed help, fast.
I couldn’t bring myself to stuff the kittens into my backpack—that seemed like added insult to injury after the way they’d been treated. Plus, my tiny pack would hardly fit them if it was empty, which it wasn’t. I didn’t want to use the backpacks the boys had abandoned, either, after I saw the dripping paint cans and broken bits of metal inside them. Nor was my clothing loose enough to hold them in. I eyed the guns. And the holsters.
Two minutes later, the butts of the guns were stuffed in the pack with the barrels protruding out the top and I’d gently slid the two healthier kittens into their own, individual holsters. They fit perfectly, with their little heads peeking out. One tried to crawl out, but I gently shoved it back in.
“Don’t go kamikaze on me,” I told it sternly. It mewled and licked the leather with a tiny pink tongue.
I tried a few steps to make sure it would work. The kittens jostled a bit in their holster cups, but otherwise seemed fine.
With great care, I bent over and lifted the limp form of the third kitten. I held it as close to my heart as the fake breasts would allow—propping it up on the provided shelf—and cupped my hands around it, painfully aware of how cold the November afternoon was. I promised myself I’d be back to collect the stolen items and give them to the cops tomorrow and to clean up the boys’ mess. Getting the kittens to safety was my number one priority.
It was easier to follow the boys across the ravine than to climb through the bushes back to the deer trail. From the lack of tangled branches, I could tell this was a favored shortcut. By the time I reached the paved path, Sam and Connor were long gone.
A cyclist sped around the corner, eyes focused toward the next turn. His rhythm faltered when he saw me. I don’t blame him. It’s not every day that you see a costumed woman with cats for guns. I smiled as we passed, and couldn’t resist a drawled “Howdy, partner.”
“What the—” I heard his tires bounce off the paved trail to the dirt on the side, then some frantic pedaling. When I glanced behind me, he was back on the trail, but he kept looking over his shoulder at me.
I didn’t encounter anyone else.
When I reached my car, I bundled my emergency blanket on the passenger seat and nestled the two holstered kittens in it. They immediately jumped to the floor and crawled under the seat. Sighing, I nestled the hurt one in the blanket on the now empty passenger seat. I shut all the car doors and performed a quick perimeter search of the Civic, finding the shell of my purse, my lip balm, and a sunglasses case—minus the sunglasses. I tossed it all in the backseat, then I got the car going and turned on the heat full blast.
I drove as fast as I dared to my favorite vet’s office, paranoid the whole time that the kittens were going crawl underfoot and be hurt by the pedals. My fear was unwarranted. When I parked and hunted for them, the kittens were nestled on top of each other under the passenger seat.
There was only one other car in the parking lot, a Volvo station wagon. I checked the time. It was nearly one thirty: lunch time. The Volvo had to be the vehicle of the vet on duty. It was just as well. The less people who saw me in my outfit, the better.
“Cross your paws that Dr. Love took the day off. Any chance of a date would go right out the window if he saw me now,” I told the kittens under the seat. They mewled in harmony.
I pulled the kittens out from their hiding spot and stuffed them back in their holsters. They were sleepy now, and once resettled, closed their eyes and slipped back into their naps. I blinked and examined the final kitten as I picked it up. Its soul was at half glow. I gently pushed lux lucis into it. The extra life force made it temporarily glow brighter, but it didn’t last long. I blinked back.
“Hang in there, little one,” I pleaded.
Dr. Alex Love greeted me in the waiting room. My heart flipped. My stomach dived for my toes.
How could I be excited and filled with dread all at the same time?
“Madison?” His eyes widened as they traveled from my face down my breast-enhanced, spandex-clad body. He looked like he didn’t know whether to smile or be horrified.
Act casual. He’s only a hot guy. With a sexy smile. Who has dedicated his life to helping animals.
“Hi, Dr. Love.” I glanced at the bundle of hardly living kitten in my hands and was washed in shame. There was more at stake here than my ego. “I, uh, found these kittens and this one needs immediate attention.”
I thrust the kitten into his large, warm hands.
“What happened to it?”
“I don’t know. I think it’s dying.”
He started walking even as he began his inspection, his large fingers gently manipulating the tiny tabby. I trailed after him into the first patient office.
