Waifs And Strays (The Cat Lady Chronicles #1)

Chapter 1

Chapter

One

E verything was just peachy until the day a teenage werewolf showed up at my door.

I’d spent the better half of the morning coaxing She Who Hisses out of the bush in the far corner of my tiny front garden. Progress with the large, black, feral female had been slow over the last few days. When she’d given me her name on Sunday in return for some kibble, I’d been certain her attitude towards me was softening. Unfortunately, she seemed to have decided the reverse and that offering her name had been an aberrant show of weakness on her part. As a result, she had resolutely refused to look at me ever since.

Under normal circumstances, I’d have left her in peace; not every cat wants a home of their own and it’s important to respect their wishes. However, She Who Hisses was sporting a nasty, pus-filled abscess on her hind quarters and I knew that if she didn’t receive proper medical attention soon it would be the death of her, especially with winter approaching.

I’d left a trail of tasty tuna titbits and maintained a healthy distance to make sure she didn’t feel trapped. I’d been holding my position for almost thirty minutes and she’d quested forward on three separate occasions, her whiskers quivering and her nose twitching. I’d have her on the fourth attempt, I was sure of it.

The bush rustled and I held my breath. A black paw popped out, and another. They were followed by the pale pink of her nose. Here we go.

‘I’m not trying to harm you,’ I told her softly. Her head pushed forward and her yellow eyes blinked at me. I smiled. ‘Hello, gorgeous.’

A shadow fell between us. She Who Hisses growled once and threw herself out of the bush, darting to the side to scale the wall and leap away before I could grab her. She moved so fast I had no time to react. Goddamnit.

I let out a hiss of my own and, standing up, threw a withering glare at the intruder. ‘Get off my land, you tool!’

The teenager blinked at me with slow, uncomprehending confusion. ‘Huh?’

I waved a frustrated hand in the direction of She Who Hisses, even though the cat was no longer visible and likely wouldn’t return for hours, if ever. ‘You scared her off,’ I ground out. ‘I was trying to catch her.’

He blinked again. ‘For food? There’s not much meat on a cat.’

I stared at him in disbelief.

He coloured. ‘I heard a rumour that’s what people in this part of town do.’

Eat cats? ’Which people?’ I demanded.

The kid shrugged. ‘Just … people.’

My eyes narrowed at the idea that anyone would even consider munching on a feline, then I exhaled as logic overtook my anger. This wasn’t exactly the most salubrious neighbourhood in the magical city of Coldstream. It had garnered the nickname Danksville, and those of us with a sense of humour had appropriated the name and used it with pride. I supposed there would always be those who made up stories about its inhabitants.

From the kid’s expression, he knew nothing beyond that one ridiculous whisper. There was little chance it was true; nobody would really eat a damned cat.

I muttered under my breath, spun on my heel and stalked towards the house. That was when he finally sprang into action, lunged after me and grabbed my elbow. Big mistake.

I snarled, snapped my hand back to grip his forearm and twisted hard. He released his hold on me, dropped to one knee and screamed. It was an astonishingly high-pitched sound for a werewolf already at the tail end of puberty. ‘Bitch!’

‘Only one of us around here is a canine and it isn’t me,’ I told him. I let him go and continued on my way.

‘Wait!’ His voice was strangled. I ignored him. ‘Please.’

I stopped in my tracks and looked over my shoulder. ‘What?’

‘I’m here about the flat.’ He rubbed his arm as if he were afraid it might suddenly drop off. ‘Is it still available?’

I’d only advertised the vacant flat the previous day by placing a small advert in the classified section of the Coldstream Courier . I wasn’t even sure that I wanted a new tenant – the last one had left the place in a mess and I certainly didn’t need the money – but it was helpful to maintain my position as a landlady to satisfy the unspoken questions from my nosy neighbours about where my money came from.

Curiosity finally got the better of me. I turned, faced the boy and gave him a closer look. He was tall and gangly, although there was evidence of the man he’d become one day from the way his chest was starting to fill out. Sadly for him, at the moment it made his body look out of proportion, more like a badly carved puppet than a living, breathing person.

It had been ten days since the last full moon but his wolf was still gleaming out of his skin, his beast form lurking directly beneath his acne-ridden pores. His shaggy, dark-brown hair was long enough to brush against his shoulders and didn’t appear to have seen a hairbrush or a comb since Michaelmas, but his face was clean – as were his expensively tailored clothes. He certainly hadn’t bought his shiny trainers here in Coldstream, and his gold watch looked like a family heirloom that was worth more than most of the houses on this street.

