Isla, What the Undead Cat Dragged In

I promised Nazira I wouldn't play with vampires. She didn't say squat about keeping my distance from reanimated house pets.

How dare you judge me. Rent to my criminal underworld leader landlady was overdue, remember? I could entertain a little side quest while I figured out my next plan of action for hunting down Lily.

I didn't normally do house calls, but I could make an exception for my old boss. Besides, this was basically me returning to the bar I had, according to the paperwork, been working at this whole time.

"It's cosmetic, Sal," I said, gesturing to the hole where Big Tony's left ear used to be with my cigarette. "Not much I can do when it's cosmetic—"

"Hey, hey, I know what you're going to say," the weathered man countered, voice thick with the tar of a thousand cigarettes. "Don't you worry, I got just the thing!"

Leaving me to freeze under a flickering streetlamp, alone with the undead corpse of his cat, Sal disappeared into the back exit of his dive bar.

The man loved his cats. To death. And back. And he considered all the feral strays lurking in the dumpster alley behind The Birthday Bar his precious angels. Fed them premium kitty kibble daily. Not that they weren't already munching on dumpster leftovers back here anyway.

Big Tony, a fat, mangy tabby, was all mush and sweetness when it came to people, but he was a Philly Street cat, and therefore an absolute brute when it came to defending his territory.

And he'd apparently gotten into another brawl recently. The big boy was beat to heck. Crumpled whiskers and missing patches of fur. Oozing cuts and scrapes. The worst of it was the MIA ear. Bitten off like Dmitri had torn off Julian's arm – I shuddered and tried to repress that image.

Okay, let's be clear on this. Normally I would totally recommend people take their pet to the vet in an emergency, like say when an ear up and runs off its skull. If your pet still has a pulse, don't come see me. But Big Tony was an exception, since he'd been dead already for the last two years. Sal paid good for me to resurrect him. Big Tony was his baby. He'd balled for days after that wild boy had gotten himself killed in a cage match against a rat colony the first time. Back when I still worked at the bar.

Our deal was I resurrect Big Tony. In exchange, Sal didn't narc on me to my probation Magistrate.

"Sorry Tony," I said, scratching the undead kitty behind his remaining ear. He purred loudly, rubbing his chubby cheeks against my knees. "But you got to learn to behave yourself in the street, bud. You only got so many pieces left."

As Tony tickled my fingers with his whiskers, my phone buzzed in my clutch. Didn't need to check it to know it was Greg. Again. But I did anyway. He stopped leaving voicemails after the fifth call I didn't answer and had moved on to straight texts.

Rude.

I dropped the phone back into my purse.

Sal reemerged carrying a box and I blew a puff of smoke in his face. He didn't seem to mind. Smoking indoors hadn't quite yet been banned in his establishment. He was used to it. Don't ask me why, I have no idea how the mere mortal managed to keep the place passing inspections. Maybe he struck deals with some other creature on the side for that too.

"Youse always say not much can be done once the rot sets in, but this oughta do it, yeah?" he said.

Sal gently placed the box on the pavement beside Big Tony. Soon as he released it, the box shook. Angry squawks and clucks drew Tony's attention. The cat batted at an apparent air hole in the box. A feisty beak snapped back at his oversized paws.

"The heck, Sal, is that a pigeon?"

"Chicken," he said, scratching at the ring of gray hair pulled into a low ponytail on his otherwise balding scalp. "You know, from the live poultry place down the block. It's a good size for the job, I think."

He said that last bit like he was rather proud of himself.

"No." I stubbed my cigarette out and flicked it into the dumpster.

Sal gawked. Sheer panic swam in his watery eyes. Shoulders hunched, he gestured, palms open and helpless, at Big Tony. "No? Sweetheart you got to help him out. Look at the poor guy, he's defenseless!"

I didn't point out that Big Tony still had all twenty of his razor claws and literally could not be killed. Hate to see what he did to the other cat.

My lack response offended Sal. "What, too good for us now? You upping prices? Think I can't pay. Well, I got it, missy. I always been good for it, and you know!"

"You're good money but you're not good at keeping your mouth shut."