I watched as Dr. Love injected various shots into the kitten. He paused long enough to ask me if the others needed attention, and I assured him they could wait. A few minutes later an assistant returned from lunch and—after giving me an incredulous look—she jumped in to help Dr. Love. I settled into the seat provided for me, shivering when the cold plastic pressed against the entire back of my thighs. The shorts were far too short.
I pulled the kittens out of the holsters and set them on an office blanket in my lap, then contemplated the muscles in Dr. Love’s forearms while most of my mind circled around thoughts of evil. I couldn’t let this happen again. I couldn’t let animals and people suffer. I needed to learn faster, be stronger. I longed to go straight to the convention center and kill every imp and vervet that crossed my path.
When Dr. Love and the assistant finished doing what they could to make the tiny kitten comfortable, Dr. Love did a cursory examination of the healthier two kittens. Without moving them from my lap. I took a deep breath and gripped the chair so that I didn’t do anything embarrassing, like run my fingers through his thick hair. Beneath the initial wash of disinfectant, Dr. Love smelled like pineapples and vanilla—on the whole, completely edible. I was careful not to lean forward to get a deeper sniff since that would have pressed my padded breasts against the side of his face.
“I’m sure you’ve got a great story,” Dr. Love prompted as he administered a shot to each kitten.
“Not really. I was out for a walk and found these guys.” That was true. It just didn’t include all the details that would have him calling the cops or the loony bin. “They were injured, so I brought them over.”
“Do you always go for walks in November dressed like this?”
I blushed hot enough to hurt. “No, uh, no. I needed some fresh air and didn’t feel like changing. This is, well, a work thing.”
“I thought you said you worked for a bumper sticker company?”
“Yeah. We had a costume party.”
Dr. Love gave me an assessing look. I wanted to reveal everything to him when I stared into his blue eyes, but I knew if I did, it would be the death of any future relationship. Sane people don’t date crazy people. Maybe I was way out of my league.
“It’s a good thing you found them,” he said at last. “The little one wouldn’t have made it another day. These two aren’t looking so hot, either. But they seem really fond of you.” The kittens had fallen back to sleep on my lap, sprawled bonelessly atop each other.
“They’re big fans of camo wear,” I joked limply.
“And guns.”
I jerked and reached over my shoulder. The barrels of the pistols were poking out of the backpack like accusatory fingers, one peeking over each shoulder.
“Uh, yeah. More costume stuff.” I started to sweat.
“Well, I prefer kitten guns to real guns any day,” he said with a wink. My heart fluttered in response.
The assistant came back into the room. I didn’t remember her leaving. She took the kittens from my lap.
“Are you the owner?” she asked. She didn’t disguise her disapproval.
“No. I just found them. I’ll pay for everything, but I can’t keep them.”
“Oh. I see.”
My feathers ruffled at her tone.
“We’ll find a good home for them, I’m sure,” Dr. Love said, patting me on my knee. His large warm hand on my bare leg completely distracted me from scowling at the prissy woman. I stood when he did. With the boots, I was close to eye level with him. My gaze slid to his lips and I stepped back, knocking into the chair. Dr. Love placed a steadying hand on my elbow.
“I, uh, I have to go,” I stammered, staring at his hand.
“I’ll walk you out.”
I gave the kittens one last pet. The tiny, limp one made my heart hurt to look at it.
“You did the right thing, again,” Dr. Love said as he walked me through their waiting room. “Those animals are very lucky that you stumbled upon them.” There were still plenty of questions in his eyes, but instead of asking them, he said, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so extraordinary as you when you came in here. If they ever create a comic book superhero that rescues animals, you’re what she’ll look like.”
I blushed. “Thanks. I didn’t really plan on going out in public like this.”
“I’m glad you did. I’ll never forget those kittens in your holsters. Ingenious!”
We shared a smile that warmed me to my toes. Was he flirting or just happy I rescued the kittens?
Dr. Love’s gaze dropped to his feet and he shuffled. When he looked at me again, his expression made my breath catch.
“This might be very inappropriate, but would you be free for dinner sometime?” he asked.
For a second, I thought his question was another fantasy, then I realized he was waiting for a response.
“Yes.” I tried not to grin like an idiot.
“I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Okay.”