‘How old are you?’ I asked.

‘Nineteen,’ he answered quickly. He’d clearly been expecting the question and the lie fell from his mouth with prepared speed.

‘You’re fifteen years old,’ I said. ‘If that.’

He scowled. ‘I am not!’ I waited and he looked away. ‘I’m sixteen,’ he mumbled.

Although he was probably telling the truth, he had folded far too easily for a sixteen year old. His cheeks were mottled red with embarrassment, but he was trying to mask more than mere shame. Interesting.

Suddenly I suspected there was more to his story than an angry rebellion against his parents. ‘What’s your name?’

He hesitated, as if weighing up the merits of another lie. ‘Nick,’ he said eventually. He drew in a breath. ‘And I’ve got money. I’m not looking for charity.’ He dug into his pocket, withdrew a wad of cash and held it out to me.

‘Put that away!’ I barked. He had a damned death wish. This was Danksville ; nobody waved that sort of money around here unless they had a personal army as back-up – and even then they’d be taking a risk .

‘It’s six months’ rent up front,’ Nick said, with the edge of a whine. ‘My money is as good as anyone else’s.’

He’d obviously misunderstood my reason for telling him to put the cash away. Who was this kid? And where had he got all that money from? I sighed, then nodded towards the front door. ‘Come on,’ I said, hoping I wasn’t going to regret it. ‘Let’s talk inside.’

I put on the kettle and pointed at the kitchen table. Nick took one look at it and stepped back, crowding the doorway with his lanky frame. ‘Is there a problem?’ I asked.

He gestured wordlessly towards the old fruit bowl which contained not fruit but the curled up, gently snoring, ginger-furred form of He Who Must Sleep.

Ah. I nodded. ‘He doesn’t mind werewolves. He’ll barely notice you.’

As if on cue, He Who Must Sleep opened one lazy eye and gazed at Nick then closed it again and gave a brief sigh.

‘What is it with you and cats?’ Nick asked, relaxing slightly.

There weren’t enough hours in the day to answer that question so I offered my stock response. ‘They keep me company.’

‘Uh-huh.’ He stayed where he was in the doorway, still flicking nervous glances in He Who Must Sleep’s direction, then he swallowed hard and stepped bravely into the kitchen. He pulled out one of the wooden chairs and perched on the edge of its seat. When He Who Must Sleep continued to ignore him, his shoulders dropped and he relaxed some more.

I looked down. She Without An Ear was preparing to wind herself around Nick’s legs. When she rubbed her head against his calf, he glanced down and froze. ‘She won’t bite you,’ I said. ‘As long as you?—'

He reached down nervously as if to stroke her. She Without An Ear whipped round and snapped at his fingers. Nick yelped and drew back.

‘—don’t try and touch her,’ I finished.

The boy straightened up and folded his arms tightly around his body.

‘If you have a problem with cats, you can’t rent the flat,’ I said. ‘The cats come and go through the whole building as they please. Although there are four flats, only two of them are habitable at the moment – this one and the one directly upstairs that you’re asking about.’

‘You’ll let me stay?’ Nick asked, his eyes flaring with hope.

I gave him a long look. ‘I’m considering it.’

‘I love cats!’ he declared. I raised an eyebrow. He shrugged. ‘I can learn to love them.’ His voice rose at the end of his sentence so I wasn’t sure whether he was asking a question or offering a statement. I suspected that neither was he.

‘You don’t need to love them, you only need to co-exist with them.’

‘Then I will do that.’ He held out his hand as if it were a done deal.

I made no move to shake on it. ‘I haven’t agreed yet.’

His mouth curved into an arrogant smile that gave me another flash of his lupine genes. ‘You will.’

Yeah, probably, but he didn’t need to know that. I maintained a tight frown until he dropped his hand and his smile melted away. I hadn’t lost all of my skills; that was something.

‘I’m sorry I called you a bitch.’ Nick bit his lip. ‘And I’m sorry I scared that other cat away. I’m sorry that?—’

I held up my hand and his voice faltered mid-sentence. Good. I had no desire to hear a string of apologies that he likely didn’t mean. ‘First I have questions,’ I said sternly, ‘What are you running from?’

His face took on the aspect of a sullen adolescent. ‘Nothing.’