"What you talking about?"

"My probation Magistrate, you crumb bum!"

I kicked the dumpster. Then bit my lip to keep from yelping out in pain. Son of the Tooth Fairy. I think my nail popped off!

Sal, at least, had the decency to look guilty. "Ayy, I said I'd never report your leaving and I didn't. We didn't agree on nothing for when the snake lady came asking. I wasn't putting my sorry ass on the line for yours."

"You mean the way I put mine on the line to fix your dead cat's ears every couple of months?"

"Watch your language!" Sal crouched. Big Tony rushed to the skinny man's side, and Sal covered the cat's ear and gaping hole with his palms. "Tony's sensitive. He doesn't know 'bout his condition."

Based on how often Big Tony got into trouble and came out the other end relatively unscathed, I'd say the scoundrel certainly knew 'bout his own condition. Plus, I resurrected that fleabag myself. He had my necromantic blood in his undead wittle kitty witty veins. Meaning no matter how much Sal doted on the boy, Big Tony answered to me when I called.

Didn't really have the heart to tell that to Sal, though.

The chicken drew the cat's attention with a cluck. With an adorable butt wiggle, he pounced on the box. He couldn't open it. Still seemed to scare the feathers off that bird. Big Tony scratched playfully at one of the air holes, impervious to the angry beak pecking at him.

"Fine. But I need an extra five hundred. Cash."

Sal cracked a grin. "Aw, I knew it was about the money. Yeah, don't you worry. I'll get it. You, uh, you need some privacy?"

I narrowed my eyes at him.

"Yeah, yeah 'course. Like always. I'll, uh, I'll be right back, Tones." He patted Big Tony lovingly on the head. When Sal rose, his knees cracked as loud as he grunted. "Extra five? Sheesh. Okay."

Sal shuffled back into the bar. Not before casting a few nervous glances back at me and Tony, of course. But I was patient. Waited till that exit door was firmly slammed behind his scrawny ass before I set to work. Sal knew but he didn't need to see it, you know? Nobody needed to see this. Heck, I hated doing it. Wasn't worth the cost. New customers never get this kind of premium treatment. Just Sal.

"C'mere," I called Big Tony over as I squatted on the smelly, icy pavement behind the dumpster. He obeyed, affectionately bumping his cheeks against my knee. "Good boy," I cooed. "But no more fights."

He stretched and gave me a very cranky meow. How dare I, a lowly biped, order him around.

"Sit."

He sat. Tail twitched.

I kept a pocketknife in my clutch. Wasn't as tidy as using the needles, but I needed both hands bloody for this. After dabbing it and myself with Orange Blossom Breeze hand sanitizer, I cut a quick slice across each of my thumbs. Blood bubbled swiftly to the surface.

Big Tony's fur stood on end.

Carefully, I opened the chicken box, hoping like screaming banshees the bird didn't fly out, talons drawn and beak blazing. It didn't. It shook and clucked and manically flapped its white wings at me, but the bird was clipped and the box was deep. It was stuck.

"Sorry, babe." I said to her.

She gave out one last strangled cluck when I grabbed her by the neck and pierced my bloodied nails under her skin.

I placed my other bleeding thumb over the hole Big Tony's ear used to sprout from.

The shadows in the alley twisted and slithered. Lurking. Lunging. Sizzling on the ice as they swirled around us. Chicken thrashed. Big Tony sat obediently still. My blood buzzed. Hot and rapid. Sounds of the bar and the city and the dying chicken muffled. Replaced by the silky whispers from beyond the veil. Spirits and ghouls alike creeping over my shoulder. Hovering. Scratching at my door and pressing themselves under the cracks.

I sucked in a breath, the cold air aching in my lungs, and with it I pulled on the energy seeping out the chicken's neck. Aura, soul, lifeforce, electricity, whatever you wanted to call it. Using my own energy I took a long drag like cigarette on that chicken's wound, feeling her life pulse up through my open veins, twirl and flutter and weave its way through my nervous system until eventually that tight, bounding, bubbling ball of energy filtered down my other thumb. It crackled against my bones as I exhaled and shoved it into Big Tony. The cat mewed his discomfort but did nothing more than squirm as I massaged my bloody thumb into his earhole.