I had the inappropriate compulsion to lean in and kiss him, so I forced myself to push the door open. The November air that blasted across my skin didn’t feel nearly as cold as before. I gave Dr. Love one final smile, then floated across the parking lot to my car. I’d cleansed the stain of evil from part of my region, saved three cats, and had a date with one of the most handsome men I knew. I was an enforcer extraordinaire!
The sight of the tossed contents of my car and my busted dash with a hole where the stereo should have been dampened my euphoria, but it couldn’t completely squelch it.
18
Don’t Worry: There’s Enough of Me for Everyone
There was nothing left for me to do, especially not dressed as a booth babe, so I drove home. Mr. Bond was thrilled to see me and made a big production of sniffing my shoes. I tossed my clothes straight into the washer, then wiped down the holsters just in case the kittens were carrying a transmittable disease, before hopping into a steaming shower. Fifteen minutes later, I emerged wrinkled and warm. I dressed in worn jeans, a soft long-sleeve muted gray cotton top that had been black at one point, and a lightweight green fleece.
My feet were as bad as they had felt. I applied ointment and Band-Aids to two burst blisters, then warmed a pair of socks in the dryer before putting them on. I microwaved a frozen burrito and took it with me on a plate to the front room.
“I’m in heaven,” I told Mr. Bond when I flopped into my recliner to devour my lunch.
Ten minutes later I was full and bored. I grabbed the phone book and the phone and squished back into my chair beside Mr. Bond, who’d attempted to steal it the moment I stood up. He begrudgingly relinquished half the chair to me, and then pretended to sleep.
I called around to several automotive and stereo shops and found a place that could repair my dash and install a new stereo the following week. The heater hummed away, keeping the apartment at a balmy seventy-two degrees. I ran my fingers through Mr. Bond’s fur, and he purred softly. Propping up the foot of the chair, I curled on my side around Mr. Bond and waited for Niko or Mr. Pitt to ca
ll me to tell me Tim was dead.
I woke to a tinny rendition of Shakira’s “Ready for the Good Times.” Mr. Bond was sitting a paw’s length from my costume’s backpack, eyeing it curiously. A quick glance outside showed I’d slept past sundown.
I wrestled Medusa out of the backpack on the last ring and answered. “Hi, Bridget.”
“Hi, Dicey-baby,” she slurred.
Dicey-baby? I checked the clock to be sure. It was only six thirty, and Bridget was drunk. Bridget never got drunk, not anymore. She claimed law school had saturated her with so much alcohol she was now impervious to becoming intoxicated. Obviously she’d been wrong.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“I’m having the best time here and I miss you,” she said. “You can’t believe all the cute ones that are out tonight. And I know who I’m taking home with me.” Her voice grew fainter. “Don’t I, baby. You’ll take me home, right?”
“Sure thing,” a muffled male voice responded.
“Ah, Bridget,” I said, trying to regain her attention.
“You are the most handsome devil I’ve ever met,” Bridget said. “Your eyes are so gorgeous they’ve got to be illegal. Let me know if you ever need a lawyer. I’d work pro bono for you. I’ll be the pro, you be the bone-oh!”
I rolled my eyes, partially amused but mostly appalled on Bridget’s behalf. “Bridget!” I yelled into the phone.
“Oh, darling, where are you? Get your fine booty in your car and get down here.”
I really didn’t want to go anywhere, especially not a bar. I was home and comfortable, and still shaking off the cobwebs of sleep. Bridget was a big girl and could take care of herself. She was happy with her one- or two-night stands, and she didn’t need me there to monitor her behavior. Of course, Bridget also never got drunk before picking anyone up. I hadn’t seen her drunk in public since I’d turned twenty-one. I hadn’t seen her drunk at a private party since she was twenty-three. Furthermore, Bridget didn’t go out on Sunday nights. She worked them, either at home or at the office. I’d always admired and pitied her work ethic, which called for six-day work weeks and ridiculous amounts of overtime. But that dedication, and a good deal of brains, was the reason that Bridget was one of the youngest, most successful lawyers I knew. Or rather, knew of. She was the only lawyer I knew, since I refused to let her set me up with anyone from her office.
A Fistful of Evil: An Urban Fantasy Novel (Madison Fox, Illuminant Enforcer Book 1) Page 26