‘In that case,’ I shot back, ‘ who are you running from?’ He didn’t reply. I softened my tone. ‘This is my home. If I’m going to let you live in the same building, there are things I need to know for my own well-being as well as yours.’

He appeared to consider this. ‘Fine,’ he said eventually. ‘It’s my uncle. He wants me to join his pack but I’d rather be a lone wolf.’

Hmm. Lone werewolves were scarce, far scarcer than most people realised. Typically, children were bound to a pack by the time they could walk, a simple, painless ritual that went some way to ensure both their safety and the pack’s future. Disentangling from a pack was a far more complicated process and certainly not something I’d want to get involved in. I’d immediately be accused of unlawful interference, and no pack would allow an outsider to even consider such a thing without considerable bloodshed. I enjoyed a quiet life these days; stirring up werewolf politics was not on my agenda.

‘I cannot?—’

Nick interrupted me. ‘I’m not bound – I’m not in a pack. I don’t have to be. And I’ve got a friend who’s not in a pack. He has a great life. He does what he wants – he doesn’t have to abide by stupid rules.’ He tilted his acne-ridden chin defiantly. ‘Besides, I’m not from Coldstream.’

Now that was even more interesting. It also explained the shiny trainers.

‘I know the rule is that Preternaturals usually live here,’ Nick went on.

It was more of an unwritten rule than a law, but he was right. Birds of a feather flock together and almost every Preternatural in Britain lived in Coldstream. Once upon a time it had been a sleepy village but now it was a sprawling city filled with magical beings of every type. The deep enchantments that had settled into the bones of the border between Scotland and England had drawn us here, together with the idea of living in a like-minded community. Very few Preternaturals chose to live elsewhere.

Nick shrugged as if it were not a big deal. ’My parents wanted to try a different life. They left their packs and Coldstream before I was born. We lived in Glasgow until this summer.’

‘Both your parents are werewolves?’

His expression closed off. ‘They were. They died last month in an accident.’

Oh. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said gently.

His body was stiff. ‘Why? You didn’t know them.’ He folded his arms across his chest defensively. His pain was obviously very raw and very deep; he was clearly still grieving deeply.

I inclined my head in acknowledgment of his feelings. ‘Your uncle—’ I began.

‘He has no claim on me! He doesn’t know I’m here and he probably wouldn’t care if he did. All I want is some peace and quiet to live out my life. I don’t want a pack and I definitely don’t need a pack. I’m fine on my own.’

I suspected that what Nick needed was time to come to terms with his parents’ deaths. He suddenly looked very young and vulnerable, although I doubted he wanted to be seen that way.

I drummed my fingers on the table and decided to meet him on his own terms; the rest could come later, when he was ready.

‘Okay,’ I said briskly. ‘I need two months’ rent as a deposit, which will be returned to you at the end of your tenancy once any property damage has been taken care of. Water and electricity are included in your rental payments, which must be paid on the first of every month. Miss a payment and you’re out.’

The pain in his eyes had been replaced with relief. This was what he wanted, to be treated like an adult and not handled with kid gloves. ‘No parties,’ I told him. ‘No guests after 10pm. Do you have a job?’

‘I’m going to look for one first thing tomorrow.’ He was grinning now, his smile stretching from ear to ear.

‘Fair enough. What questions do you have for me?’

Nick blinked: it didn’t appear to have occurred to him that he had the right to ask questions of his own. ‘Uh … your advert said the flat was furnished?’

I nodded. ‘There’s a sofa, a table, four chairs, a cooker with a built-in oven and a bed. There’s no washing machine but there’s a laundrette at the end of the street.’

His brow furrowed; it would have been cute if I hadn’t felt sorry for him. He was a man-child pretending to be an adult. ‘Bedding?’

‘I can arrange some for you before night falls.’

He was on a roll. ‘And a television?’

It was a rare evening when you could get any sort of signal here, and the same went for the internet. Something about the magic that was bound into Coldstream messed with both of them, although the old landline telephone system worked well enough. Despite his upbringing, Nick ought to have known that.

‘No chance,’ I told him. ‘And no point.’

‘Fucking Coldstream,’ he muttered.

I affected an offended expression. ‘No swearing!’

His eyes dropped. ‘Sorry. ’

‘Just don’t do it again.’ I tried not to smile. ‘Any more questions?’

He was silent for a moment. ‘Just one,’ he said eventually. ‘What’s your name?’

This time I didn’t try to hide my grin. Better late than never. ‘Kit,’ I told him. ‘Kit

McCafferty.’