Under my hand Big Tony's ear regrew. I felt it form in a soft, furry point. His whole body strengthened, beating in time with my own pulse.

In my other hand the chicken shriveled. Her voice died first. Then her fight. No more pecks and flaps of her wings. Her death coated my aura like a slime. I could feel it. Sticky and heavy and suffocating. Had to tighten my grip as her muscles melted and flesh sagged around her limp neck. She shed her feathers in handfuls.

The energy in her slowed. From a flowing river to a mere trickle. Drip, drip, drip, even after she stilled. Eventually it, and her heart, ceased all together.

Envious shadows retreated to their side of the veil once I broke the connection between myself and the animals. I panted. Felt restless. A feeling like knowing you've got a whole bunch of static electricity all pent up in your fingertips, waiting for release.

Big Tony was appreciative of the makeover. Glossy fur. No more oozing sores. Pristine white whiskers. Two ears. You'd never suspect the cat was nine lives down and counting. He meowed and trilled enthusiastically as he bopped my knuckle with his forehead.

I dropped the already decaying husk of the naked chicken carcass in a pile of her own feathers at the bottom of the box. Tossed the box into the dumpster.

Took my time returning the bar. While Big Tony happily bounded off to pick fits with the other felines, I lit another cigarette with my shaking hands. Have I mentioned how much I hated doing that? Made me wired in a way nicotine couldn't soothe. I needed a drink.

Huh. Wonder, if in one of those stolen library books, there was a chapter on the cost of repairing zombie damage without having to drain another's life force to foot the bill. Make my job easier. I had a grimoire like that of my own once. Never made it to the end before I was pinched. Magistrate confiscated a freaking family heirloom.

"Good as new," I said to Sal as I waltzed into his bar, taking a stool at the end.

Sal smiled wide, revealing his missing tooth. "You're a real doll, Isla. Thank you."

"Anytime," I whispered, wishing I didn't mean it.

"You sticking around?"

I shrugged.

"'Aight, well," Sal said, "I'll get your money when we close out tonight, kay?"

The Birthday Bar was a true dive. Black and white photos, magazine clippings, broken neon beer signs on the walls. Ten years of dust on top of all that. Cracked linoleum. One working light bulb. Peeling bar stools. Cash only and always crowded.

"Sure, Sal. I know you're good for it."

"Drinking?"

"Whatever's cheap," I said, popping open my clutch.

"On the house."

"Oh, well, in that case—"

"In the case it isn't cheap, it isn't on the house."

"Fine," I snapped my clutch shut again.

He poured me a glass of red wine from a box. It was acrid and dry. Gave me cotton mouth as it seared its way down my throat. Really hit the spot.

"Well," said a smooth voice in his annoyingly cute Eastern European accent over my shoulder. "If it isn't my lucky penny."

Greg practically hip checked a guy who'd been leering at me to slip into the empty seat to my right before the rando could (snooze you lose, bucko). Vamp looked awfully proud of himself as he did too, a smug grin on his flawless face. His hair was parted mostly to one side as usual, but he'd gone easy on the pomade. One of his black waves hung lazily over his eyebrow. His perfect eyebrows. The leather jacket and skinny jeans remained (nice), but he'd ditched the hoodie for a white button-down shirt with a surprising amount of buttons undone down his chest.

He was gorgeous. As usual. Even with those purple circles under his eyes and ghostly complexion. The slight crinkle of crow's feet. Was that a gray hair I spotted in his coif? It was hot.

I was in trouble.

Sipped my wine and tried not to pull a face at its bitterness. Greg's special vampy nose crinkled, because of course he could tell I was drinking the cheap shit from just a whiff.

"Tonight I'm a bad one," I said after swallowing.

Swear Greg's pupils dilated just a smidge as he watched the column of my throat. A soft, cool prickle of a phantom kiss tickled me right where my neck met my collarbone that made my cheeks flush and legs squeeze together.

Sorry, Nazira.

I just couldn't resist playing with a vampire tonight.