“I have six cats,” Hugh said. “And it’s their feeding time.”
Ivy scrambled up onto the table as a tidal wave of fur poured into the kitchen. “Shit! Hugh, do something!”
Hugh hastily put his half-eaten dinner on the floor, instantly attracting all feline attention. His cats crowded around, Ivy forgotten as they investigated the irresistible lure of people food.
“Sorry about this,” Hugh said, heading for the cupboard to get the cat bowls. “Don’t worry, I’ll shut them all in the kitchen overnight. And even if one does accidentally brush against your skin, I can always heal them, you know.”
“Yeah, but I’d still have hurt them.” Ivy crouched on top of the dining table, every muscle poised and ready, her eyes fixed on the purring horde. “Why do you have so many cats?”
Hugh didn’t say anything for a moment. He occupied himself with the can opener, cats winding around his feet. His first instinct was to say something flippant, like that he was saving them up until he had enough for a coat…but it felt oddly like a betrayal. He couldn’t pretend that his pets weren’t important to him.
“I rescue them,” he said at last. “From the local shelter. I take the ones that no one else wants, the shy or sick or angry ones. I give them a home, and they give me…contact. I don’t like being around people. But cats are different.”
“I get it.” Ivy’s voice turned wistful. “I wish I could have a cat. They look so soft.”
Mr. Mittens rubbed against his ankles, meowing for attention. The black-and-white cat was clearly too stuffed full of paella to be interested in mere kibble. Hugh picked him up, stroking his long, glossy fur. Mr. Mittens purred, arching into the touch.
He had his cats. But Ivy didn’t have anything at all. She couldn’t touch anyone, not even her own sister.
She’d never stroked a cat.
“Ivy,” he said, going over to the table. “Take off your gloves.”
She looked from him to the cat and back again. “Are you out of your mind?”
“You won’t hurt him.” Hugh shifted Mr. Mittens to one arm, freeing his other hand. “Just take off your gloves.”
She started to protest, but the words died in her throat as he caught her wrist.
“Trust me,” he said softly.
Holding her wide green eyes steadily with his own, he peeled off her glove. Her fingers trembled under his own.
Concentrating, he quested out with his healing power. Ivy caught her breath, trying to jerk back. He closed his fingers firmly around her hand, holding her still.
“What are you doing?” she whispered.
“Neutralizing your venom,” he said, guiding her hand to Mr. Mitten’s soft fur. “You can’t hurt him, Ivy. Not while I’m in contact with you both.”
“Oh,” Ivy gasped, as the purring Mr. Mittens rubbed against her fingers. Tears brimmed in her eyes, making them as luminous as jewels. “Oh.”
Hugh kept his hand on the back of hers as she stroked the cat, concentrating on channeling his power through her. His unicorn’s approval glowed in his soul, soft and pure as the light from its horn.
Ivy’s green-streaked hair shadowed her face. He couldn’t see her expression, but he could feel the soft drip of tears on the back of his hand.
“I thought you were an asshole,” she said quietly.
He let out a huff of laughter. “I am.”
Ivy shook her head, her glossy, chin-length hair swinging. “You’re a paramedic, and a firefighter. You save people. And stray cats. And, and, you’re helping Hope. And you came to find me when you thought I was in danger. You’re a good man, Hugh.”
She raised her chin, meeting his eyes at last. Her mouth trembled, but her gaze was steady.
“I’m not a good person,” she said. “And you’re going to hate me even more. But I need to tell you something.”
Hugh listened with mounting concern as Ivy explained exactly what had happened during her meeting with Gaze. When she got to the bargain she’d made, he started, accidentally squeezing Mr. Mittens. The old cat yowled, retaliating by sinking all four sets of claws into his arm. Hugh barely noticed, cold with shock.
“Me?” he said, as the cat jumped down. “He wants you to find out my animal?”